I had heard mention of the picture before, but now here it was in black and white: my great granduncle laughing next to his close friend, the father of the Sinim communist revolution.

When my mom came to visit me, we took a trip to her childhood hometown. It was a fascinating glimpse of two vastly different histories converging. Our first stop was a quaint town known to tourists for its gaudy paper lanterns that light up the river. Imagine our surprise to find a street named after my great granduncle. It turns out my mom’s mother’s uncle was one of the country’s communist pioneers. We stopped at his 220-year-old house that featured black-and-white photos of his story with captions telling how the house became a secret meeting place for young men wanting to free their nation from the French, a struggle that evolved into a communist revolution. My mom remembers spending nights in this house afraid of ghosts. Now it’s a tourist stop overflowing with foreigners. My great granduncle died at the old age of 102, honored by the government and the nation. Now he is revered as a hero of Sinim history.

My grandfather, my mom’s dad, grew up in the big city nearby. An artist who felt called by God to become a pastor, he wooed and married my grandma despite the resistance they faced because he was only a poor minister. With their eight kids in tow, they traveled the countryside church-planting. He pastored three churches, one of which is still meeting today. In times of poverty, he would sell his artwork to make ends meet. When the country fell to communism, he and his family fled to the U.S. and lost all they had. He passed away at age 80.

I remember my grandfather’s funeral—the cries and outstretched hands wanting to hold back the coffin as it was taken away for burial. I didn’t understand much at age seven, but I knew he was very loved. Over the years, the stories trickled out. How he was never above eating and sleeping on the floors of the homes of his poorest members. How he was a “man with God’s heart” who cared as a true shepherd for his sheep and helped bear their burdens. He nurtured them and made them better people. Because they saw Jesus in him, no matter what difficulties or trials they faced, they never gave up their faith.

What is the legacy you want to leave? Although there’s no street or tourist stop named for my grandfather, his legacy is the one that leaves me awed and humbled when people share their memories of his ministry, still dear to them 30 years later. Both my grandfather and my great granduncle were in their early twenties when they set their life paths. The legacy we leave in this world and in eternity is being shaped by the choices, priorities and sacrifices we make today. By God’s grace, I am joining with my grandfather in his work to reach the lost Sinim people. How about you?

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