There’s a little project I’ve been working on lately…one of those projects that starts small and almost sneaks up on you… and then, before you know it, you’re surrounded by names, stories, faces, and threads that stretch farther than you realized.

            It began with a simple awareness: in my small family, I seem to be the one carrying the map. Not a literal one, of course, but the relational one. The one that knows how “cousin so-and-so” fits, or why that aunt matters, or how a story from long ago still echoes in who we are today. And as my children have grown into adulthood, I’ve noticed something; they know the names, they recognize the faces, but the connections? Those are a little fuzzier.

            So, I started what I thought would be a small project: a simple family tree. Just enough to help answer those inevitable future questions, “Wait…how exactly are we related to Cousin Bob again?” But as these things often do, it grew.

            I found myself going back three generations beyond me - branching out in multiple directions, tracing lines not just upward, but outward… and then back down again through all the cousins who are now part of the story. Each name wasn’t just a name; it was a doorway. And each one brough out a memory and a piece of the puzzle.

            And then came the pictures. I reached out to family members and asked for current photos as I wanted to put faces alongside the names, to create not just a chart, but a living, breathing sense of who we are as an extended family. There’s something powerful about seeing it all together…the resemblance in a smile, the tilt of a head, the unmistakable sense that something of us carries forward in ways we don’t always notice.

            And what has begun to take shape is more than a tree. It’s becoming a kind of family history book - something my children can hold onto, and someday, perhaps, pass along to their own children. One of my favorite phrases, which I’m often teased about by those who know me well is “From whence we cometh.”  Well, I guess this book has becoming my way of saying to my kids, “Here. This is from whence you cometh. These are your people.”

            And here’s what I didn’t expect. Somewhere in the middle of all the sorting and gathering and remembering, I realized that this isn’t just about information—it’s about formation. Because the truth is, so many of the connections that shape us are the very ones we take for granted: the stories we’ve heard in passing, the traits we’ve inherited without knowing their origin, the patterns - both beautiful and complicated - that have quietly made their way through generations.

            When we don’t name them, they fade into the background. But when we pause… when we trace the lines… when we tell the stories again… something shifts. We begin to see ourselves more clearly and we find meaning in the reality that we are not isolated individuals, but part of something ongoing, unfolding, and deeply connected.

            And perhaps even more importantly this little project will offer awareness as a gift to the next generation. Because one day, those questions will come. “Who was she?” “Who does my little boy look like?” And instead of vague answers or forgotten connections, there will be something tangible to refer back to.

            In a world that moves quickly, this kind of looking back can feel unnecessary, but maybe it’s also grounding. Maybe it reminds us that identity isn’t just something we create, it’s something we inherit, receive, and then choose how to carry forward.

            So, I’ve taken on this little project.  And someday, when someone asks, “Wait… how are we all connected again?” There will be an answer. And maybe, just maybe…there will also be a deeper understanding of who they are because of it.

Rev. Candi