Until I got married, I thought civilized people all flew any distance greater than three hours. And they all live within two hours of an international airport.
And they definitely do not drive past four airports on their way to somewhere more than three hours away.
But here we were driving again this weekend. Seven hours. Leaving Saturday and back on Monday. The return trip with no Dallin. So I was dragging my feet (out of the bottom of the Flintstone's car) about the whole trip. And as the kids whined, and I exited in downtown Seattle by accident, and we all felt queasy from car snacks and fast food I wondered why on earth we would be doing this again. I hate it.
But, on Sunday, after hearing the missionary homecoming talk of a young woman Dallin baptized 12 years ago, he said, "There is no place in the world that I'm as loved as I am here." And that was worth the 14 hours. 
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