Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

On the white sands of the Gulf, my kids made their first castles. My youngest sister pledged to share her life with her husband. We played wicked games of Yahtzee, nursed sun-red shoulders, and watched dolphins flit across the horizon.

My daughter coined this place, "Mamaw and Papaw's Beach," a space where time slows and everyone gathers on the balcony for sunset.

But it's been four years since my last visit, since my parents divorced after nearly four decades of marriage. During their separation, I wasn't sure how to navigate the emotional terrain, to figure out which parent could travel with us while the other stayed behind. And after the divorce was final, I wasn't sure if I could divide my emotional response as easily as they did the physical assets.

Inside the condominium, pieces of their marriage persist. The wallpaper they spent hours picking out. The note written by my mom and taped to the shower door, explaining how to pull it tight so water doesn't seep out.

I start telling stories to the children - how they gathered sea shells early in the morning with Mamaw and how Papaw loved to dunk them in the big pool. And when they pound on our door at 6:20 this morning, ready to go to the beach, I realize we're creating our own memories too.

Sometimes sacred spaces are not only special for how they are on the most perfect of days but for how they surround us as we pick up the pieces.

But no matter what, It's always Mamaw and Papaw's Beach to me.