As it is only two days before I fly to the UK, I'm feeling a little sentimental as I think about my family. Since I decided to come back to BYU immediately after I return, it will have been approximately 350, 633 minutes since my little sisters tugged on my shirt and asked me to have a sleepover with them. 350, 633 minutes since my little brothers and I read The Hobbit aloud to each other, each of us trying to make our Gollum voice creepier than the others. 350, 633 minutes since I had a picnic in our backyard teepee, or nuzzled my grizzly, graying poodle, Beau, or simply laid on my own trampoline while I listened to the sweet disharmony of grasshopper violins, hummingbird harps, and frog bassoons. My eyes will have blinked 5, 259, 495 times. My heart will have beaten 26, 297, 475 times. I will have lost 204, 535, 800 skin cells (that's about eight layers of skin). These facts are utterly useless, but they expose how jam-packed, how deliberate, how meaningful every moment is in our lives. Even when stationary, our lives are a blur.
Because I have my family on my mind, I can't help but think about the song my dad would sing to me and my older sister when we were little; he now sings it to my two younger sisters. It's the kind of song that makes you feel safe and warm and perfectly nestled in a bear-like father's hug. Enjoy the song, but be warned-- you may feel the sudden urge to go call your dad and tell him that you love him.
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