Roots

I didn't expect anything special when I walked into church on Sunday with Grammy. I hadn't been to the Littleton 5th Ward since my parents left Colorado several years ago, so I figured I'd probably see a few people I knew but mostly just look around and reminisce about my high school years.

It turned out to be so much more than that. Not only did I know everyone on the program (my dear laurel adviser spoke, a boy I used to babysit was reporting on his mission, and so on), but I was also just overwhelmed with the love I felt from and for so many people -- people I haven't seen in years. People who grabbed me and hugged me with tears in their eyes; people who sat and talked to me about my life and career decisions; people who were anxious for news about my family.

I have been thinking about this ever since Sunday, about how profoundly it affected me to remember that I have deep roots in a community. As a single person in a city of transients, I have grown accustomed to constant change, to getting new roommates and new jobs and new wards almost as often as new clothes. My family has always been a constant, but on Sunday it was like I visited my village. The ward where my dad was a bishop, where people rallied around our family when Lindsay passed away and Mom broke her neck, where Zach and I left on missions and came home again, where Emily got married. I didn't realize until I was there A) that I actually had roots like that, or B) how much it meant to me. I don't know when it will be, but I'm looking forward to the next chance I have to go back.

Back to my Roots.