“Freedom isn’t free,

Freedom isn’t free,

You have to pay the price, you’ve got to sacrifice,

For your liberty.”

My father was an Air Force pilot, and flew combat missions in the Korean Conflict. My mother followed him from base to base as he served in the military, and he retired shortly after I was born, so I was the first of their children to live in the same house for my entire childhood.

Moving constantly wasn’t easy – but my parents willingly made that sacrifice. They were serving their country.

Dad taught us to stand and place our hands on our hearts whenever the flag went by. He was very precise about how we were to treat the flag, too. We always had a flag in the front hall closet, and it was flown in front of our home frequently.There was a specific way to fold it when we were putting it away, and if it wasn’t done right, we did it again.

There were eight of us kids when Mom and Dad would take us on trips around the country, and we’d always stop in at the homes of men Dad had served with while he was on active duty. I loved listening to them reminiscing about the missions they’d flown together, their commanding officers, funny things that had happened, and then, about their buddies who didn’t come back from missions. There was always a painful pause in the conversation when they started talking about that.

I would always think, “What about their families? What happened to them? I’m so glad my dad came back.” I would wonder what it must have been like to be raising a family while men were going away to serve, never knowing for sure if they would return.

That was almost fifty years ago. Now, I see men in my own neighborhood in uniform, leaving for extended periods of time to go across the ocean to foreign lands. It is happening again. And, again, I wonder, what about their families? What will happen to them?

I cannot predict – but I know there are some things I can do to help. I believe in prayer. I can pray for them and their families. I can let them know I am thinking about them and keeping them in my prayers.When I see a soldier, I can tell him thank you, and let him know that I realize he is making a sacrifice that not every man would make.

I can strive to be informed, and to pray for our leaders to make wise decisions when it comes to what our servicemen do. And I can live the best I can, and influence my children and grandchildren to live the best they can, so that our world will be a little bit better place, and so peace will reign in just a few more places. Because I believe that every place there is peace blesses the world. If we want freedom, we have to live to deserve it.

A people without morality, without self-restraint, without civility, and without faith do not deserve the freedom they claim. And it will not come to them, because after all, freedom isn’t free.

True freedom is only found when morality, self-restrint, civility and faith are in place.

May we all live to see those virtues re-enshrined in the hearts of the people in this great country. And may that begin today, as we each commit to live them better in our own lives.

Freedom isn’t free.

Let’s pay the price.

To Freedom!

-Roslyn

I had just called in, a few moments late, to a seminar hosted by Heather Madder, and those were the first words I heard her speak. I immediately felt a confirmation that what she was saying was true – that I am not alone, but that there are unseen forces at work helping me.

I am studying to learn about the Internet and how to more effectively market my book and coaching services. I sometimes have thoughts that I am alone, and that it is too difficult, and that I cannot do it. Yet Heather says, “The whole universe exists to support what you want to build,” and tells us that we need to have a clear intention and belief that the answers and help we need will come quickly and easily, and that doors will open to pave our way.

Another thought I have frequently is, “I don’t have time to do all I need to.” Heather teaches that we are constantly scripting our own limitations, and that we need to be aware of thoughts like that, which become ‘programs’ we may be creating in our own lives that are holding us back.

We can change those scripts! I decided tonight as I listened to Heather that my old way of thinking and system of beliefs is not serving me! I am going to take her advice and open my spiritual eyes to the help all around me. I will envision, as she suggested, people all around the world, sitting at computers, making connections to help pave the way for my success. She also suggested there are spiritual beings ready to help us as we request that help.

I believe that. I love the promise in the scriptures:

“I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”*

We are not alone!

I believe each of us has something to give to the world. Longfellow said,

“Time is with materials filled;
Our todays and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.”

If we are to build something worthwhile to share with the world, we need to spend our time creating it – and we will need help. And I believe, with Heather, that it is there.

Open your spiritual eyes – and believe – and keep building!

*Doctrine and Covenants 84:88

Other pictures comes to mind, however: a woman, weeping as she kneels with a handful of flowers at the fresh grave of her husband; a man at the cemetery, standing by the marker bearing his wife’s name and wondering how he can go on. To these people, Memorial Day has a very different meaning.

This Memorial Day, are you (or is someone you know) grieving the loss of a loved one who is no longer with you? Are you still at the stage of grief where your emotions are unpredictable, you live with a perpetual ache in your heart, and you never know when the tears will suddenly surface again?

Memorial Day can be a hard day for those who’ve experienced loss. But there are things you can do to help make it through this weekend – and that will help you move on with life. Here are five tips to begin with:

First, grieve. Grieving is painful, unpredictable, and it can be a long process. No wonder people want to avoid it. However, grieving is part of the healing process, and if we refuse to work through our grief, we will never heal completely.
Allow yourself to grieve. Find a place where you can let the tears flow and the racking sobs descend. You will find that as you do, there is a cleansing and a renewal that takes their place.
Author Deanna Edwards tells of the young child who said about grief, “Tears are what God gave us to let the hurt out.” Admit that the void in your life hurts, and that it’s okay to hurt. As a wise man once said there would be something wrong if we didn’t hurt when a loved one dies. Take the time to grieve, and eventually, if you embrace the grieving process, it will bring renewal and peace.

Second, reach out and find a friend. Find someone you can talk to, who understands what you’re going through, and talk. Share your sorrows; share what helps you each get through hard times, and you’ll both come away stronger. Sometimes the very best gift we can be given when we are mourning is a listening ear, and understanding without judgment.

Third, write! Take out a pen and paper, find a quiet spot where you can be uninterrupted, and remember. Record the good things that came from your relationship with that loved one. Write what you appreciated about them. Write about some of your favorite memories with them. One day these memories will not be so fresh, and you will be grateful that you took the time now to create something you can look back on and find joy in remembering.

Fourth, get moving! When we are grieving, often the most appealing activity is no activity at all. It is so tempting to crawl into bed, pull the covers over one’s head, and retreat. But grieving is not just emotional work. It involves the whole body, and exercise helps move the process along more quickly. Walk, run, garden, get out the yoga CD and follow along – just do something to move your body and get the endorphins flowing. Movement will help banish the blues and help you to look at life from a much more positive perspective.

Finally, serve someone in memory of your loved one. Even if it is a very small thing, find something you can do for someone else to lift their burden. The old adage “It is better to give than to receive” is true – and how better to honor the memory of the one you loved than to do a kind deed in their memory. Einstein said, “The only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and learned how to give.” Many people have found that looking outside their own troubles, if only for a few minutes, and finding a way to give to someone else, truly has brought them comfort and happiness.

Make this Memorial Day memorable, by grieving when you need to; finding a friend to confide in; writing about your loved one; moving; and serving. As you do, you will find you make cherished memories yourself, and you will be further along on the path to healing, wholeness, and peace.

Paul, instructing the saints in Galatia how to find their greatest happiness and peace offered the following counsel: “…by love serve one another.” We can do the same. Make a difference for someone else – create a bright spot in someone’s day; place a call to someone you know needs a lift; contact a humanitarian center and volunteer a couple of hours; deliver a handful of flowers to someone who is down. Your service can be done anonymously, or out in the open – you choose.
And do it in loving memory of your loved one.
Yes, they are gone – but we are still here, and I believe that we each have something good to give to the world. No matter how small our offering may seem, we need to give it – for the world’s sake, and for our own.
I think I’ve decided what I’m going to do. I am getting excited thinking that those who’ve gone beyond this life may be able to look down and smile that we are remembering them this way.
I know I’m going to look heavenward and whisper,
“This one’s for you!”
In loving memory,
Roslyn

P.S. Once you’ve completed your service, I invite you to my facebook page (search “SOLO – Getting It All Together”) to post what you did – remember you can do it anonymously if you wish – and let’s share what good was brought into the world in memory of those we are remembering!

Each talk focused on the different ways Mom’s life blessed and lifted others, and how her example can help each of us make a difference for those around us. The thought came repeatedly to mind that we have no idea how much time we each have on this earth, and how fleeting time can be, and that if we are to be like Mom, we need to be focused on doing whatever good we can in the time that we have.

I remembered a poem I learned in my youth:

Do all the good you can
By all the means you can
In all the ways you can
For all the people you can
In whatever place you can.

Mom did. Wherever she went, she left a trail of goodness.

As the crowd left the flower-bedecked graveside, I stood next to my Uncle Wayne. My emotions were close to the surface, and I found it hard to speak. He noticed and said, “You know, you’ll find that one day, the pain leaves – and the beautiful memories come flooding in – and that’s what you hang onto.”

He is right. I didn’t even have to wait until the pain left. In spite of the ache in my heart, beautiful memories are flooding into my mind – and I am cherishing them.

Thanks for the memories, Mom. Thanks for a great life, well-lived. Thanks for raising me with the knowledge that this life isn’t the end, and that I will see you again. That future meeting will be an added incentive to live like you did, so I can be with you once more.

I love you Mom. You’ll ever be close to my thoughts.

Hanging on to the memories,

Roslyn

I guess it might be that way for a while until I get used to the fact that she isn’t here, and won’t be, ever again.

It was just three weeks ago that the doctors at the hospital sent her home for hospice care, and we knew our time with her would be brief. We had them put the bed in a large room where there would be room for friends and family to come see her and gather at her bedside – and they did. Cousins, children, grandchildren, and friends all came to see Mom, to tell her of the love they had for her, and of her great influence on their lives, and to wish her well.

Early in the days of her care here, a friend told me that there would be angels coming and going as her time in this mortal sphere was ending. I felt them. There was a sweet spirit about her and in our home during her stay here.

Early on, she was still able to communicate just a bit. She let me know she wanted to help me – and that she didn’t want to be a burden. I think of sweet things she did or said, hoping to help lighten the load she perceived I was carrying, and it reminded me of the things she had done her whole life long – always doing something to help someone else, never thinking of herself.

I think of times I would walk into the room to see if she wanted water, or food, or needed other care, and the sweet smile that lit up her face when she recognized me.

I think of the times a family member would call on the phone, and I’d hold the phone up to her ear, and watch as the things they said brought an attempt at a word, or a sigh, or a smile.

Then, as the days went on, that smile came less and less frequently, and the recognition faded, and the responses were limited to an occasional faint squeeze of a hand, or the slight lifting of an eyebrow.

The last day, it pained me to watch her breathing. I gave her the medication that was supposed to make it easier for her, but it was never easy to watch the irregular rise and fall of her chest. Then, I stepped out of the room for a few minutes, and when I returned, she had taken her last breath, and was gone.

Although there were challenges – difficult ones – in caring for Mom, I will always be grateful for those days that I had the chance to serve her. I was not perfect at it. I wish I had done better. But I learned lessons I could not have learned any other way – and I was convinced more than ever before that Mom was a beautiful soul, and that I want to do whatever it takes to arrive at the same place she is when my turn to leave this sphere comes.

Thank you, Mom. I love you. I’ll miss you.

So says Alan Christofferson, the main character in Richard Paul Evans’ new book, The Walk.

Does any one of us know what the future holds? I can think of so many times in my life when I had a plan all laid out for the next weeks, months, and even years – and then, in the blink of an eye, everything changes. A phone call; a chance meeting; a turn of events, and life is altered forever.

After Alan lost his wife, his business, and his home, he decided to walk across the country to the place furthest from where his dreams all died. As he stops each night, he writes in his journal. His entries are brief, but telling. One night he wrote, “We can be victims of circumstance or masters of our own fate…” and I thought, “How can you write that when you have just lost everything, through no fault of your own? How can you say you are the master of your fate?”

Then it hit me. Alan had learned what Viktor Frankl taught: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances – to choose one’s own way.”

The night his wife died, Alan’s journal entry read simply, “All is lost.”

Shortly thereafter, he sat in despair at the kitchen table with two bottles of pills, contemplating taking his own life. He could find no reason to live, and was ready to end it all quickly, when he heard, from somewhere, the words,

“Life is not yours to take.”

Then, he thought he heard the voice of his late wife, McKale, whisper, “Live.”

I believe that is what each of our loved ones would say were they able to communicate with us. Not to simply exist, but to live with purpose; to choose our own way.

Again from Frankl: “Man does not simply exist, but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become in the next moment.”

I believe we too can make that choice, and determine who we will be and what we will do with whatever circumstances we are presented.

There will be times we too will say, “I do not know what lies ahead of me,..” but in those times, we will also be able to say, “…but I do know what I want to become.”

That decision will change everything.

The book is about Alan Christofferson, a man who has everything, and how, through a series of tragic losses, he ends up homeless and begins a journey, walking across the country. At first, he walks to get away from everything in his past – but as he continues, he learns lessons that change his life, and realizes he is really walking to face his future. In his words, “This is what I’ve learned. We can spend our days bemoaning our losses, or we can grow from them. Ultimately the choice is ours. We can be victims of circumstance or masters of our own fate, but make no mistake, we cannot be both.”

“We are all on a walk. Perhaps not as literal as mine, but a walk all the same . . .”

It hit me in the early hours of the morning as I finished the epilogue that he is right. I too am on a walk, and I’ve been shuffling my feet. Some days I have even refused to take one step. I had once again slipped into that seductive passivity of victim mode.

Yet I have opportunities before me, all around me, that, if I embraced them, could burn more of the dross out of my soul, and help me to become a better tool in God’s hands. On the other hand, if I continue to resist them, that dross will grow darker and thicker, becoming even more permanently adhered to the chambers of my heart.

I want to grow. I want to be able to look back on this time of my life with no regrets, knowing I truly did the best I could. But I will need God’s help. The compassion and charity I need are not within me, but are gifts only He can give. I pray He can soften my hardened, selfish heart and as promised in Ezekiel 36:26, replace it with a new one.

There are more lessons to be learned from this powerful book. I will share them as I continue on my walk, and encourage you on yours.

Stepping out, once more,

Roslyn

Three days ago my step-father called me.

“Ros, there’s something wrong with your mother.”

I stopped what I was doing and drove immediately over to their home, twenty minutes away.

I found Mom, age 88, in her recliner, head bowed, slowly rocking. I took her hand.

“Mom, it’s Ros…”

No response.

Dad told me she’d been like that for over six hours – not answering when he talked to her, not responding to anything he said or did.

My brother-in-law Brian arrived and we rushed her to the hospital, where they quickly took her back and began the assessment and testing process.

As the evening wore on, family members began to arrive at the hospital. The doctors took Mom away for a brain scan, and after diagnosing the results, the doctors called us together for a family meeting.

“Your mother has had a subdural hemorrhage, and the pressure it is putting on the brain is causing loss of function. We could do surgery to drain it, but due to her age and physical condition, she most likely wouldn’t survive the surgery. Without the surgery, because she can’t swallow and has lost so many other functions, she may live for ten days – maybe less. Your family needs to make some decisions.”

Dad began weeping, and the rest of us all looked at each other as the doctor left the room to give us time to discuss the options. We referred to Mom’s living will, and realized that if we were to honor her wishes, we would not put her through the surgery. We decided to do all we could to make her last days comfortable. Financially, a care center wasn’t really an option – so we chose to have her transferred to my home so I could help care for her while caring for my children who are still living at home.

We met with the Hospice team; those compassionate people who help make the end-of-life process as bearable as possible. Arrangements were made; the hospital bed was delivered, and soon the medical transport team arrived and brought Mom in on a gurney.

As I watched her being carried in, I wondered what the next days would hold. Would I be able to provide the care she needs? The aides will only be here for a few minutes each day, and other than that, Mom’s care is up to me. How will I handle it? What will it be like to care for her as she approaches the final curtain of death, and enters the next stage life?

I find I am apprehensive and unsure. Can I deal with death this closely? I have to trust that God will give me the strength to do what needs to be done.

Once again, my life journey is heading uphill. I pray for strength and courage as the ascent steepens, and as, once again, I take one plodding step after another into the darkness.

Once again in God’s hands,

Roslyn