When I think of St. Paul’s, I think of my Grandmother sitting up near the front on the gospel side every Sunday morning. I think of attending her funeral as a child of 12. I think of acolyting, and being nervous about helping during communion, and being proud when I was finally able to be the crucifer. I think of a funeral of a young friend, gone too soon. I think of returning to the church with my husband and two, now three young children. I think of introducing friends to the church, and meeting new friends here. I think of my children playing on the playground and watching them in the Christmas pageant. I think of listening to my son sing with the Children’s choir. I think of how our family now sits on the same pew bench that my Grandmother did all those years ago.