Sometimes it feels like all of the little events of our lives leave impressions on the physical space around us. We remember our bedrooms as kids – the walls that witnessed our first heartbreak and the loss of our first tooth. Our old, lived-in rooms feel alive – or as if they once lived – and somehow more colorful than any new place, however exciting. We have bonded to them. And even if such places didn’t host pleasant experiences for us, they still hold significance in our hearts, stained with intense human emotion.
The rooms in our Lighthouse building have surely seen more than most. Since sometime around 1870, it’s hosted innumerable life events. Fulfillment, grief, frustration, great loss, and great joy. Our central room – a pre-pandemic dining room, event space, ballroom, lobby, place of fellowship, and on Sundays, a sanctuary – has recorded events from the lives of people all around the world of all classes, colors, and sizes. And this year has undoubtedly left more of an impression than most rooms get in a decade.