...today's Title of Liberty

I observed a series of vivid photos taken of a graveside military funeral.
The photos spoke of the soberness of the ceremony.
Crisply uniformed soldiers of the military funeral services detail.
Lifting and moving a flag draped coffin with the greatest of respect.
Pictures of what appeared to be family, friends standing, trying to be strong.
Seeing their loved one off, on that eternal journey.

Our eyes are always drawn to the flag, it's brilliant colors.
Performing it's own task that day of representing the deep meaning of the event.
The phrase "Title of Liberty" comes to mind.

Some of us observers may not have thought much beyond the pictures.
Beneath the flag were the mortal remains of perhaps a young man or woman.
One who felt the call of duty.
Felt the love of country to willingly place him or herself in personal danger.

Or, it might have been the remains of one of America's old warriors.
Another time, another conflict somewhere early in his life.
He'd had the good fortune to survive, to come home and live his life as he chose.
Perhaps a very normal life.
A career, a wife and kids, grandkids.
He might have been the man across the street who waved when he mowed his lawn.

********

An ancient record contains more of the story behind the "Title of Liberty".
In it, a valiant leader rallies his faltering fellow countrymen.
To stand and fight against an overwhelming enemy ...or perish.
He tore a large piece from his coat or cape and wrote these words,
placing it upon a pole, for all to see.

"In memory of our God, our religion, and freedom, and our peace, our wives, and our children."

This event took place on this continent, about 73 years before Christ's birth.
Find it in The Book of Mormon, page 323. (Alma chap. 46)
Could this not be something from today's headlines?
Could there be anything more important than what he wrote upon that cloth?

********

I will always remember my dad's flag draped coffin.
I was 48.
My dad had lived to 78.
My parents had just celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.
We knew he was about done.
Failing fast.
He had instilled in me a love of country.
A love and respect for the flag.

Our early lives were very different.

At 17, I was driving my 1962 Dodge truck around, listening to 8 track tapes.
The farthest from home I'd been was Phoenix, AZ.

When my dad was 17 he was visiting far off, exotic places.
Compliments of the United States Marine Corps.
Guam.
Guadalcanal.
Iwo Jima.
Well, he was 19 and a half when he went ashore, February 1945, at Iwo Jima.
With a bunch of his friends.
Some of them lived, and I got to talk to them over the years.
I called a couple of them and let them know the day Dad died.
Old warriors.

I've tried to help Boy Scouts...
...and my daughters understand what the flag represents.

Once I was with my visiting daughter, Rachel, at a Swap Meet.
Swap Meets are an interesting hodge podge of people, cultures ...and junk.
Some good junk, lots of bad junk.
We wandered by table after table heaped with stuff.

One item visually jumped out at me.
An American flag, unfolded and mixed in with a lot of other clutter.
Treated like an old towel or blanket.
To the table's 'proprietors', it meant nothing, amongst all the other items.
Perhaps hundreds of people had walked by, not noticing it.

I removed it from the pile and gave it a good shake.
Asked Rachel to help me fold it.
"Just follow my movements."
Years of showing Scouts how to care for and fold the flag made it easy.
Rachel was great.
The older Mexican gentleman who "owned" it, or owned the table ...watched.
Closely.
Some people stopped and watched the folding.
No more than a dozen or so.

But that day they saw, close up, an American flag being folded with respect.
By two, born and bred, Americans.
The older man, in broken english said the word "soldier" with a questioning voice.
"American Boy Scout" was my answer.

I laid the now properly folded flag back on the table.
Prominently.

I could have bought it, carried it away under my arm, but it had a job to do.
It now rested there on his table as a symbol.
A symbol of the very freedoms he was enjoying that day.
Something that is not purchased with coin and currency.

That folded flag meant more to me than all the red, white and green flags displayed.
Flags with an eagle holding a serpent in it's grasp.
Flags they were using for atmosphere and ...shade, of all things.

********

We don't usually know who's funeral it is in photos, nor is it important.
We should remember though, that somewhere, sometime, somehow the person stepped up.
To make a difference.
A contribution.
Of self.
The person may have traded his future for something he felt.

We are enjoying our "todays" because others gave up their "tomorrows".