Grant me the Serenity

Feeling a little overwhelmed tonight. Got off the phone with my mother, and as I was asking her about some food I'd made yesterday for her, she said, "I can't eat that for breakfast." I mentioned that it isn't breakfast time but eight p.m. She fought me a little and then asked my father who confirmed what time it really is.

Now that scared me. It's so easy for me, who has most of my wits, (well, that's questionable at times), to know the date, day and time. As a matter of fact, and you can ask anyone, I'm like a human time clock. As long as I check the time before my husband and I go somewhere, I usually have a pretty good idea, if asked, of the correct hour, etc. It's something I've always been able to do.

But forgive me, I've gotten off the subject. My stomach is clenched, and I have a tickle of fear in my spine. I wonder if Mom's getting worse. Certainly she is forgetting more and more. And her cooking skills have really faltered. She is repetitive and only speaks of the past. I want to run away, I want to scream, I want....something!

I want my mother, the way she was. I miss calling her and having her ask about my day. I miss the advice given, better than any therapist. I miss her quick wit and humor, and how you couldn't pull the wool over her at all. There was a time a few years back, that I heard a still, small voice inside me as I sat on my back porch on a lovely spring day. It said: Enjoy your mother.  I had a terrible feeling at that time, that what it meant that was Mom would be passing. I had no idea it was her mind that would pass, and with it, all that is dear about her.

Don't get me wrong. I am thrilled to still have her. We can laugh and talk about times past. And though it takes very long to explain anything that is going on in my life right now, I try to find the patience and will to go on each and every day.

God grant me the serenity to accept my mother the way she is. Give me the peace of mind and heart, give me understanding and love. God, watch over your beloved daughter, my mother, and help our family to bond together through this time and give us the knowledge we need to do right by her, and continue to give her dignity as she falters more and more. Thank you Father for the time we've had with her, and keep her safely in your care.

Amen

An Amazing Group of Young People

I think it was the movie "Signs" that said: There are no coincidences. I happen to believe that.

Mom and Dad are up in age, and their house is showing the signs of its own slowing down of sorts. Old, rotted wooden windows, peeling paint and a shower that's been caving in for several years.

My father had always been the type of guy who could repair anything. There wasn't much he couldn't do in his healthy, robust youth. We all looked to Dad as a sort-of super hero, and would call him for any jobs in our homes, large or small. When my father became a heart patient, the tables turned drastically. No longer could me or my brother call upon him for help. It was we who became the helpers, the caregivers.

I learned a lot though: how to cut hedges well, as Dad would sit by while I had the hedge trimmers in hand, guiding me with his words and the rubber end of his cane as he'd point and say "you missed a spot." I learned many other jobs: painting, gardening, grass-cutting, things only Dad could do. I felt a sense of pride.

As the years passed, my own life got in the way, and little by little, my parents house would succumb to the ravages of time. My brother and I had our own families, so we would do the best we could, but so many issues crept up; things we couldn't do ourselves, jobs that got way too big. Especially the bathroom shower.

I asked around. Did anyone know someone perhaps who could be of help? Does anyone do this type of work? As I read my list of home issues. I was always rewarded with the same answers: either "no," or "well, it will cost you a fortune." Rejected once again, I would walk away, hoping and praying that someone, anyone, would step up and give us the guidance needed to begin and complete this job, or some of the others.

I found myself praying on the way to work each day. One of my most recent prayers was: "Lord, I ask that you would let my Dad live to see goodness, favor and blessing on his house. I pray that somehow a miracle would occur to be a help to him." But time would pass, and the shower wall began to give way more and more. Dad tried his own hand at small attempts of repair with my brother, but it looked bad, and worse than that, it seemed unsafe and unhealthy.

Two months ago, my father came back from church with a paper bulletin in his hand. "Kar," he asked me, "what do you think this means? Catholic Youth Heart Camp? Do you think it is something for heart patients?"

I read over the paragraphs, my eyes widening as I saw all the jobs this youth camp allegedly did. There seemed to be nothing they wouldn't tackle. There was a telephone contact number of one of the nun's in Dad's church. I phoned the sister the following day and found out it was true! If a family was in particular need, we could sign up to have work done around the house; inside and out. I filled out paperwork, answered questions, and I got Mom and Dad's house on the list immediately.

Yesterday the nicest group of young people I may have ever met, showed up with their adult mentor/supervisor. As we walked around my parent's property, talking of all the jobs that needed attention, I found their positive attitudes refreshing. It seemed there was nothing they wouldn't be able to do.... and that included fixing the shower.

I am an emotional person. Especially when it comes to seeing a miracle before my eyes. I cried right then and there, right in front of the group of seven young people and their leader. I told them that they were an answer to a prayer I'd been praying for a while. I couldn't believe that God would send this group to my family at just the right moment. Not early, but certainly not late. That's how He rolls. His timing is so different from ours. When I want to give up and throw in the proverbial towel, God is there and has my back. Not only my back, but all of me! And, it seems, my family's back and all of them as well!

The youth group is still working there as I type this, but my parents are in awe of the kindness of the teenagers and their mentor. They are polite, caring, Godly, hard-working. They don't grumble or complain, but work with their whole hearts as unto the Lord. This is what the Bible tells us to do, and I've never seen it more than through this youth camp.

These are young people, from what I understand, who give up a week of their precious summer, raising their own money for a time of prayer, reflection and very hard work. They give of themselves unselfishly, and I believe they get back a generous portion of God's blessings.

I had an answered prayer. And it came in the form of a group of teens. God can use you, my friend. He can use me too. Maybe, just maybe we can be the answered prayer for someone else. It's very, very possible.

It Will Change

A Facebook post from a friend of mine prompted me to write this today. He's had some hardship financially, and wanted to try to enjoy some simpler pleasures this summer: miniature golf, ice cream cones and such. I applaud this, as many, many times, and still to this day, it's the simplest things that have brought me great joy.

Sometimes the comforting scent of April fresh fabric softener, or the scent of pine. Other times, it's been a string of white twinkle lights above my fireplace on a rainy evening. My cat's furry belly, and the sound of his purring. Enjoying a Reese's peanut butter cup after a long day of work. A few moments of bliss reading a favorite novel. An old CD I haven't listened to for years; something from earlier in my life that brings back a sweet little memory. Swinging on my porch swing, listening to the symphony of feathered friends.

I could go on and on, because my family and I have been simple people. We never went on grand vacations and such. A trip to the local amusement parks to play Fascination, or ride a few rides; an overnight stay or two at a cottage near Conneaut Lake Park. We never had tons of money or the financial security that some people seem to enjoy. And it was fine. We had laughter and love, fights and closeness, but we had each other and quality time.

When adversity strikes, and choices are to be made, sometimes we feel as if we'll crumble. There's a setback in our finances or health, and all of a sudden, even the simplest of joys fall by the wayside. We feel as if we'll never recover or get back out of that pit. That our world is on hold, and we have no idea how long before we will even smile again.

There have been major events in my life that threatened to pull me down and keep me there. My mother's battle with mental health issues when I was a young girl. How do you ever recover from that? I became quiet and sullen. I see pictures of myself from that time and I looked like the weight of the world lay on my shoulders. I wondered if I'd ever be happy or carefree like other little girls I knew. I never thought I'd see my mother again.

Or my year-long trial in seventh grade with a group of boys who chose to bully me, calling me names and making fun of me. I trudged home day after day hoping they would find something else to do, or some new victim to harass. I hated myself believing the lie inside my head that said "you're no good, you're stupid, you are what they say you are. You will not make it through this."

Then when scoliosis struck with fear and the unknown of my health as a young teen, I never thought I would be "normal" ever again. I would always feel different, odd, and deformed.

I can say to you, my friend, keep your head up. Find the will to crawl out of your setback, no matter what it takes. I am living proof that time heals all wounds, even things as bad as financial hardship. Years ago I was on food stamps and could barely pay my bills. I had to be thrifty in my spending and living. And you can do it too. It isn't forever, nothing is. I know it feels that way, but adversity always passes. Even if it takes several years of caution, of not being able to afford certain things you feel that you can't live without, in time, the sun will peek out of the gray cloud of depression, and you'll be amazed and so proud of yourself for doing this, for finding a way in the dark.

Oh, and don't you dare put living on hold. You can make a choice--you don't have to sit in a darkened room staring at a blank wall, thinking just how much you messed up, or why did this happen to me, the usual victim mentality. No, you pick your head up, eat a good meal, go for a walk, sing a song, enjoy your health at this moment in time. Talk with people as if nothing is wrong--that you don't have a care in the world. Act "as if" you are absolutely fine. Because the look on our countenance and the words that come out of our mouth are powerful, my friends. Life is for living and that means for each and every one of us.

Trust me: it will change.

I always loved this song and video. It's Billy Joel's "Don't Forget Your Second Wind."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhxjNYvJbgM

The Long Path Ahead

When the I.T. tech on the other end of the phone said these words last week: "I think you have a bad problem," my heart sank and I wanted to vomit.

Our computer at work had gotten what is known as a ransomware encryption, and someone literally scrambled our data, and was holding it for ransom. After many phone calls and one awesome computer genius, we were back up a few days later, albeit a lot more cautious, and unfortunately at a loss for some of our data and appointments.

I cried, I screamed, I bargained with God. I didn't want this problem, and thought I would go insane if I had to face the mountain of work before us to try and retrieve as much old information as possible, and still run business as usual.

The first day back after a long holiday weekend, and I turned my own computer on and stared at the screen for a full three minutes. I think I was holding my breath, I can't be sure, but if I was, then I may hold a new record. I slowly and cautiously typed an appointment, answered the ringing phone, greeted several patients and began a regular work day at the dental office.

I took time to make a list of all the things that would have been lost. It seemed daunting. Not only did we lose patient daily appointments, but we lost every payment made for one month's time; that meant insurance payments, cash, checks and credit cards. How would I find them?

Luckily I'm an old-fashioned type who still writes most everything down, though it is a lot of extra work. We keep a booklet on the cash entered, every patient that had come in during that time had sticky notes in their charts with insurance information, and I actually had printed sheets that showed every single person that came in through the last four weeks of missing info!

Go ahead, make fun of me for not "getting with the times" and loving electronics and going paperless, but in this instance, it was a blessing for our office that we didn't completely change over yet.

Little by little, I began to crawl out of the hole. Our other front desk girl had her hands full with her own duties, and between us both, we began to see a crack of light in the dark, dark tunnel.

I had pictured myself never smiling again. I had pictured this summer being one long drawn out time at work, never enjoying a moment of it since we had so much to do with this issue. Not only are we about forty percent better right now, but my co-worker and I found time to laugh and giggle. What felt like an impossibility became possible.

Is it going to be perfect? Nope. Because we lost the daily patient appointments for the next month, and every time our door opens, we aren't exactly sure who is going to walk through it. Can we do it though? You bet. We can do it with smiles on our faces, a song in our heart, a good attitude, and God's help.

Have me and my co-worker been praying about this? Yes. For I believe God is concerned about everything in our lives. From what we may see as mundane or trivial, or what may feel insurmountable and hopeless, there's always hope. He does care. No, He isn't going to snap His fingers and take this all away, but with His help, we are able to do what we thought we couldn't. I know I would not be anywhere without Him. When I try to tackle anything, any task on my own without first consulting God, when I plunge straight ahead making my own decisions without seeking His guidance, I am lost. He has given me the peace, the intelligence, the drive to push forward with this mountain before me, this long path ahead, and instead of losing my joy over what I felt was impossible, I now can look with hope to each day bringing something new and unexpected.

I Want That

I've been looking at Debbie Macomber's Facebook page, reading more about her in Guidepost magazine and such. I like her face. It's always cheery and sunny. She reflects goodness to me, and when I read her posts, I feel that she really cares about her readers and fans.

I want that. I want to make people happy with my written words. I want stories of the humanness of people, and how they overcome obstacles and find God. I want that. I want to have a face filled with sunshine and goodness. I want to care about each person that reads something from me.

I want to lead people to Christ with my words, show them that there's something bigger than their problems, encourage and give them hope. I want that.

I want my life to be a testimony of goodness, no matter how much I've messed up or continue to do so, I want my words to be seasoned and tempered. I want that.

What do you want? Have you asked yourself that lately? Are you so caught up in daily life, problems and issues you have no control over? Have you long since given up on your dreams and plans thinking that you're too old, or heaven forbid, not good enough. What are you willing to do about it?

I blog, I write stories. I listen to people's stories. I try to live in a way that would make my parent's proud, my son proud. Do I always succeed? Nope. But I'm not sitting there, gathering dust, wondering what if? Or what could be.

I mess up, pick myself back up, and try, try again. I have dreams, goals and desires, and I want to make them come true, if that's what God wills.

Don't be afraid. Step out. Step up. Live your life and try something new. Want something with all your heart? Ask God. Never stop asking Him. And wait for His answer. It may surprise you. Sometimes it's a still, small voice, a nagging feeling you may have. Other times, a door opens wide, and God is there waiting with open arms, inviting you to live the life you were meant to live.

Let's all want that. Let's want to do more for Him. In doing so, we will find the gifts and talents that are lying just beneath the surface. Those things we are good at, or are supposed to do.

May you find yours.

The Memory Box

It sits in the back of my clothes cupboard. Years worth of cards, letters, pictures and memorabilia all are stuffed inside. I'd wanted to do a little organizing, so I pulled out the old memory box. I must have tried rearranging it once before, for I found birthday cards bundled together, each from a specific person: my husband, son, brother and parents. Other assorted items lay in the bottom: a broken piece of a hockey stick signed by a favorite player from when I was younger. A plastic heart necklace from some kids I taught Sunday school to back in the early eighties. Items from my Nonna who had passed away long ago. It had been a long time since I'd viewed the contents of this box. What other treasures would I find?

I began opening the cards. There were humorous ones from my brother. We'd always had the type of relationship where we ribbed one another mercilessly. He would comment on birthday cards of how old I was getting--since I'm fourteen years his senior--and would include little drawings and sayings that had meant something to us through the years.

I opened cards from old friends, people I hadn't seen in a while. I found thank you's and good wishes from people when I left a job I'd worked at for twenty-seven years. Some of the patients wishing me well in my new life, and a letter of recommendation from my old boss that warmed my heart.

When I found my son's cards, I paused and read each of them carefully. A mother treasures such things especially when you aren't always vocal about your feelings. The writing inside the cards spoke volumes to me about the way he felt. So much appreciation for me as a mom. And love that he isn't able to express so easily.

The last batch of cards were from my parents. There were ones all the way back to the late seventies. There were humorous drawings from them, silly stick figures and animals that had made me laugh through the years. There were sayings from our favorite movies, and even some poetic prose from my mother. When I found a few letters my mother had written and carefully tucked into the birthday cards, I took the time to read them word for word. With her worsening dementia, it has become more important than ever to remember who she once was, and how caring and intelligent she'd been.

There were words from Mom that told of her happiness of our closeness. That we were more than mother and daughter, but best friends too. There were words that told of her feelings of love and how proud she'd been of me, though I'd always felt I messed up so terribly in my life. She called me her shining star, and said that if it wasn't for me, she didn't think she would have made it through some of the difficult times. I felt overwrought with emotion, and the words blurred on the pages of the letters as tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over onto my cheeks. My husband asked why I was crying, and I couldn't bring to words what it meant to me finding these precious gifts tucked away in an old box.

I still need to weed through and do a bit more organizing. But today I'll do it with a lighter heart. For now I know just how much I've been loved and appreciated.

The Neighborhood Cat

He was orange and scruffy. He seemed ageless. He was bold, unafraid and in your face. He was friends with every child at the grade school down the road. His name was Tiger, and he was the neighborhood cat.

Just yesterday, my father asked me about that cat. My father is eighty-five, and I found myself amazed that the memory of Tiger popped into his head. "Kar," he asked. "Do you remember the cat that was friends with every kid at the school years back?"

I hadn't thought of Tiger in a while. But he is one cat I won't ever forget, especially since it meant so much to Dad to talk about him. It warmed me that thinking that the silly cat made my father smile and he couldn't stop talking about it for days.

Tiger would stand at the bus stop across the street waiting with a group of children for their morning ride to school. At the end of their day, he would trudge patiently and carefully across the street, once again, as if to welcome them home. There were times he would follow one particular child for a while, as if he knew that they needed a little extra care or friendship that day perhaps.

And Tiger would walk to the grade school near his own house, spending time just like one of the gang with groups of children, rubbing in and out of their ankles, looking up quizzically into their faces as if trying to understand what they were talking about.

The cutest story about this cat however happened when I sat watching a school concert one evening with friends. My son, Matt, was in a little chorus routine, and all of the moms jostled for position in the auditorium. It was a stuffy evening from what I remember, so the doors to the outside were propped wide open.

The lights dimmed, the children began to assemble in their places on the stage before us, when big as life, Tiger walked out onto the stage with them. Audience members couldn't believe it. That silly cat had gone too far. Boldly, brazenly walking not only into the auditorium, but also believing he had every right to be there with what he'd come to know as his friends.

Many people pulled out their video recorders and began filming, others erupted in laughter. One teacher went to shoo the cat from the stage, but of course the damage had already been done, and Tiger had completely stolen the show.

I never really found out what happened to that cat, as my own life got in the way. Rumor had it, that someone actually stole him from the neighborhood because they wanted to give him what they thought was a better home.

Whatever happened, I know that our lives are a little better for having known this special kitty. I learned some lessons from him. Be bold. Be friendly. Be caring. Be all "in your face" when you want something. Make new friends, keep the old. And rub a ton of ankles. Whatever will warm another person, that's what Tiger did. And that's something I'd like to do in this world. Touch lives and warm people with stories such as this one. There's so much seriousness. I want to be remembered like Tiger.

A mother's birthday wish

Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Matt, Happy birthday to you!

A mother's love doesn't dwindle over time. On the contrary, I believe it gets stronger. When our kids were little, they needed us for most everything. And as they grew, they needed us less and less. So if on my son's birthday I want to make a little fuss all over him, I'm gonna do it. I don't get much of a chance for this sort of behavior any longer.

Did I embarrass him today? Hope so. For isn't that what birthdays are all about? A time for fussing loudly, feeling special and making a little noise?

So here's to you my dear son. May you always be blessed. May God hold you in the palm of His hand. May you find favor in all that you do. May you have good friends, and never know what loneliness is. May you laugh often and love much. May you always have respect for those in authority, your grandparents and me and your father. May you have success in all that you put your hand to.

May you find a relationship with God at some point in your life, knowing He's the true author of all the events. May you feel a comfort, a peace in speaking with Him, knowing you can trust your heart to the author and perfecter of all things.

May you live a long and healthy life, enjoying your work, play and relationships. And may you know just how much this crazy mother loves you!

Happy birthday, son.

Refreshing and Regrouping

Nerves, frazzled. Lower back pain, incredible. Sleep, disrupted. Yes, this is how I felt several times this weekend. Caught up in the frenzy of food preparation, I obsessed while at work, and even in my dreams. You see, I'm an Italian, and this is how we roll. It's never enough. No matter how many gnocchi I made, as I looked at them on the wooden cutting board in my kitchen, I felt there should be more.

The Honeybaked Ham I'd purchased all of a sudden seemed so tiny, never enough to feed a hungry crowd. And what of side dishes? Were there plenty to go around?

My work week had also been daunting. With my new position as office manager, I've had to put out several fires, you see. When a phone call comes in from a patient who just doesn't understand why there was a specific charge on their bill, I must now deal with this, taking the time to pull apart their account until I find the issue. Or an irate patient who has a complaint. I've had to put on a good face, take the brunt of their anger, diffusing the ticking time bomb.

My mother's memory was rough this weekend too. Her dementia seemed to be worsening. I found myself snapping at her, caught up in how hard I've been working. Usually when she asks the same questions twelve or fourteen times, I'm able to answer them with poise and grace. Sometimes changing my answer ever so slightly, or chuckling a bit with her about it. But when your last nerve is frayed beyond repair, it isn't easy to continue to be kind.

My husband has added to the list as well. I love him, but let's just say, when he's around a little more than usual,( and trust me, he deserves the days off), I have no time to write, no time to myself. Since he puts in so many hours, he misses me, and feels we should spend every waking moment together.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run far, far away and not stop until I was someplace where nobody would find me. Well, at least for a few hours or a day.

Today is that day.

When my kids were little, we had friends that gave their children "Mental Health Days." They knew when their child was stressed beyond measure, and would offer them a respite from school, keeping them home for just one day. It would work, because little junior would bounce to school the next day, all refreshed and regrouped, ready to face whatever challenges the day brought.

This morning I decided on such a time. No phone calls. No television, well, except for the blissful hour that I watch an episode of a favorite show. No changing out of my bummy sleep clothes: the too big t-shirt, well- worn from years of washings, and the sweat pants that are miles too long. Hair disheveled, face, unwashed. I am on strike, picketing in the quiet confines of my own home. I will take time to write at least a thousand words in the book I'm currently working on. I will eat something totally bad, perhaps a bowl of ice cream, and I will forgive myself for it. I will not have any deadlines today, think about anything that needs to be done. And work, what's that? For there is not one thing I will clean today.

We all need such a day from time to time. A mental regrouping of sorts. Young mothers are stressed beyond measure; single moms especially who have no respite or a moment to themselves. Others who are continuous caregivers for a sick loved one. They, too, are human, and in need of a break. Perhaps we can be the one to give them a few hours rest.

I don't think it's a reason for guilt or shame. I think it's a necessary gift we must give ourselves from time to time. And if like me, today is that day for you, I hope you enjoy the solitude, the refreshment that a time like this can bring.

Oh, the phone just rang. And it was hubby asking if I could look something up about his new phone. My answer: Sorry honey, but not today. Ahhh, the bliss.

Hold on or let go?

Many times in my life, I've felt that I've been wronged. Or someone treated me unfairly without hearing the whole story, rushing to judgements that were completely untrue. Other times, situations that I had no control over would happen, leaving me devastated in their wake, scratching my head and asking what I did to deserve this.

I was married in my very early twenties to a man who the sun rose and set on. He was extremely handsome, very funny, and my family and everyone who met him, just adored him. We fell in love and married within a year. It appeared to be what I'd dreamed of since I was a little girl: the perfect man, perfect simple life, perfect love. Yet I had no idea what was going to happen.

Time began passing and strange occurrences began. The phone would ring at odd hours in our little apartment and then I'd hear the loud click as someone would hang up the minute I answered. My husband's personality would change drastically, and he'd come home at odd hours from his job, and make excuses to me--a very naive girl--about his behavior.

Then the day came I would never have believed. He told me he was leaving me. He wanted so much more in life. I was numb, betrayed, hurt beyond words. It had to be me. I'm not good enough, of course. I would later find out he'd left me for another woman, and that was the reason for all the suspicious behavior and phone calls.

I lost my appetite for a while, and depression settled over me, threatening to suck the life and joy right from me. Then as time passed, I began to heal, and it would take many years to truly overcome all the hurt I'd gone through.

Many, many years later, this same man, my ex-husband, approached me about our time together. He said he'd been unable to live with the guilt he felt, and the pain he'd caused. I granted him a few minutes to get "things" off his chest, confessing to me all he'd done in the marriage. Luckily, I was so far removed from him that none of this affected me the way it once would have. I only saw before me a shell of who he once was. A man that needed me to say that I forgave him. And I did just that: I told him he was forgiven. I let go of all the feelings of anger, resentment, hurt and insecurity I'd once held onto so tightly. I don't know if he felt free, but I certainly did.

There would be other times in my life when I'd heard about something a person said behind my back that was truly unfair. A person either that I knew well, perhaps a loved one. What would I do with this knowledge? I could choose to hold on to my well-deserved anger, after all, they had no right to say those things. Or I could choose once again, to forgive and let it go.

Bitterness and unforgiveness are powerful feelings.  We wield them over people like a huge sword, swinging it before us in an effort to hold people back, keep them at bay lest they hurt us again. I've never found any good in maintaining this stance. All that comes from such a position is a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, health issues begin to creep in, and you find yourself wallowing in well-deserved self-pity, which turns into self-loathing at some point.

What happens when we let it go? Immediately you are free of the bondage of what the infraction has done to you. The other person may not even know this, but you know it. You throw off the chains and yoke of anger, hatred, every mean spirited feeling that unforgiveness causes. You are choosing to think about something else. You are free to go on with the life you were meant to live, no longer bound or tied to thoughts of the person who once hurt you. Let them go. For what good is it to harbor ill feelings all of your life?

We may have to wash our hands of certain people who have abused us or hurt us in a major way. Some people are unsafe to be around. But at least entertain the thought of forgiving them for their treatment, if not to their face, then in the stillness of your heart. Because they, too, are flawed humans, as we are. They have their reasons for the havoc they wreak and the pain that they cause. But we are the bigger person, the healthier person, the truly free person.