I am a pen-and-paper note taker, a behavioral remnant leftover from long-ago college history courses. As we began discussing a new church home, it was natural that I would jot down ideas shared by congregants, whether during large group forums or even while enjoying a one-on-one coffee time conversation. Those notes evolved into an eight-page, single spaced, bulleted list. The ideas range from a visible entrance to natural light in the sanctuary; from an industrial kitchen to chairs with book racks for the hymnals; from energy efficient construction to a dedicated space for young adults. Some requests were overly broad – good acoustics. Others offered minute description – bench seating in the coat room for ease of putting on and taking off boots, with built in AC powered cubby holes to store and charge electric bike batteries during Sunday morning worship. Despite its length, the list contained very few contradictions. Even when there were preferences, for example, one-story versus two, Rev. Victoria Safford’s words captured the overarching sentiment which called for “a building that sits gently on the land.”

After seven years, through discernment, three congregational votes, a successful capital campaign, and reams of architectural renderings, we have a beautiful schematic design. Now we must pause.

There are a variety of factors conspiring against our project: current commercial interest rates are discouraging developers, and the design and location of our current building requires a unique buyer in a niche market. Add to this, the post Inauguration Day chaos and Presidential Executive Orders that, in the stroke of a pen, eliminated significant energy funding, as well as the threats of tariffs that will increase the costs of already expensive building supplies. A pause is prudent. My rational mind acknowledges that continuing to refine the architectural elements would be fiscally irresponsible, but my heart wants to buy a lottery ticket or host a bake sale or two or three. How to reconcile mind and heart?

With our most recent schematic design in hand, I decided to review the list and compare the dream with the elements on paper. In keeping with our vision statement for this land and the building: Do we have a design that will contribute to a compassionate and welcoming environment? How might this space contribute to our justice work? How inclusive have we been of the congregation’s creative suggestions?

Without the benefit of any scientific methodology, I rate our efforts: B+ to A-. The design incorporates many of congregants’ top priorities:

• Large windows in the sanctuary with a panoramic southern view of the rustic landscape
• A building footprint that can be expanded east and west to meet growth over the next 100 years
• Easy workflow in a large kitchen.

Some highly desirable elements such as, the solar array or geothermal heating and cooling, are currently off the table due to cashflow. At best, we will build the needed infrastructure and add these highly-desired energy efficiencies in the future.

The questions that fill my mind these dark winter nights , as well as on snowy-bright days, are less about spreadsheets and the discrepancy between revenue and expenditure but focus on the nebulous side of the human psyche. How do we maintain the congregational momentum that got us to this point? How to convey that this project is like working on a post-graduate degree or taking the vacation of a lifetime, the dream will happen just not next year? How to gain financial support from everyone and spur our generous donors to give more? How to refine the design to realize cost savings without losing the heart and soul of the project?

While I do not wish sleepless nights upon any of my building team members or fellow congregants, we have a hard task ahead. Everyone’s thoughts and creativity will be needed and, maybe even, a lottery ticket.