Bold and Beautiful

Talking with my dad this morning it triggered a memory from a time when I was about 8 years old. My grandfather was a farmer and we lived only an hour away from his farm for a brief period in my childhood. On one particular day he summoned my dad out to look at a horse he had purchased in hopes that my dad would break her.

Stepping out of the car I spotted her instantly in the distance. She was a solid black dot amid the sea of a yellow field. From where I stood it looked like she was as far back as possible against the barbwire fence at the edge of my grandfather's property. I walked behind my dad and grandfather through the tall grass overdue for hay baling and found myself lost in daydreaming until my grandfather's hand stopped me. She was just in front of us. I looked up for what seemed to be miles completely stunned by the biggest horse I'd ever seen; my eyes nor my body could move as her big black eyes starred down at me. She gave a warning neigh that almost caused me to bolt from my grandfather's grip and I could feel my heart pounding in a panic.

My dad positioned the rope in his hand and told me that no matter what happened to stay close to my grandfather. Her sharp ears, like sonars, turned side to side trying to anticipate my dad's approach. He took his pipe out of his mouth and secured it in his front shirt pocket. I watched my dad slowly inch toward her. the rhythm of the rope angled in a circular motion at his side gaining momentum. Her eyes fixed on his every move, she neighed again but with much more force and raised up on her back legs tripling her size. I was frozen in my steps. She was majestic and strong, the scariest and most beautiful animal I'd ever seen. My grandfather said that she was full of spirit and wanted her broken but made it clear to my dad not her spirit. Something in that statement felt important but I was too young to understand what he meant.

Three tries and dad had the rope loosely around her neck. He pulled her close to get the bit into her mouth and in what seemed like one motion, my dad grabbed her mane and hopped up on her bare back. Not even a second later his body was flying through the air much like Wile E Coyote's mishaps with the Road Runner minus the explosions and ACME boxes in the background. My dad disappeared in the tall grass. It felt like an eternity as my eyes walked back and forth atop the field searching for movement. Finally, shaking his head and dusting the dirt off of his jeans, my dad appeared. Immediately he felt his front pocket and realized that the casualty of the day was his favorite pipe. After a few minutes of looking for it my dad gave up and walked toward us telling my grandfather that he'd not be trying that again. 

Standing in the field with that horse; I had one of my first philosophical epiphanies about the inner dwelling of our essence. The essence of spirit in all things. Too young for words to describe what it was, I was left with the feeling that there was something special in that horse, and, too, whatever that was... it was in me as well. She was not the only horse I had been around; she was the first with her spirit intact. Other horses could be felt by their conscience deep stares and some even seeming inquisitive as I walked among them. This horse was nothing like the stable horses. She was the Joan of Arc among her kind holding an invisible space that kept anyone from getting too close without permission. I felt small and insignificant looking up at her but knew she was aware of me being aware of her. The weight of that ominous feeling was like meeting greatness expectantly.

It was a powerful lesson that gains more depth in me as an adult. Native Americans believe in the Great Spirit housed in all things. It walks among us adding fragrance and meaning to every encounter we have. Feeling it is unforgettable. Knowing it unimaginable. Yet, we touch it each moment that we breathe. I am aware of it being aware of me no matter how insignificant I am in the world, and, yet, one small step on my part in it's direction and it rushes to rise up on its back legs daring me to be as strong, bold and beautiful in my life as it is in the world. 

Mona McPherson

Senior Care Done Right!

This past week I had the privilege of meeting two remarkable women that started a free adult daycare run by volunteers at St. Mark's by the Sea Lutheran Church. The church opens it's doors from 10:00-2:00 every Thursday. Families meeting their criteria can drop off their loved one secure in the knowledge that they will be entertained and well cared for in a locked area. The majority of the visitors to this daycare have beginning dementia/Alzheimer's and cannot be left alone anymore for safety reasons. As you can imagine, constant supervision of a loved one with dementia/Alzheimer's can feel overwhelming. Programs like this daycare allow the caregiver time to replenish their emotional, physical and mental reservoirs by getting the regular break that they need.

Sandy, one of the volunteers and founders, is a woman small in stature but big in personality; she bounced around the room beaming about the program and excited to share. The large room had work stations set up with various projects being supervised by a volunteer. She took me to a table where 6 men where folding used plastic sacks for the church's food drive. This saves the food drive volunteers time as they must prep bags of food to be sent home for 1800 school children each weekend. I was astonished at that staggering number but impressed that her visitors has such purposeful work to do and some were happy to say that it made them feel good to help. Sandy then took me to a table that they dedicate to one on one time. Each visitor has a memory box and in the box there are pictures of important people and events with note cards that are used as conversation starters. The visitor sits with the volunteer and gets to talk about their life then and now. It was quite moving to watch them share. The note cards have their previous occupation, loved ones names and tidbits about them personally so that the volunteer could steer them into the conversation.  The last table was an art project where they were coloring tiles with different magic markers. Later a solution was poured over the tile making a kaleidoscope of colors that were quite impressive once dried.

Sandy called Mary over to meet me and introduced her as the brainchild of the operation. Mary had gone through a season of being the caretaker for her mother in law who had dementia. That experience gave her thorough understanding about the need to be able to take a break from round the clock care. She spoke of her own need to replenish mind, soul and body before she reached the point of having nothing left to give to her mother in law. Mary shared that her vision moving forward is to have a coalition of churches join hand in hand so that there is a daycare being offered every day of the week in our community and not just on Thursday. She told me that the daycare has been been open since January and has waiting list. "This need is not going away!" I had to agree with her statement. Mary told me that she doesn't advertise and that out of the 12 regular visitors, only one is a member of their church. 

This is such a fabulous idea that I asked Mary if she'd help me get things started in Ormond Beach. My job will be to find churches willing to listen to how Mary's program works and her job will be to come in and educate them about how she made it work. Like Mary, those of us who have been through this journey, have gained much wisdom and need to reach back and share that wisdom with those just starting out. Mary said that the families of her visitors, without any prompting from her, started meeting at the church once a month as a support group and they have created a new community of assistance to one another. This is what happens when a great idea meets a true need, it begins to bless all involved. Look out Ormond Beach --- something spectacular is on the way in senior daycare!!!

Mona McPherson

Excuse me God, I lost my Stylus

As I was walking out of my facility the other day, my new phone chimed and suggested that I not forget to return my stylus. I turned it over to discover that it, INDEED, had a stylus slot, and, too, it was empty. I instantly started to look on the ground around me thinking it must have dropped out. After a few minutes of searching--I accepted the futility of my actions. As a student of all things spiritual, I did what any red blooded philosopher would do and summoned God for assistance. "You know I don't have time to crawl on the ground looking through all these weeds for a stylus ...please find my stylus!"

As I was getting in my car that "Still Small Voice", which, by the way, is NOT so still or so small, began badgering me about my audacity in summoning the Creator of the Universe for such a ridiculous matter. The image of God in the "Situation Room" in Heaven as Archangel Micheal bursts through the door began to play. Micheal's wings flaring in majesty of his position in the room and then folding inward on him in reverence as he kneels before the throne. "Excuse me, GOD, it's her again," Micheal respectfully interrupts and the room goes completely silent. God turns his head away from the zillion screens playing on the wall depicting famine, plagues and pestilence; his brows furrowed says, "Jesus!" (Although, I suspect he's probably the only one among us that wouldn't use that name as the ultimate for feelings of frustration). "Michael, why does this woman continue to interrupt me in the midst of all this CHAOS for these trivial matters???!!!" "Sir, if I may speak honestly; it's that, *ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE,* clause; remember me begging you to omit it." "Oh yeah, you did remind me that I was bringing a Mona into the world and she would have that -- The World Revolves Around Me -- complex." Micheal gives a heavy sigh, nods and shrugs his shoulders. 

When I got back to the facility, I went into the office to update things on the computer. One of our residents came into the office and sat down in a chair behind me. I looked puzzled at the administrative assistant who typically doesn't allow residents in the office. She quickly assured me that it was okay because he had been having a very bad day. I turned to the resident and I smiled saying that it was good to see him. He stood up, moved a box that was between us and picked up my lost stylus. instantly, I pictured the Creator of the Universe leaving heaven and all the world's issues to come to the back patio of Sarah House 4 to back track my steps.

My apologies if anyone lost a loved one that day, or, if humanity lost some great leap of consciousness. It's not my fault --  Micheal warned him.

Mona McPherson