Homecoming

I’ve spent more time than I want to remember in airports, going and coming, but mostly just waiting. During some of those long waits I’ve witnessed the same familiar scene repeated over and over: families and friends waiting to greet returning missionaries. While friends and siblings are excitedly holding signs and balloons, I tend to focus more on the parents, perhaps because I’ve been in that same situation on three occasions.

More often than not, the scene plays out like this: the plane lands, passengers begin to disembark, and all eyes in the waiting crowd anxiously search for that one familiar face. Once the missionary comes into view, the squeals and celebrations begin, followed by hugs and handshakes. One afternoon, in Sacramento, while this scenario played out, I overheard a female bystander say to her friend, “Did you see that woman who kissed him on the lips? That was his mother!”

One thing is pretty predictable during this drama: as the throng makes its way out, the mother almost always latches onto the missionary as if she’ll never let go—and the father brings up the rear—alone—hauling the luggage.

There was one night, however, when it didn’t play out like that. It was in December, 2008, just a day or two before Christmas. I was at the airport waiting for our daughter who was flying home from Salt Lake City for the holidays. As is often the case during those last days before Christmas, the flight was delayed. It was well after midnight, and the crowd waiting for the flight was pretty subdued.

Then I saw them—the family—the mom and dad and their three children. Two teenagers, a boy and a girl, and a younger sister. What gave them away was the large rolled-up sign the older daughter carried. I didn’t need to see what it said. I already knew. Besides, they just looked LDS, if you know what I mean.

The flight was more than an hour late, and when it arrived I stood behind the family, interested to see what was about to happen. Weary passengers began to come up the ramp. I didn’t yet see my daughter, but then I saw a young lady in a long winter coat that almost reached the ground. She had on a back-pack, and her missionary nametag was on her coat.

The smiling family held up the sign and took pictures, and when the young woman recognized them her face lit up with emotion. She walked straight into 5 pairs of open arms. And then a wonderful thing happened. Before the mother could lock arms as if never wanting to let go, the young missionary looked at her father and embraced him, resting the side of her face tightly against his shoulder. She was in no hurry to let go.

This was a moment I will never forget. You see, the look on her face was more than just a smiling, “Great to see you!” It was much deeper than that. Although her eyes were closed, her countenance said, “Dad, I served honorably and did what I was called to do. Most of the time it was really tough, but I hung in there, even though there were times when it was so hard I was tempted to give up. Thank you for your love and prayers and support. I love you so much.”

And then came this impression: This is a preview of what it will be like when I return to my Father in Heaven, if I’ve been true and faithful in this life. It will be so very natural to want to embrace Him and bury my head against His shoulder, safe in His arms once again.

And in that moment, according to President Ezra Taft Benson, I will remember again just how intensely personal my relationship with Him once was: “Nothing is going to startle us more when we pass through the veil to the other side than to realize how well we know our Father and how familiar his face is to us,” (Ezra Taft Benson, “Jesus Christ – Gifts and Expectations,” Speeches of the Year, [Provo: BYU, 1974], 313.)

So let’s do the hard things and make the right choices and be what we’ve promised to be. It will be worth it.