The Fifth Commandment

Indulge me, if you will, in a little Exodus 20:12.

This attempt to "honor (my) father and (my) mother" will perhaps expose me to incredulity from my readers. "You think of your parents so often?" you may say. I do. Creepy, but most everything that I love reminds me of home. I think about my father and my mother every day, many times a day.

I thought of them on August 24th. I was sitting in a booth with members at a little roadside Mexican restaurant when I remembered that it was their wedding anniversary. Their fist date was at a Mexican restaurant. Is it any surprise that I think with some tenderness about Mexican restaurants? Later in the day, I found myself staring at farmhouses and imaging the spot in Jerome, Idaho, where my mom finally said, "Ask me one more time," to her suitor's frequent petitions for marriage. Dad's eyes would have welled up with tears like they do, and then it was just a hop, skip, and a jump to a family of four. Maybe they were too young to start a family at 18 and 21, but I find it adorable, and courageous too.

I thought of them when the senior couple on Fort Sill sat down with us for a post-dinner thought. Elder Tomany looked at his wife wistfully, and then removed his glasses to wipe tears from his eyes. "I love her more after 42 years than I ever loved her," he said. "I tell her that I love her at least a dozen times a day." That's how my dad is. He adores my mom, and he's not shy about confessing his love on a daily basis. She deserves it too. I can't imagine a more romantic couple than my own parents.

I thought of my parents when we visited an ailing gentlemen in the hospital. I was nervous to meet my investigator's brother-in-law and his wife unannounced, but we forged a happy connection when conversation turned to dogs, horses, and the glories of a small acreage. I don't own dogs or horses or land of any size, but I was weaned on James Herriott, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Organic Gardening. Gathering in the living room to listen to dad read is paying dividends. My parents didn't know it, but they raised a sister missionary who melts in with the rural folks of Oklahoma with ease.

If the fifth commandment has anything to do with remembering, loving, or feeling grateful, then I would like to count myself obedient. But I ought to say it a thousand times more gracefully and more often. I love you, Mom and Dad. I am grateful for you. And I remember you!

Happy Anniversary!