Life took a turn, however, on Monday afternoon. We were visiting my sister’s family at a cabin in the mountains above the Salt Lake Valley, and the cousins offered to teach my daughter, Meg, to ride a four-wheeler.

“Have fun – and be ’safety sallies,’” I called as they trooped down the cabin’s front steps. They left, joking and talking, and my sister and I settled down on the couches in the front room for a much-needed nap.

The next thing I heard was  my sister’s voice saying, “Is she okay?”, and my nephew’s voice hesitating, “Um….no…”

I awoke to see him carrying Meg into the cabin, obviously injured and in shock.

He laid her on a recliner, my sister grabbed a towel and  began tearing it into strips for bandages, and while we continued to assure Meg she would be okay, we began cleaning her wounds.

I began feeling light-headed. I’ve never been good around blood. But I was determined to stay present and to be a help, not a hindrance for Meg at this crucial time, so I sat on the floor as I attempted to wash the gravel out the palm of one of her hands, breathing deeply to keep the faintness away. We decided we’d better get her to emergency care immediately.

It seemed to take forever to drive her over the rocky roads to the nearest help in Park City, but thankfully the waiting room wasn’t too crowded, and soon we were ushered into the triage area.

As the doctors examined Meg, I became more and more relieved. No broken bones; no apparent internal injuries; no concussion – just a painful bump on her nose, a knee needing stitches and arms and hands in need of bandages for her ‘road rash’.

After the doctors made their decision and left the curtained area to get the supplies, Meg and I looked at each other, and I think we were both overcome at the same moment with the thought, “There were angels protecting you.” It was a deeply spiritual moment when we received that thought, and we knew it was true.

Later that night, Meg was lying in her bed resting when one of her cousins that had been riding an ATV behind her came to visit and see how she was doing, and he told me what he had seen from behind.

Meg had been following another cousin, who had turned to go down a hill. Meg turned too sharply, and the ATV lifted up on two wheels, then bounced down on the other two, and then completely flipped and rolled. It ended up right-side up – on top of Meg – who had landed face down in a ditch. The ATV wasn’t even touching her.

I know that for some reason, angels can’t – and don’t – prevent all tragedies. All of us who have lost any loved one are all too aware of that fact. Many of us know people who are para- or quadraplegics after incidents such as Meg’s. We were told Monday about a man whose ATV did the same thing as Meg’s – and he didn’t live.

Why was Meg spared? We may never know – but I can – and forever will express gratitude for those protecting angels, and for the answer to our prayer of that morning, asking for “protection in all that we do this day”.

As we strive to stay near to our Savior, He promises us, “For 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.”*

As widows and widowers, and those who have suffered loss, even though our lives have not turned out as we would have hoped, I believe we can see evidence of that Heavenly help, and of those angels, in our daily lives. I believe they help us ward off despair, and whisper hope to our hearts. I believe they give us courage to go out just one more day and face the world. I know they give us strength to face the tragedies life brings our way.  And, sometimes, for reasons we may never understand, I believe they perform miracles that help us see that truly, we are not alone on this journey, and that Heaven is only a prayer away.

May you more often see the influence of those angels that are “round about you”, and may you, too, feel to give thanks for that Heavenly help.

With a thankful heart,

Roslyn

*Doctrine and Covenants 84:88

For her birthday, my oldest daughter Brooke asked if I would accompany her on a hike, high in the alpine mountains above Hyrum, Utah.

First you have to know that she is more than twenty years younger than I am – and has always had incredible energy and drive. She accomplishes more in a few hours than I do in an entire day.

I love the mountains, and I love her, so I willingly accepted. I did not take into account that, due to my recent schedule, I have not been consistent in my daily exercising (so I am somewhat out of shape), and that hikes usually entail significant uphill trails which can be pretty demanding. I only envisioned the joy of being out in nature with my daughter, and I was excited.

As we headed up the steep rocky trail, it very quickly became apparent that she was setting a pace I was unaccustomed to – and one that I would not be able to hold for very long. The path followed a stream that gurgled over rocks and tree roots, and there was frequent welcome shade where the tall trees’ branches reached over the trail. It was beautiful, and I drew strength from the beauty that surrounded us. But that strength was not quite enough, and after not too long, I guess she perceived I was beginning to ‘lose steam’.

“Let’s rest in this shade…” she graciously offered as we arrived in a cool glade of aspen. Her husband and my youngest daughter were with us, and they seemed almost as relieved as I felt when we stopped to catch our breath.

After a brief rest, we were back on our way. And although I loved being out in all of that breath-taking beauty, I wished I could slow down a bit! The pace demanded too much of my focus just to keep climbing, one step after another.

Brooke thoughtfully stopped us for frequent rests that I know she didn’t need. She still seemed full of energy when, after a few hours, we had hiked through meadows of wildflowers, groves of pines, hillsides of aspen and sheer rock cliffs. We finished the hike and headed down toward the car,  filled with a deepened appreciation for the beauties of this world.

But I have decided that I am at a place in life where, although I still love hiking, I now go with a different objective. No longer am I driven to get to the top of the mountain, or the end of the trail, or even to the wonder that the guidebook promises is just around the next bend.  I now enjoy a slower pace, and I am prone to halt more frequently to study the rock that, in earlier years, I would have simply stepped over. My eyes are less focused on the montain top and instead are drawn this way and that, eager to study a wildflower that beckons to be smelled, an unusual leaf, or the butterfly that flits from one blossom to the next. I am lifted by their beauty, and I am renewed by being surrounded by God’s abundant creations. I am content to sit and listen to the breeze rustling the tops of the giant pines while others continue the climb to the top of the trail.

I believe that trauma, loss, discouragement and grief require us to slow down and pull back from the frantic pace of daily life, and can even be an invitation to look for the small things that witness to us that God is aware of us and our struggles, and that He desires to lift us with all that He created specifically to bring beauty into our lives, and peace into our hearts.

Of course He knew we would meet with difficulty in this life, and I believe He planned  to surround us with things that would give us healing, hope and courage, if we would only open our eyes to them.

So if you are seeking that healing, and if you find sometimes that your hope and courage are failing you, slow down. Don’t let the length of life’s journey discourage  you, but rather, focus just on today, and open your eyes and find one of God’s messages of hope – a beautiful view of a mountain, meadow, or lake;  the song of a bird outside your window, or the intricate beauty of a flower.

Choose a slower pace – and find hope!

-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

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!

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.

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

I used to sing in the shower all the time, years ago. I think it was always an unconscious, spontaneous reaction to joy deep in my heart. I would often find myself singing without even thinking about it.

But then when the hard times came more often and lasted longer, and my heart grew heavy, I couldn’t do it as often. The songs just died on my lips – if they ever got that far.

Then since Marty died, I don’t know that I’ve done it at all.

I never thought about it, though. It’s not like even once the thought crossed my mind, “You don’t sing in the shower anymore.” It was simply no longer part of my life.

But there I was this morning, singing, and I recognized it as a happy song from my youth, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside where it’s been hidden for a long time.

I was taken aback. I had thought I was healing well, months ago. Yet here was evidence that there had still been healing that needed to happen before my heart was free to invite those cheerful lyrics and winsome melodies back, and to let them spill forth without any conscious effort.

Is there more healing yet to come? Doubtless. Not only from the death of my spouse, and not only from the years of difficulty that preceded that event. I have yet to heal from random wounds that I’ve covered over, hoping they’ll be forgotten. I need to heal from wrongs I’ve done for which I cannot forgive myself.

I have found that healing comes best and most thoroughly when I draw near to the Great Healer, Christ, and ask for His help.

As I study His word, make changes in my life to be more in line with His principles, and try harder to follow His example, I feel His forgiveness and His acceptance of my weak offering. Each time I make even a little progress, my heart is lighter, I feel closer to Him, and I feel a deeper joy growing in my heart.

Wherever you are in your healing process, I invite you to join me in seeking Him, the one True Healer. I know doing so will bless your life.

And who knows, maybe one day you’ll find yourself …

singing in the shower!

To Your Healing,

Roslyn

(For ideas on accelerating your healing, see pages 37-117 in my book, SOLO – Getting It All Together When You Find Yourself Alone.)