"Everything we have is gift or borrowed."  When Jan said those words recently, she was talking about something else, but they aptly sum up my thoughts after our recent trip to Maine.
    We stayed two nights in the parsonage of the Windham Hill United Church of Christ, enjoying the gracious hospitality of the Rev. Sally Colegrove.  It was very pleasant, but it was also odd.  I lived in that house for seven years, and now I returned as a guest.  Every room was the same, yet every room was different.  I saw the marks of my passing (the dishwasher, the blinds, the broom-rack in the utility room) all now used by someone else.  Of course, other someones had lived there before me; the house was built sometime around 1800.  I am reminded that every day I lived in that house, I lived among the work of many hands. Sally now lives every day amid the work of my hands, as well as all those others.  
    At Windham Hill, I preached from the same pulpit where I preached for seven years, where other pastors have preached for nearly 170.  (That's just the current "meeting house;" the congregation itself was established in 1743.)  I was the 22nd settled pastor of that congregation.  Rev. Colegrove is the 23rd.  Who knows how long that list will extend?  
    We are only stewards of all that we have, passing on to others the works of our hands.  The Windham Hill meeting house was renovated during my ministry.  The church's building for education and fellowship was expanded during Sally's. Both will be used by generations yet unborn. Our house in San Antonio is only a dozen years old, but even here we live among the work of other hands.  In fact, the handprints of the children who lived here before us are still painted on the shower tiles!
    No matter how we pass through life, we always leave a legacy.  After visiting Windham, Jan and I spent several days in mid-coast Maine.  Early one morning I sat by the water of Glen Cove.  A lobster boat chugged across the mouth of the cove, attracting much attention from seagulls as it passed.  Long after the boat was gone, completely out of sight and hearing, waves from its wake splashed against the rocks at my feet.