bed time stories.

This weekend two of my favorite gals/volunteers from Africa came into town for our team reunion party. They drove 12 hours to get here and I felt lucky they chose to stay with me (they had approx. 20 other invitations). Words cannot describe the love I have for these girls. We bonded on lengthy taxi rides down dirt roads on our way to meetings about health care and orphanages in Uganda; situations that really test and simultaneously strengthen relationships into the best kind. Before we left Africa, no one could have convinced us that we wouldn't stay as close as we were this summer. But the truth is, the minute that plan touches down, you are slammed back into reality of your former/future life, and while experiences like spending a summer serving in Africa will always provide a framework, or at least serve as a powerful point of reference, things are bound to change/go back to some semblance of the way they were. And that's not a bad thing. It feels good to step into a meeting where you can communicate with people and know they understand you. It's relieving to know that the decisions you make on a daily basis aren't going to mean whether or not someone else is going to eat or not.

But spending the weekend with Becca and Molly also reminded me of how amazing it was to live with a group of people who were all focused entirely on the same thing as me. And then I thought to myself, why exactly is it so difficult to find the same kind of bonds with people here? I live with my family right now, and I'm pretty sure they want a lot, if not all, of the same broad-scope things that I do. So why is it that we cross paths morning and evening and don't seem to connect as frequently as we should on this deeper level? Why is it that the encounters we do have tend to drift toward the trivial? For example: Yesterday my sister was home for the weekend from BYU for a friend's missionary farewell. She had a group of friends over for breakfast and left a kitchen full of dishes as she hurried off to church. Upon her return later that evening, I promptly started our first conversation of the day by rhetorically inquiring if she had forgotten something in her haste that morning. I could have asked how her day was, or how her week was for that matter. Maybe her actions weren't the most considerate, but they were completely unintentional. Mine however, entirely rehearsed, and not in any way thoughtful.

I spent the entire weekend hosting my dear, dear friends. We stayed up late into the evening talking and catching up, and at their request, me telling ridiculous bedtime stories. We spent the day up the canyon, enjoying the Harvest Festival at Sundance on what we dubbed a ladies' date. Our conversations and activities stemmed entirely from a relationship aptly rooted in love.

My relationship with my sister is also rooted in love. But how conscious am I of nurturing that love on a continual basis? As much as I love my friends, there is no one I love more, or share a closer or meaningful bond with than my family. And I don't need to live with them in Africa to know that.

Molly and Becca, I had a delightful weekend with you and I love you girls.

Sister #4, I have spent a delightful lifetime with you and I'm sorry.