It was a very New England summer for Sarah and me, with all of our parents transitioning into retirement in the Northeast. We closed out the season at my mom’s recently-inherited Connecticut lake house, which got me thinking about All Souls. (They even have an ancient boiler to replace!)
Grandma and Grandpa's lake house was one of my favorite places in the world growing up. But, in the years since their passing, I felt uncertain about returning. Thankfully, it hasn’t felt empty. Instead, I’ve rediscovered that family makes a house a home – no matter how we define “family” nor how we choose to make or remake the home.
Decades before Mom introduced us to the lake house for summer vacations, Grandma and Grandpa hosted her high school friends there for winter snow-skiing trips. This summer, some of Mom's old friends came back to see what she’s done with the place. While Grandma probably wouldn’t love the rearranged couches, her beloved baked ziti recipe is still on the fridge.
Following Mom's example, I also intend to contribute to the next chapter in our lake house's story with each new trip – just as they would have wanted. After all, while they might not have approved of every new change we’ll make, Grandma and Grandpa would be the first to say that making it our own is the only way to make the lake house full again.
All Souls is clearing out our own metaphorical cobwebs as we return to full-time worship in our sanctuary. While some cherished members of our parish family won't be with us anymore, new opportunities also beckon: hiring a new rector; infusing new energy into our committees and guilds; and celebrating our new organ, roof, and HVAC, to name a few.
My family and our church are not alone in this transformative moment, either. It seems the whole world has turned a page. Will we help write this next chapter, or get stuck editing the last?
I know my answer.
– Ryan Burwinkel