So I got flowers at work.

And I cried, because that’s how I roll.

Love you most, best & always, honey.

My parents are younger in this photo than I am right now.

A lot younger, in fact. Nearly a decade on my mom’s part, and more than half of one on my dad’s.

And though they were younger, they had two kids, two birds, one dog, one more-than-full-time job (pastor), another more-than-full-time-job (stay-at-home mom), and a million part time jobs/callings/things to do between the two of them, including reading the local news on TV and radio, substitute-teaching art classes, and painting the sides of buses.

You can decide who did what.

They lived way up (and I mean WAY up) in Canada’s Yukon Territory, in a city called Whitehorse, far away from their families and everything that was familiar to them. And this after already living two places together that were — you guessed it! — far away from their families and everything that was familiar to them (Texas and Saskatchewan.)

When I look at this photo, I can remember these people very clearly. I remember that dress my mom is wearing, and I remember my dad’s big old glasses (far less fetching than the ones he has now.)

I can remember them in up-north parkas. I can remember them sitting in the front seat of our orange VW Rabbit during family road trips down the Alaska Highway and beyond. I can remember them taking us to Dairy Queen for sundaes in our pajamas. I can remember them in the sanctuary of the church that was a stone’s throw from the manse where we lived, chatting with people who were drawn to how lovely they both were, and are.

They were younger, yes — but in some senses, I think they had more figured out than I do at 36. But I’m working on it.

Here’s how they look now (well, last year, as we celebrated their 40th anniversary):

My mom will tell you my dad has gotten more handsome with age. My dad will tell you my mom couldn’t be more beautiful than she already was and is — but she somehow manages it anyway.

Those two children? Now 36 and 40 (and have each found their own love out there in the big bad world.) Their home? Well, they’ve lived in at least five more towns and houses since then. And the birds and the dog have gone where birds and dogs go.

They still do some of the things I mentioned above, though — except for being on TV and radio… and painting buses.

When I look at the photo above, I can remember these people very clearly, too — mostly because I spent four months last year living with them while I prepared to move to Boston, and because I went home with Gradon to visit them this last Christmas.

See?

This photo, for me, is the one that I love most of the three, and the one that speaks the loudest to me about who my parents are.

So who are they?

They are the heads of a family where love is abundant.

They’ve welcomed the people their children love with the confidence that they’ve gained more family — instead of feeling like they’re losing their kids to other families. There’s always room for more at their table.

They’ve taught us how to love by example over these 41 years, so that when we found the right people to love, we knew what it looked like, and how it should feel. And how to make it work.

And now, that photo is what my family looks like. My people, and my person.

I don’t know if I’d how to make any family work if I hadn’t had the parents I did, and if they didn’t love one another the way they do. Maybe I’d have figured it out on my own, but I’m sure glad I didn’t have to.

Because I had the best teachers ever.

Happy anniversary, Mom & Dad.

I love you.

And thank you.