Welcome Home

Once again, I find myself in the land of Anne of Green Gables—Prince Edward Island. That gorgeous green sanctuary that God seemed to breath into being.

​Here, I always find the sacred space of peace. And the kindness of people who always greet me the same way: “Welcome home.”

This summer, we’re back at the cottages—where my kids spent many of their childhood summers. A lot has changed, but much remains the same. The salt in the air. The clang of lobster pots. Bowls of steamy mussels passed around.

Even our gatherings by the fire pit every night—the guitars are still a little out of tune. And so are our voices.

But in the laughter and long, drawn out sunsets my heart hears the land whisper, “Stay a little longer.”

Of course, family reunions aren’t always picture-perfect. It’s hard to watch my parents age. And each time we come back to visit, more relatives have left this place and taken the train to a heavenly home further down the road.

They are the ones who have carried us and our stories from Scotland to here. And now, that torch is slowly being passed. Now it’s our turn to carry the history, and the hope, forward. That responsibility can feel heavy. But it’s also sacred.

And isn’t that what church is too?

An imperfect, holy family where we carry the story together. This is where we gather around tables and tears and celebration and song. Where we pass the peace and pass the faith. Where we welcome each other—not for who we should be, but for who we are. It’s here, in this sacred space, this community of love in the space between, that everyone is made to feel like they belong. Where the weary, the joyful, the curious, and the hungry all hear the same thing, over and over again: “Welcome home.”