Betsy’s Gold Star Love


Several years ago, I read about Betsy Schultz in the local newspaper. Her son, Captain Joseph Schultz, died on Memorial Day 2011—killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. Even before Joseph’s burial in Arlington Cemetery, Betsy began working on an idea to convert her large Tudor-styled bed and breakfast into a respite home for grieving Gold Star families. 

Losing her only child left her with unimaginable sorrow, but not without purpose.

To meet Betsy is to be introduced to inspiration. Even though her son made the ultimate sacrifice for his country, as a Gold Star Mom, Betsy now dedicates her life comforting other Gold Star families.






Over the past few years I’ve watched hundreds of volunteers and thousands of donated dollars come in to renovate this century-old home. Many of the volunteers are war veterans themselves. Fundraising efforts stretch across our country—just as the loss for Gold Star Families does.




Betsy’s heart knows the deepest of pains. But after spending just a few minutes with her you’ll feel her spirit of compassion. War losses don’t ever go away. Birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays will forever be reminders. Even ordinary days can bring fresh tears. Yet, Betsy intends to spend her life helping those who hurt she like does.








Betsy has changed me. The more I’m around her, the more I love the kind of love she has. This diminutive woman has a huge heart for thousands of hurting families she’s never met.

But one day she hopes to invite them, family by family, week by week, into a special home of comfort and peace—where they can be cared for by those who understand. What an incredible act of love.






As we celebrate Memorial Day, I thank those who’ve sacrificed their lives for my freedom. 

And I thank Betsy for showing me how loving Gold Star families as they heal is a gift they truly deserve.

For more info Click Here.




Popular posts from this blog

Dreaming the Dream

Image
Dreaming big dreams about the future is easy for kids. The only thing standing in the way is time.  Kid’s dreams are not about skills, or opportunities, or even practicality. Those things come much later.  My grandson hopes to be professional soccer player when he grows up. This week, a small piece of his dream came true when his Boys and Girls Club was invited to participate in pre-game activities with the Seattle Sounders Football Club.  He got to suit up in a real jersey and walk on the field with a real pro player. Imagine a young soccer player looking up to who he hopes to be one day. If you haven’t taken the time to talk to a child about their future dreams—you should.  They believe. As we get older we sometimes forget that dreams fuel our hopes—and that's something we all need. So, do you still dream? Or have you left those childhood thoughts behind?  S pending time with children will  inspire you to believe agai
Read more

Wild or Tame? Which One Are You?

Image
Finally! Research that explains why I act the way I do. Columbia University’s Motivational Science Center studied people’s activities and what brought them the most happiness. Even more telling were how those activities changed as they aged. Twenty-somethings tend to equate happiness with high-energy activities. Words like excited and ecstatic are usually attached to spontaneous things—even risky things—and living life full throttle.  Researchers labeled this Promotion Motivation —the urge to take chances, including career moves that may not work out. Happiness comes from happenings—the more happenings, the more happiness. By age forty, adults associate happiness with things running smoothly at work and home. It’s also about feeling secure in relationships. Keeping healthy matters more too. This behavior is called Prevention Motivation —and people are more concerned with preserving and maintaining the things they value. It appears that time ofte
Read more

The Quiet Dad

Image
After my granddaughter’s gymnastics, she’d always ask to go to the park next door—even in the winter. When you’re a high energy child, cold is relative. Our routine seemed to overlap with a dad and his son. I’d watch them as I watched my granddaughter go through her favorite activities—crossbar, swings, spinner, and the curly slide.  But the dad was not doing the same. He’d go hand-in-hand with his boy—pointing to trees, clouds, and the texture of the grass. I could see they were in a different place—one of sights, smells, and feels.   His son didn’t speak, so the father spoke into the silence around them. Since it was winter, the park was quiet—just the four of us—an energetic girl, and a boy who experienced the park in a way I never had.   We were at the same place, but in different worlds.    I saw a father’s love for his son expressed in quiet words of exploration. Never once did his son use the swing or try the crossbars. His world was spent touching tree bark and looking a
Read more