The first thing I noticed was the doors-out of their ordinarily upright position, chipped, worn and stained, lying flat on four legs to create tables for community. I was always so enamored with the artistry of the old place on Main Street. It exuded so much character and meaning, reminding me that we gathered in a liminal space adequately described by the old Jim Morrison quote: “There are things known and things unknown and in between are doors.”

Jacob’s Well invited me to deeper ways of knowing a bit of mystical joy through connection and creativity with new friends. There’s Harry, who shared his watercolor magic. There’s Tony and Dave’s love of cards. There’s all the Wednesday art times filled with messy hands, paper cuttings, pastels and acrylics. There’s Marie sitting next to me and talking to me with her eyes a centimeter from mine, telling me that if anyone lays a finger on me she is going to [insert threats here]. She had a fierce love, that one! And then there’s Robyn, who prior to a trip to India gave me the book Eat, Pray, Love and told everyone “she’s going to find herself.” I thought his comment was hilarious, and I still treasure the note. (Turns out he wasn’t all that wrong, by the way).

While many of these friends have passed, I cherish these moments and I’m reminded how truly precious they were and are, and how privileged I am to have known them. I believe that at Jacob’s Well they had a chance to know that they mattered. Through their presence, so did I.

Wednesday night worship opened plenty of opportunities for self discovery. When I replaced Beth as the Wednesday night worship leader in 2014, one of the regulars was annoyed (change is hard). To make his feelings clear he decided to announce “You’re not Beth” every Wednesday of the first season I sat at the piano. He was right. I wasn’t her. All I could be was myself. And that was the beauty of it. Jacob’s Well offered me the freedom and space to be myself, to make mistakes, to try out unconventional ways of engaging with scripture, and to carry on a few traditions, of course. Who doesn’t want to sing Amazing Grace to the tune of House of the Rising Sun, anyway?

As I wander this space in my memory, I notice a few cracks here and there, things I might do differently. Hindsight bias is the master of reflection, afterall. There’s still so much that I am learning and unlearning. There’s still so much I don’t know. But there’s one thing I do know. My experiences of love through the doors of Jacob’s Well were nothing short of divine.