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Paying
the Price
by
Claudia Goodman
Over 225 years
have passed since America fought for its independence, and 150 have
gone since the pioneers trekked west to the Salt Lake Valley. The
fathers and sons lost in war and the pioneers who died along the
trail are buried beneath the pages of history.
Today it is
difficult for many of our children to comprehend the tremendous
price that was paid for them to enjoy life in a free land, where
they can live the gospel in peace. Most of them do not know what
it is like to really suffer physical hardship. They have never
had to go without shoes or a coat—or maybe even wear clothes that
are out of style. The only hunger they have really experienced
is two skipped meals on fast Sunday. For so many, the thought has
never crossed their minds that there might be some price required
to maintain the lifestyle they take for granted.
Yet, their forefathers
understood the price.
“They dreamed
of finding freedom
To worship and
to live,
But they never
claimed it
They died for
it instead
Yet they passed
the spark along
From father
down to son
And their children’s
children’s children
Lived by the
light they’d won…”
We are the children’s
children’s children, living in the light they bled and died to kindle.
Most of them did not live long enough to enjoy it. Why, then, did
they pay such a terrible price? Certainly not just for themselves.
They bought freedom for their posterity.
Last week I
was privileged to go on a pioneer trek with our stake. We wore
pioneer dresses, bonnets, bloomers, and aprons, while the young
men wore wool pants, cotton shirts, and suspenders. Our small bags
were searched for any traces of makeup, electronic devices, and
snacks. After we assembled our handcarts, we began walking, with
the youth pushing and pulling the handcarts. We walked thirteen
miles—from 6:30 p.m. to 2:00 a.m., with only the moonlight as our
guide. It was hard, and we were hungry and tired. But there were
no MacDonald’s stands along the trail. Even when we arrived at
“camp,” there was nothing—no toilets, not even port-a-johns—only
a tiny cup of chicken broth and a small, plain white roll. We slept
out under the stars, exhausted. The next morning we were awakened
at 7:00, but there was no breakfast waiting. We had to gather wood,
build a fire, and cook cornmeal mush. (Some of the youth had never
tasted cooked cereal before. They didn’t like it, but somehow they
managed to get it down.) The trek continued as the sun beat down
on us, then as the rain pelted our makeshift shelters. And still
there were only limited amounts of very plain food that we had to
cook from scratch.
When we returned
home, people asked, “Well, how was it?” I watched with interest
as the youth searched for a reply. It wasn’t really fun, in the
traditional sense. It was hard—at times overwhelming. There were
occasions when we wondered if we would make it. But in the end,
almost every one of us said we would do it again in a heartbeat.
Why? Because we discovered strength within ourselves we didn’t
realize was there. We learned that we could live on a lot less
food than we thought. We discovered that we could keep going, even
when it seemed impossible. We caught just a glimmer of what our
pioneer ancestors (yes, they belong to all of us in a spiritual
sense) experienced as they proved to the Lord how much their religion
meant to them and paved the way for us.
At the end of
their trail there was no stop for hamburgers and fries as they whizzed
home in a car, no hot shower awaiting them in a comfortable home.
They faced a desolate, hot valley without food or shelter. They
began again in the middle of nowhere to build a future not only
for themselves, but for us.
As bombs threaten
many parts of the world and soldiers engage in combat, how can we
transmit to our children an appreciation for the price that has
been paid for them to live in comfort? Do they understand the true
cost of peace? Can it be maintained by sitting idly by? Will they
learn to treasure it before they lose it or are forced to defend
it at a cost comparable to the original price? Perhaps it is possible
for us to help them remember before it is too late.
Look to the
Past.
One recurring
theme in the Book of Mormon is that when the people remembered the
captivity of their fathers, they prospered, and when they forgot,
they fell into pride and destruction. One such passage says, “And
now behold, I say unto you…that belong to this church, have you
sufficiently retained in remembrance the captivity of your fathers?…Have
ye sufficiently retained in remembrance that he has delivered their
souls?…” (Alma 5:6)
Learning about
the Lord’s people in the past and how He delivered them when they
turned to Him can strengthen all of us. It can also help us understand
how hard they worked to reach their promised lands—forty years after
400 years in bondage for the Israelites under Moses, and about nine
years for Lehi’s family to arrive in the Americas. Even the people
of Alma the elder suffered a great deal in bondage to the Lamanites
before they were delivered and joined the people of King Mosiah.
The story of
America’s beginnings and fight for independence is also very poignant.
Again freedom was bought at a high price in suffering and lost lives.
Stories of our pioneer ancestors are similar. We need to remember
them and read them often to our children. Traveling to historical
sites can renew our feelings of commitment. International, national,
and church monuments give us all role models of courage and sacrifice
as we remember the captivity of our fathers and continue in their
footsteps.
Visiting our
living relatives can also help. I’ll never forget visiting my husband’s
uncle who fought on the front lines in World War II under General
Patten. It was nothing short of a miracle that his life was spared
on numerous occasions. Hearing such stories gives a living perspective
of how the Lord is mindful of each of us. As children come to know
their grandparents and hear experiences from their lives, their
understanding of life expands in appreciation for what has gone
before them.
Look to the
present.
Somehow we need
to teach our children that life is not about winning the lottery.
It is about rolling up our sleeves and working hard—“with all our
heart, might, mind, and strength,” as the Lord put it—in order to
win the blessings that are lasting. There is so much more to life
than just being comfortable and having fun. Nothing equals the
exhilaration that comes in obtaining something that is won at a
very high price.
On our pioneer
trek, it was interesting to watch some of the youth constantly looking
for ways to help. They gathered the wood, started the fires, prepared
and cooked the meals, and set up the shelters without being asked,
while others sat on wood stumps and seemed deaf when asked to help
with the dishes. One very real concern regarding missionary work
right now is the number of young men and women leaving the mission
field early, not because of unworthiness, but because they don’t
know how to work. Just like our pioneer trek, life is not always
fun. Much of it is boring, tedious, or downright painful. Yet,
what makes the view at the mountaintop so breath-taking is the long,
hard climb to get there. We appreciate most the things we sacrifice
for.
One of the best
things we can do for our children is to require them to work. One
of the general authorities said that when he told his father, “I
don’t want to do that,” his father replied, “You don’t have to want
to, you just have to do it!”
Several years
ago my husband Steve was conducting the Logan High School orchestra.
At a large regional festival involving all the western states, they
were selected as the outstanding orchestra. Everyone from neighboring
states kept asking, “Where’s Logan?” It was just a small farming
town they had never heard of before. As they played for the entire
conference, I realize why they had been selected. The piece they
performed was a Shostakovich symphony that changed time meter in
every single measure. It was impossible to just listen and know
where to come in. It required every single member of the orchestra,
including the conductor, to count every single measure. Their minds
could not drift for one second. If they didn’t concentrate the
entire time, they would be hopelessly lost and miss key entrances.
The success of the piece depended on every single player. If one
of them failed, the performance would be ruined. Each time they
played the piece, they never knew until the last note whether they
would succeed or not.
The entire audience
felt the suspense as they played and somehow sensed the incredible
concentration and commitment required. When the last note sounded,
they rose to their feet in the most spontaneous standing ovation
I have ever witnessed. The students from that humble community
stood in awe, listening to the thunderous applause, and I could
read in their faces the stunning realization that they had truly
done something magnificent. The achievement of something that was
right on the edge of impossible was electrifying to everyone present.
A life of ease and pleasure can never produce such a feeling. It
comes only after giving every ounce of effort for a sustained period
of time. That’s why having a baby or going on a mission brings
such indescribable joy—because it’s so hard.
Look to the
future.
A life lived
solely for itself is not very fulfilling. There are many today
who would only have us ask, “What’s in it for me?” Yet the real
joy comes in sharing. Teaching our children to live for others
is a lifetime task. They learn by our examples and by experiences
provided for them to serve. They may not always appreciate them
at the time, but eventually they will realize the joy they bring.
The summer I
turned sixteen, by mother gave birth to my youngest sister. She
developed complications and had to be in bed most of the time.
As the oldest child, most of the responsibility for the home and
family fell on me. At first I felt very resentful as I was forced
to sacrifice my time doing menial housework, when I could have been
practicing my music or spending time with my friends. As the summer
wore on, however, I learned a priceless lesson. I developed deeper
bonds with my family than I had ever had, and I discovered the joy
and dignity that comes in working hard—even if it is scrubbing floors
and doing dishes.
Children who
learn to work hard and look out for others are the ones who are
willing to pay the price—whether it is to help out a struggling
classmate or a struggling nation. They are the ones who understand
that “freedom isn’t free,” and that they must do as Amaleki directs:
“…Yea, come unto him, and offer your whole souls as an offering
unto him…” (Omni 26)
The rewards
that come to those willing to pay the price are indescribable, for
not only do they achieve great things, but they tap into a power
beyond their own. The Lord has promised, “Therefore…, let us cheerfully
do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand
still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and
for his arm to be revealed.” (D&C 123:17) When we have fully
paid the price, the miracles will certainly follow.
They dreamed
of finding freedom
To worship and
to live
But they never
claimed it
They died for
it instead
Yet they passed
the spark along
From father
down to son
And their children’s
children’s children
Lived by the
light they’d won
Listen, listen,
you can hear them cry
Pass it on,
pass it on
Take the gift
they held so true
Pass it on,
pass it on
They paid the
price for you.
You are the
guardian of their light
You hold their
hallowed dream
Pass it on to
reaching hands
And hearts where
freedom rings
As you pass
the spark along
From father
down to son
Your children’s
children’s children
Will live by
the light you’ve won
Listen, listen,
come and join their cry
Pass it on,
pass it on
Keep the dream
before their view
Pass it on,
pass it on
They’re all
a part of you
--Claudia Goodman
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