Several years ago, Scott and I bought a house not too far from here. When we first moved in, we noticed an old doorbell outside the front doors, with a small, rectangular nameplate above it. In neatly typed letters was the last name “Lamkin”. We soon discovered that the man who built our home in the early 1960s was named Mr. Lamkin, and he was a gifted architect in his time. We also discovered that when people would ask us what house we moved into in the neighborhood, we could simply say, “The Lamkin Home” and they would instantly know which house we were talking about.

People told us stories of when the house was first built – how Mr. Lamkin used bricks from an old school to build the house and the extensive courtyards. We were told that he and Mrs. Lamkin loved to entertain and would throw huge parties for family and friends. The dining room was long enough to fit a table for 20 people, and the conversations would flow for hours around that table. Sometimes guests lingered well after midnight, enjoying good food and good friends. The pool was built close to the house, and we’ve been told it was the first non-rectangular pool in the neighborhood – a feature Mr. Lamkin insisted upon. Doors slid open wide from every room in the house, allowing the outside to mingle with the inside. There were fountains in the courtyards, a fish pond in the back, and if memories are correct, a huge LSU mural decorated one entire wall of the kitchen. There were lots of parties, lots of laughter, lots of friends and lots of memories made in this house. This house was built to be loved, and this house was built to be shared.

Sadly, Mr. Lamkin died a few years after building his home. Mrs. Lamkin lingered on for many more years, but fell into ill health in her older age. The house declined with Mrs. Lamkin, and after her death, was sold several times. Through the years the fountains in the courtyards stopped working, the fish pond dried up, the brick outer wall crumbled in places, and the long dining room table disappeared. When we bought the home, it had been stripped of many original mirrors, light fixtures, drapery, and hardware. But the nameplate remained outside the front doors. We have never even considered removing it. This was the Lamkin Home, we were just borrowing it for a little while.

In the years since we have moved in, we have tried to restore a little bit of the life that was taken from the house. We’ve repaired brick walls, cleaned outside courtyards, hung pictures, painted ceilings. We placed rocking chairs on the front porch again, planted a garden, got a dog. Our summers are filled with family and friends swimming in the uniquely un-rectangular pool, kids running in and out of the open doors, and late nights around the fire pit. We linger over shared meals in the dining room, laughter and noise fill the house once more.

And do you know something? If the sun hits the water on the pool just right, and it’s a certain time of day, and if I squint my eyes just a little, I can see Mr. Lamkin outside, walking around the yard – talking to his guests and enjoying the beautiful home he created. I like to think that Mr. Lamkin is looking down on us, watching us as we make his house a home. And I like to think that he is happy.

It may sound a little silly, but I think that if our church had a doorbell right outside our front doors, the nameplate would say “God” on it. And we would know this is not our house, but that we are just borrowing it for a little while. Over the years bricks might have crumbled around some exterior walls, windows may have rotted in places, water may have leaked in. We’ve had our share of building problems and it’s been a long, extensive process to begin repairing those problems. But slowly, we are giving our old building life again. Soon there will be light and laughter and children on the third floor, where once it was dark and silent. We will linger once more around dining tables with good food and good friends downstairs in the fellowship hall. We will fill this space with love and friendship, and we will open the doors wide for anyone who wants to join us. This house was built to be loved and this house was built to be shared.

There were architects at this church, once, who dreamed of and designed this space. There were people – moms and dads, students, children – who wanted to create a place where all were welcome. They sacrificed for not just themselves, but for those of us who would come many years later, seeking the same love and friendship that can only be found in God’s house. Their memories linger on in the walls of this sacred space. We hear stories of weddings, births, funerals, parties, banquets, and musicals. We have never even considered erasing those memories. They tell us of a God who loves, who endures, who delights in his people.

And if the sun hits the rose window just right, and it’s the right time of day, and we squint our eyes just a little, we might be able to see God – walking around, talking to his guests and enjoying the beautiful home he created. I like to think that He is looking down on us now, watching us as we make his house a home. And I like to think that He is happy.