For the first time since 1990. I was here for a memorial service. But, as it turned out, I was not only remembering a friend who died. I was remembering a part of myself who died here, so many years ago. I remembered singing here in a choir. I remembered speaking here from the pulpit. I remembered candlelight and community. I remembered faces and sermons I loved. I remembered the first time I came here and felt I was home. I remembered the last time I was here, sitting in the back pew because I felt shamed by what my then-husband had done.
Now I have an incredible husband, who sat beside me in not-the-last pew, as I shed tears and remembered.
It might still be my sanctuary, in every way possible.