And we will come back home, home again.

Sometimes I feel like the angels plan a trip for me. That was the case last Friday when I boarded a plane for SLC. I was able to visit my cute sister, Heidi, my darling niece Katelyn and her wonderful husband, Mitchell, my awesome brother and sister-in-law John and Stephani and their family, my cherished children Rebecca and Andrew, and my loving parents. As has always been the case for me, whenever I'm on my way home to my parents' house I have a welling in my heart of gratitude and sentiment and belonging.

It was no different Saturday morning as I drove south into the UT wilderness to Richfield where my parents reside in a nursing facility. As I walked into their room at the end of the left hall, I felt like a little girl coming home.

Of course the room was decorated with antiques and flowers. Original artwork depicting my mother, painted by my Dad, adorned the walls. Dad's farming hat hung by the window in sight of the tomato plant that was just barely receiving enough sun to grow. Mom's "Book of Remembrance" stood fanned on the table top overflowing with our family tree, family pictures, and family histories. They each had scriptures by their bedside. As is always the case when I'm with my parents, our reunion was filled with love and learning.

I learned about beauty. Mom's Valentine Christmas tree was decorated with pink and red hearts. She asked me to change it out for her summer Christmas tree. From her car, which serves as extra storage, I retrieved the most exquisite silk roses. She had me place them on the permanent Christmas tree, and do you know what? They looked fabulous. Guys, everyone needs a summer Christmas tree.

On Sunday, when it was time for church, Mom got dolled up in her darling outfit accented with a perfect lace choker. Dad was dressed in his suit and had his hair combed. Never mind that there were 15 people tops at the meeting, Sunday church is special and we show respect for the occasion.

I learned about finishing strong. During the past few years, my mother has been teaching herself to play the piano. On Sundays, a young man comes from the community to play the piano for church in the nursing home. He doesn't usually arrive until 7 minutes prior, so my mom's responsibility is to play the pre-prelude. I was excited to hear her play. She does a wonderful job. But what I loved even more was when she took a detour on our way down the hall to invite a friend to church. The friend wasn't feeling well, so she got a hug and a kind word in addition to the invitation. My father's church responsibility is greeting. On this Sunday I was the force behind his intentions as I wheeled him to each person in the room where they received a warm welcome and sincere interest in their well-being. After the meeting, Dad made sure he spoke to each person who contributed to the program and thanked them. He was so disappointed that the man who sang the special musical number left before Dad could compliment him and express his appreciation. As we walked back to the room after a lovely church service, we took the long way as Mom stopped to visit her friends and make them feel loved. I was proud of the example of service these dear people give me and the rest of their posterity.

I learned about aging. I've already felt the impact of losing abilities I once had. Sometimes it seems unfair that we spend the first half of our life developing talents that slowly diminish the second half. I saw that phenomenon in a different way after spending time at home in a place I've never lived with people that I'll never stop loving. Our gifts and abilities are stored away as desires to be unlocked in their fulness at a future time in eternity. My Dad has been farming/gardening ever since I can remember. I ate peas from his mother's garden and continued to benefit from a bounteous harvest throughout my growing years. Not being able to garden has been heart-breaking for my father. That problem was solved with the planting of the tomato. From the vantage point of his bed, Dad measures the plant's growth against the wall. He worries about it's progress and makes sure that the stems aren't broken in the moving. That is one of the secret joys of gardening, watching for and caring about growth. There are so many references to gardens in the scriptures. It just goes to show, gardening is powerful. Once, after a conversation my father and I had about pomegranates and propagation and problems, he said, "Keep farming." It occurred to me that he said something very important for life.

Dad has always loved to sketch and paint people. While other people watch tv and eat. He watches tv and draws. His favorite subject is my mother. We all have favorite paintings. My favorite is a painting he painted not too long ago that won sweepstakes at the fair. Because of a stroke, he has lost vision in one eye and strength on his right side. He has been so frustrated by this because he can't walk or play the guitar or any of the other activities that brought him satisfaction, including art. Since water color is easier to manage, Mom gave him a set and encouraged him to paint. He showed me his most recent painting which was of my mother, of course. He was disappointed because it lacked the skills he had previously attained, but I was inspired because I see his heart and the gifts he has developed shining through his mortal limitations.

And as always when I'm home, I learned a little more about love. The tight hugs and gentle kisses upon arrival, the expressions of gratitude, and sincere compliments filled me to the tippy top. And when I watch my parents snuggle and visit all through the day I feel safe and warm and full of hope. When my mom was playing the piano Dad turned to me and said, "Isn't she good?" That was adorable, but after church, back in the room, Dad beckoned my mom to come to his wheelchair.  I thought he needed help, but he just whispered, "You look really pretty today." I about died from the cuteness.

What a privilege to visit and worship with these parents who have blessed my life. Our closing song in church was "God be with you til we meet again." I cried the whole way through, because I know that someday we'll have to be separated for awhile. I'm reassured, however, that families are forever, and I'm thankful for mine.