Growing up in Hamilton in the 1950s meant being part of that gigantic cohort, the “baby boomers.” With my brother and sisters, we attended the splendid, newly built St. Michael’s Anglican Church. That church was packed with children and I recall the large Sunday School classes, sitting in rows of desks, just like regular school, and the Junior Auxiliary, where I attempted to learn knitting, along with singing and teamwork.
Like so many in that baby boom generation, however, as I became older I began to question establishment values, including that of the church. Being in full rebellion mode, I often turned to the next new thing, walking down a path that increasingly became darker and more dangerous.
With the arrival of my daughter came responsibility and the desire for a better life, for her to know and for me to know again the love and greatness of God. We came, just by chance, one morning to St. Olave’s Church.
Here we found connection and caring, surrounded by the beauty and tradition of St. Olave’s. I have celebrated the joys of baptism, confirmation and marriage within its walls. For me, being part of St. Olave’s means to belong and to be part of something beyond ourselves. St. Olave’s is a community to “give us that due sense of all thy mercies,” the love of God distilled through the actions of those serving Him.