Life Coach: Spirit, Body and Mind » Vignettes

Vignette: Lunch At Arby’s

Margo — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 20:00:00 +0000

After our four enjoyable days with our friends Sherry and Greg in Minnesota, Rich and I loaded up the Harley and set off on the next leg of our adventure. We headed west from Brainerd toward North Dakota. The scenery started changing as we approached the border between the two states, becoming flatter and less green.

As was our norm, we stopped for a break and a tank up after about an hour and a half of riding. Then we continued for about the same amount of time until our tummies told us it was time to get some lunch. We had noticed that the exits had grown further apart and offered very few food options, so as soon as we saw an Arby’s we decided to pull off. We are not big “fast-food” eaters, but Arby’s passes muster for a quick lunch.

Once inside, I made my food choices and left Rich to pick up the order while I went to choose a table from which we could keep an eye on the bike. There was only one other couple in the restaurant, and they were seated about three tables away from our window table. They were an older couple and the husband was in a wheelchair, and I could hear them talking quietly from time to time.

Rich bought our order to the table and we quickly got organized and ready to eat. Then, as always, we held hands and thanked God for a safe trip so far, asked him to continue to bless and protect us, to bless the food and continue to feed us spiritually. Then it was time to dig in and eat up.

I guess we were about half way through our meal when I became aware that the woman from the other couple was clearing away their things. Suddenly she was standing beside us and, leaning in toward us, she apologized for interrupting us. We said, no problem, and she carried on talking to let us know why she had come over.

She explained that she was “one of us” and that it had really warmed her heart to see us praying over our food before we began eating. She said that sometimes it was very hard to be a Christian because she felt we were in a minority. She also said that not many people were willing to be public about their belief in God and that as we prayed we had allowed her to feel as though she were “not alone”. It was a very warm moment of fellowship and my heart went out to her.

Rich agreed with her and told her that just a week or so ago we had done the same thing as she had. We had been having a meal at one of our favorite salad bars, “Sweet Tomatoes”, when a woman and her two daughters came and sat at the table across the aisle to us. Once they had settled into the booth, they all bowed their heads and said a prayer of blessing over their food. I remember how heart-warming it felt for us to see that, and as we left the restaurant Rich had paused briefly at their table to let them know how great it had been to witness that.

We exchanged farewells with the woman, and as she pushed her husband out of Arby’s I wondered what their story was. We feel very blessed to have met certain people, complete strangers, on our ride who have uplifted us and shared a God-moment with us. And I remembered that other couple in the rest stop parking lot in Tennessee who had cared enough about us to pray for our safety as we began our long trip.

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Vignette: Prayers in a Parking Lot

Margo — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 14:00:00 +0000

On the second day of our retirement ride, Rich and I had a very unique experience. We were some where in Tennessee having left Marietta, GA on the Tuesday morning and we were headed toward Paducah, KY. Our norm each day was to ride for about one hundred and twenty miles, then take a rest stop and gas up if necessary. On that Tuesday morning we had taken a break at a rest stop somewhere in Tennessee. I had headed into the building to use the facilities while Rich took a stretch.

I was inside for a while because a bus had made a pit stop just minutes before we had arrived and there was quite a line for the ladies room. When I came out Rich was standing beside the bike deep in conversation with an older gentleman. I hung back a little giving them room for their discussion. Then Rich looked around and saw me there, motioned me forward and introduced me. I very much regret that I do not remember the gentleman’s name, but I can tell you some things about him.

I learned he was a retired Navy man, a Veteran from World War II. He, too, had owned a bike back in the day and had met and married his wife shortly after joining the service. He said that they really enjoyed riding together back then. His wife came out of the building at this point and joined us and we learned that they were from Knoxville, TN. They were very committed to their church back in Knoxville and they told us they were in fact on a day trip with fellow church-goers. We asked where they were going and the gentleman, with a chuckle, said that they didn’t know. They were on a “mystery trip” and had no idea what their destination was!

At this point, reaching out his hand, Rich thanked him for his service to country and said we needed to get going as we had quite a few miles to cover that day. The gentleman grasped Rich’s hand and thanked him in return for his service to country too. Then, to our great surprise, he extended his left hand toward my right hand and asked permission to pray over us. With joy in my heart I reached out to take his hand and he connected with his wife on his other side, and she in turn clasped hands with Rich.

And right there, the middle of a rest stop parking lot somewhere in Tennessee we were blessed to receive prayers of gratitude and prayers for protection from two strangers. He asked the good Lord, our Father, to watch over us, to keep us safe from all harm. He asked for blessings upon us as we continued our trip and prayed that we would have a wonderful and enjoyable ride. With full hearts we said our goodbyes, mounted the bike, and rode off leaving our parking lot friends to enjoy their mystery tour.

Although I do not remember their names, I can picture them in my minds eye. I can see the four of us standing beside the bike, the big tour bus in the background, holding hands and praying together. It was beautiful and was most definitely a highlight of the ride for me. That memory will be with me in years to come, and I hope that Rich and I will be able to do the same for someone else one day as we ride our Harley around God’s creation.

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Vignette: Paula in Minnesota

Margo — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 19:00:00 +0000

In my previous posting God’s Creation-Minnesota, I mentioned that through the trees on Greg and Sherry’s property you could barely make out two other houses – their neighbors. Connie and Joe live in the closest house, while Deb and Crystal live in the other house along with Deb’s Mom, Mary, and Deb’s younger sister Paula. Deb and Crystal live in the main part of the house while Mary and Paula share a delightful apartment on the lower level which, because the whole structure is built on a slope, is also on a ground level of its own.

We got to meet all the neighbors because on one of the evenings that we were there we participated in a “travelling dinner”. I’ll share details of that event in another posting. Here I want to talk about Paula who is somewhat mentally challenged and is quite a delightful character. She is actually forty-five years old, I believe, but looks like a teenager.

When we entered the kitchen at Deb and Crystal’s, Paula was seated at a table on the far side of the room of the room next to her Mom, Mary. Paula is not very tall, maybe not even five foot. She has rich auburn, curly hair that she wore pulled back from her face that day. Her face is very round and when she smiles her eyes crinkle up, Chinese-style, and she looks like a mischievous pixie!

Richard had stopped at the kitchen island to pick at some appetizers, while I walked around it and went over to be introduced to Paula. She did not look up at me immediately, but then Deb said, “Look at this Paula”, and pointed to my hair. At that, Paula looked up at me and her face lit up in pure delight. She clapped her hands together like a little child and exclaimed, “It’s purple, it’s purple, my favorite color!” Looking into that innocent, beaming face, I felt as though someone had given me an exquisite gift. My heart lurched and I fell in love with Paula right then and there.

She continued to smile up at me and I pointed over to Richard and said, “And that’s my husband, Richard.” Without skipping a beat, Paula looked in Richard’s direction and once again clapped her hands together. Her smile widened and, in such genuine innocence, she exclaimed, “Oh, he’s so cute!” And she chuckled. The whole room seemed to light up and people laughed, not at her, but right along with her, joining in her delight at the situation. And I fell in love all over again with Paula.

Later on in the evening, Paula brought me a piece of cake. I thanked her and kissed her cheek. A dazed look came over her and she slowly put her hand up to her cheek in wonder. As she returned into the kitchen, I heard her say to someone, “I’ll never wash my face again.” The person asked her why and she responded, “Because Margo kissed me.” I felt my throat constrict and my heart welled up with love.

There are moments that I recognize as pure God moments. I know I experienced the love of God in that sweet pixie of a person, Paula. I have often heard people question “why” about many things that happen on this earthly journey, including the “why” of people like Paula. My answer: they help us to experience a special kind of love – if we are open to it. I will remember Paula with great affection and I hope I get the opportunity to see her again.

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Vignette: Another Concert Story

Margo — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 02:24:16 +0000

On May 30th I wrote a posting titled Vignette- The Young Fan. There was another story to write about another young fan which I almost included in that previous posting. But then I realized that it needed its own space.

So as well as the young boy who sat beside my husband, there was a young girl in the seat in front of him. I don’t know whether Rich noticed her or not and I haven’t spoken to him about her since. She was a little older than the boy in our row, perhaps in her mid to late teens – fifteen to seventeen years old.

She was dressed very ordinarily – jeans and a t-shirt. She had just-below-shoulder length dark hair in a non descript style. She was neither “pretty” or “ugly” – whatever those labels mean. Just a very ordinary girl at a concert getting ready to enjoy herself. But within a few minutes of noticing her I realized that she was far from ordinary.

She sat next to an older woman who I initially guessed to be her mother or perhaps an aunt, and they were with two other women who sat on the other side of the girl. As I said, I noticed she was different and after watching her for a while I realized that she was probably somewhat mentally challenged. I have volunteered with the mentally and physically challenged in the past so I have a soft spot in my heart for them.

Her jaw hung a little slack which left her mouth always slightly open and the corners of her mouth were always wet as though she were about to dribble. When she turned to speak to or listen to the woman next to her she didn’t just turn her head, she purposely choreographed her whole upper body in a complete physical turn toward the woman. Her eyes seemed extra bright, as though they were on the verge of tears, and they were more wide open than the average person’s.

There was a moment, just before the concert began, when one of the women said something and the girl obviously found it very comical. She began laughing and shaking her body up and down, almost in a jumping motion, as she brought her hands together, as though to clap, but then just rubbed them together very quickly. She was very excited and her eyes became even more brilliant than before.

Once the first act started and the audience began to warm up, people began to clap to the music. The girl’s mother (she may also have been a caregiver), began to clap and the girl first scrutinized her to check out exactly what she was doing, and then began to clap also. It was a very careful and purposeful putting the hands together movement, as though she had studied how to do it and was now practicing.

Not long after that the audience began to really warm up and many chose to stand up and raise their hands to God. The mother/aunt/caregiver rose to her feet, continuing to clap, and began swaying to the music. Again, the young girl studied her movements and only once she was sure of the sequence did she then get to her feet and, keeping an eye on the older woman, began to clap and sway side to side.

Throughout the whole concert this scene played out in front of me. The older woman would laugh, so the girl would laugh. The older woman would make a specific movement, so the girl would do the same. Just as a toddler learns his or her behaviors from watching and imitating, so this young girl was learning how to function in the big wide world.

It made me think how vulnerable these special people are. They are filled with such an innocence and trust totally on the adults in their lives to show them the way, to show them how to behave and act around others and in specific situations. I prayed that the people who took care of her were good people who loved her and would protect her. I also said a prayer of gratitude for my own children and asked God to keep a special eye out for all the more vulnerable people in our world today.

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Vignette: The Young Fan

Margo — Tue, 31 May 2011 01:42:40 +0000

I have been getting my notes together to write up several posts as promised in my last article. However, before I write those posts I need to write a small vignette that I experienced a week ago. My husband and I are Christian music fans and we had tickets to attend a concert in Jacksonville.

There were three acts. The opener was Trevor Morgan, a new voice on the Christian music scene and very talented. He was followed by the band 10th Avenue North which has been playing the Christian scene for several years now and have become very popular. To round out the evening in top billing place was a great band called Third Day who we had previously seen at Disney’s Night of Joy. This band has been playing together for about twenty years and I really like them. Their lead singer has a most unusual voice.

As we settled into our seats, I was sitting to the right of Richard, we were joined on Richard’s left by a young mother and her son. I guess the boy was about ten years old and it became fairly obvious that he was very excited to be at the concert. After a short conversation, we discovered that he was a die-hard Third Day fan and he could barely wait for them to come on stage.

The concert began and we all thoroughly enjoyed Trevor Morgan. I think we will be hearing a lot more of him in the future. Tenth Avenue North gave us a great performance and took us up to the interval. Richard went off to grab us some water, and the mother and son also left the auditorium. When they came back the boy was happily munching on a giant pretzel. His mother said he needed “replenishing before Third Day appears”.

After a few moments, she opened a bag and pulled out a couple of CD’s. With a certain air of wishful expectation, the boy asked her what she had bought and I heard her tell him that she had really liked Trevor Morgan and wanted to support him so had decided to buy his CD. She then went on to say she had really enjoyed Tenth Avenue North and didn’t have any of their music at home and wanted to get their CD too. I saw the boy’s expression drop somewhat at that piece of news, but then his Mom said, “but then I changed my mind and got the Third Day CD.”

It had been a while since I saw someone’s face light up in such a way. The boy gasped, his eyes opened wide, and this great big grin spread all over his face. He put his pretzel down and held both hands out for the CD. Smiling happily the mom handed it over and ecstatically the boy took hold of it and drew it in towards his chest. He sat there for a few moments without saying a word. He clasped the CD to his heart, his eyes were closed and a beatific smile spread from ear to ear. He was totally “in love” in that moment.

After a while, he opened his eyes and slowly began to examine the CD. It was as though he was holding a precious jewel. He lovingly stroked the front cover and I fully expected him to start drooling any minute. He carefully turned the CD over and I assume he was reading the song titles. At this point the mom said that she would put it back in the bag until they got home and she put her hand out to take it. But the boy clutched it, kissed it, and put it back to his heart, closing his eyes once again in sheer sublime happiness.

I was so in awe of this whole little scene that played out right there beside us, and just very impressed that this young man was so passionate about a Christian band. I was also grateful that he had a very loving and supportive mother. She gently explained that if he wanted to finish his pretzel he would need to let go of the CD and that it would be safer back in the bag. I also heard her say that he could play it as soon as they got into the car for the ride home. He reluctantly let go after a couple more kisses!!

Well he then had his heart’s desire fulfilled when Third Day took the stage and played practically non-stop for almost two hours. It was truly a remarkable performance and the boy stood in his seat for the entire time, eyes sparkling and singing along with the songs that he recognized. What a great evening we all had and I know I will remember that boy’s face forever.

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Vignettes: Dad And Son In The Labyrinth

Margo — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 02:05:06 +0000

I know I have already done a posting about my last experience with the labyrinth in St. Augustine. However, I feel called to write another posting because I keep thinking about two of the people who went in to do the walk. I mentioned in my previous posting, Self Nurturing- Enjoying the Labyrinth at the Beach, that there were many children who playfully walked, ran, and skipped through the labyrinth leaving their unique brand of energy present. Well, one little boy took, maybe I should say “enticed” his Dad in with him.

I remember looking up as they both approached the labyrinth. The Dad was a little hesitant, hung back and tried to look somewhat indifferent, as though he wasn’t really interested in the labyrinth. The son was having none of that. He was curious and wanted to take a good look. He realized almost immediately that this was something to be experienced. He saw a pathway opening up and wanted to explore.

He took a bold step into the labyrinth and then stopped, remembering Dad, turned to look at him and said “come on Dad, let’s do it”. Dad looked around, as if checking out who was watching, then tentatively stepped inside. The little boy needed no further encouragement. Off he went on his adventure. He was very focused and determined, staying within the confines of the narrow pathway. Dad was a little different. He kept looking around, obviously embarrassed, probably hoping that nobody who knew him was going to happen by.

If you know what a labyrinth is like you will understand that as you enter you are on a circular pathway that is about the third circle inside the whole design. As you walk, the circles turn on each other. This can lead to the illusion that you are about to get to the center and then, suddenly, you find yourself walking the very outer circle.

So the little boy got to an about-turn which he thought was going to turn him in towards the center, but instead it turned him out to the edge of the labyrinth. For a moment he was confused, and called out to His Dad for help. The father said, “just keep following the path son”, and trustingly the little boy did so. I had noticed that by now Dad had lost his self-consciousness and was just as focused as his son. The two continued, intent upon their journey, the little boy about half a circle ahead of the Father.

Then, in a sudden moment, the boy found himself inside the center of the labyrinth. He stood their looking pleased with himself and looking all around himself at the road he had travelled. A few moments later his Dad arrived in the center. Without a word, the little boy held out his hand and a big grin spread across his face. They stood together for a while, Dad and son, holding hands and looking out to sea. It was a God-moment. Who knows what thoughts each one held in his heart.

The boy looked up into his father’s face, then gently slipped his hand out from his father’s and, in just as focused a fashion as on the way in, he started the journey out. Dad stood there for a moment more watching his little one strike out on his own before heading out behind him.

I found myself thinking this is what parenthood is about. We hold our children’s hands for as long as we can. Then comes the day when they choose a path. We follow at a distance for a while, close enough that they know they can call on us for help, but not so close that we crowd them. But they have to make the journey of life on their own. If we’re lucky, they sometimes look back and smile and wave and may even occasionally come and hold our hands again for a while.

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Vignettes: Night Of Joy

Margo — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 21:05:00 +0000

For six years I have attended Night of Joy at one of the Disney Theme Parks. For those of you who do not know what Night of Joy is, let me inform you. There are actually two nights that are spanned by this event and it usually takes place on the second Friday and Saturday in September.

The event itself is a series of concerts that are played simultaneously across the Park. The musicians and singers are all Christian music performers. On these concert nights the Park is closed earlier than usual to regular patrons and only Night of Joy ticket holders are allowed into the Park for the evening’s entertainment.

I participated in my first Night of Joy in 2004 and it was held in Magic Kingdom. Last year and this year the event was held in Disney’s Hollywood Studios. Although the backdrop of Cinderella’s castle was always very magical, after two year’s experience at Hollywood Studios I think my preference lies with the latter. There just seems to be easier access to and more space for the performers and the patrons.

I will never forget my first Night of Joy. I had no idea what to expect. I was not yet “into” Christian music. I had heard some on the radio (check out 88.1 The Promise in the Jacksonville, FL area), and I liked most of it. Some of the “heavy/hard rock” groups didn’t attract me, but that’s an age thing:-).

As I listened to the first concert get into full swing I noticed an immediate surge of energy all around me. Don’t misunderstand me. I have been to other “pop” concerts over the years and there is always energy with the music. There is always energy with music, period. It’s an expression of energy by the musicians and the audience responds in like manner.

But there was something different; a totally different kind of “buzz”. I checked out all around me and realized that I was surrounded by young people, by old people, by couples, by families, by singles, by groups. There was a cross ethnic, cross generational theme everywhere I looked. But there was a focus, an excitement, an intenseness spritzing off of everyone, and it was very contagious.

Almost everyone, no matter what age group they belonged to, knew the words to the songs. Almost everyone was singing out joyously. There were people with one hand lifted to the sky. Yet others had both hands raised. I suddenly realized by about the third song that I was in the middle of one huge glorious worship service.

Who knows what different church denominations were represented there in that moment. I know I saw some groups wearing T-shirts that identified themselves as belonging to a particular church or Christian youth group. They were many and varied. Yet the one unifying desire was to be there to worship and glorify God, Creator, Spirit. A yearning, if you will, to recognize and acknowledge the One, the Supreme Being who gives us life. It was electrifying.

I am not a “holy roller” (whatever that may be). Although there are a few Bible verses that I can quote and reference and there are others that I can paraphrase, I am not someone who can spout from the Bible at any and every occasion. I do not wear “sack cloth and ashes” and I really hope I don’t portray a “holier than thou” attitude.

When I’m not dealing with that pesky de-pression stuff, I consider myself to be a fun-loving, joy-filled, and joyful person in my day-to-day dealings with life. But that evening I experienced joy on a level that I had never experienced before. It was the kind of joy that filled me up, raised me up, and had me overflowing with happiness and gratitude. The kind of joy that had me laughing, smiling, singing (when I knew the words!), and crying all at one time.

My husband did not come with me that first year. It had been a “girl’s night” treat with a couple of my girl friends. But when the following year rolled around, based on my experience the previous year, he wanted to participate and we went as a family with our daughter. He and I have not missed a year since, although because of last minute work travel in 2008 he had to surrender his ticket to one of my friends.

Each year has been different and yet each year has been the same. The bands and the individual singers may change and rotate, but the energy and enthusiasm of the people who come to listen, sing, and worship remains the same. And they come from all over. Most of the States are represented and I have even met people from Canada, UK, and South America. If you want to experience an uplifting, interdenominational worshipping of God, I highly recommend that you plan a Night of Joy at Disney.

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Vignettes: My Kingdom

Margo — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Dad’s back yard was his pride and joy. Actually, his whole garden was good reason for him to be proud. I’m referring now to the garden of the prefab house that I associate with my young childhood – age five through eleven years.

There was a concrete walkway that crossed the full width of the back of the house. This was then bordered by a tall trellis fence with an archway set midway. Both the fence and the archway were painted white and were covered by thickly growing rambling roses. The delicate perfume of these roses when they were in bloom floated on the warm summer air.

Three worn red brick steps under the archway of fragrant pink roses led down to a lush green rectangle measuring about twenty yards by fifteen yards. In the springtime bright yellow buttercups dotted here and there in the grass reflected back the sun’s golden rays. Later on in the summer dainty white daisies danced across the carefully trimmed lawn. Sprinkled throughout the grass patches of sweet smelling clover attracted the buzzing bumble bees.

An upward sloping flower bed completely bordered the lawn, and from early spring through late autumn it was a constant changing riot of colors and perfumes. Large plump pincushions of blue and white alyssum grew close to the grass, their musky perfume hanging heavily in the air. Intermingled with the alyssum, yellow and purple Pansies nodded their pretty painted faces, while delicate sprays of deep pink London Pride swayed gently in the breeze behind them.

Jostling for room and vying for attention was a profusion of red, yellow, pink, purple, orange and burgundy dahlias of the single, double, and pom-pom varieties. Pungent smelling French Marigolds and gaily colored Anemones (my mother’s favorite flowers) somehow managed to find some space. Along the top edge of the flower bed stood majestic spikes of pink, blue, and violet Lupines interspersed with tall stems of blossom-laden antirrhinums (we called them “bunny rabbits”).

Beyond the lawn Dad had created an area dedicated to rambling raspberry, currant, and gooseberry bushes as well as some pear and apple trees. To one side of this area cabbage and cauliflower, carrots and celery, potatoes and peas and beans grew, as well as a variety of lettuces and tomatoes. It was always a garden of plentiful bounty.

Coming up the steps from the lawn and going under the archway, I could turn either left or right to get to the vegetable patch. It all depended on how brave I was feeling! To the left was a long line of “dreaded” larkspurs. These tall graceful plants had clusters of vivid deep blue flowers growing all the way up lengthy stems. In the center of each bloom nestled a fuzzy black thing with a bright yellow mark that looked just like a bee!

However, going to the right I passed the rockery which ran the full length of the garden connecting the front and back yards. The rockery was a magical place full of hundreds of small and most unusual plants with minute yellow, white, pink, and blue flowers that clambered over and around a fascinating collection of white crystal, gray and pink marble, and speckled granite rocks. I was sure that faeries, elves and gnomes lived there!

What a wondrous place this garden was, full of color, perfume and adventure. I felt like a queen as I played there and all the flowers were my subjects. How lucky I was to have had a father who dedicated so much time, energy, and love to create and maintain “my kingdom”.

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Vignettes: The Spirit In Publix Supermarket

Margo — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 16:35:38 +0000

A couple of months ago I was part of a team putting on a women’s retreat. We had come together on the Friday evening to do the set up and preparation for the weekend. There was a lot of physical work involved and by the end of the evening I was tired, disheveled, and sweaty. Although I felt in inner satisfaction at the work achieved, I did not feel pretty in that moment.

Some of the team had already gone home; family schedules or sheer tiredness. But a handful of us put the finishing touches to things, and then gathered for a few moments of prayer together in the small chapel we had just created for the weekend. One of the ladies said a spontaneous prayer about us being instruments of the Lord and asking God to let His light to shine out from us.

On my way home I had to stop off at Publix to pick up a few items. It was almost closing time, about 9.40pm by the time I got there. I ran in, grabbed what I needed, and headed out the store to go home. As I stepped out and into the parking lot a gentleman had just parked in the Handicap slot and was exiting his truck.

In that moment my mind took in a couple of things: he had parked in the Handicap slot and he was using a cane for support as he walked. I took my second step into the parking lot as he turned toward the store and our eyes met. It wasn’t a “frozen-in-time” moment. I’ll try to explain it.

The next three or four seconds seemed to run in slow motion. Everything that happened was like a .1 of a second, frame-by-frame shot of those moments. I took in the gentleman’s physical handicaps (possibly the result of cerebral palsy). I saw his eyes light up as he took in my presence. I watched as his mind began framing a thought and then started transmitting that thought from his brain to his mouth.

Speaking slowly and with some difficulty he said, “You are so very pretty ma’am”. I was totally caught off guard. I think I hesitated for a fraction of a second in my step as I tried to process the words that I had heard and the context of the moment. And then I gave him a huge smile as I replied, “Thank you sir.” Again, I watched his thought process form and the transmitting order going from brain to mouth, and he added, “You are glowing with prettiness”. Without hesitation I said, “That’s because I’ve been about God’s business”. He nodded, tipped his baseball cap, and we both went about our ways richer for our encounter.

This story so far, in and of itself, is beautiful. But it didn’t end there. I went home feeling light as a feather and feeling truly beautiful inside and out, as only a 65 year-old women who was feeling very scruffy at the time of this occurrence could possibly feel. I was not only smiling with my mouth, but it felt like I had a huge smile inside my stomach that was just spreading all over my body.

Next morning I was up before dawn to head over the St. John’s river to the church. We had an awesome first day of retreat and early on Sunday morning we gathered together in our chapel for morning prayers which Deacon Paul had written especially for our weekend. Imagine the synchronicity, the God-incidence that I felt when we came to read the response that he had created for our Intercessions. The exact words were (thank you Sue!), “Lord, make us shine with the brightness of Christ.”Along the same lines:

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Vignettes: Signor Ludovic’s Story

Margo — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 14:05:25 +0000

I practiced as a massage therapist in Italy for about seven years. I came to Signor Ludovic via a local parish priest, Don Rafaele. My husband and I would occasionally go to the little Italian church for Mass and Don Rafaele told the story of Signor Ludovic to illustrate the gospel story in his sermon one Sunday.

Signor Ludovic was a Local farmer, a man of the earth with no formal education. He had worked the land all his life and raised eight children. Suddenly, at age seventy, he suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed and confined to a wheel chair. His whole reason for living, working the land, was taken from him. He spent all his days moaning his lot and railing against God “for what He has done to me”.

At the end of Mass I got up fully intending to leave the church and go home, and instead went and spoke to Don Rafaele. Before I knew it I had volunteered to give massage to Signor Ludovic if he and his family would like that and if his doctor said it would be all right. Several weeks later I found myself in my car with Don Rafaele, massage table, linens and lotions in the back, driving to Signor Ludovic’s home.

When we arrived Signor Ludovic was asleep in his wheelchair on the patio. He was unshaven and somewhat unkempt and he drooled in his sleep. I began to wonder what on earth I had gotten myself into and raised a prayer to God asking for His help to do what I could to bring some comfort, some release to this man. And so in April 1999 began a year long relationship that was to bring me many gifts and blessings.

Michele, Signor Ludovic’s son was very badly physically deformed and because he could not work outside the home, to him had fallen the role of caregiver to his father. He would undress him and help me get him on the massage table and when it was time he would help me turn him over. Initially Signor Ludovic said very little to me and would just stare at me in disbelief as I massaged him. I don’t think they knew how to take this purple-haired woman who had appeared out of the blue to offer this service.

Signor Ludovic wanted to pay me after the first massage (he was very proud), and I refused explaining that massage was a gift that I had received from God and that I wanted to share it with him. He cried and just hung on to my hand. I made arrangements to return the following week and once a week thereafter. Each week he would ask to pay and I would say no and continue to repeat that it was my gift to share.

It was about the fourth week, and after we had dressed him and put him in his chair, he crooked his finger at me and with a sly smile told me, “today I am going to pay you”. I began to refuse, but he ignored me and said something in local dialect to Michele who went into an adjoining room. He came back a moment later carrying a bulging plastic bag full of fresh picked green beans. With a big toothless grin Signor Ludovic said, “It’s a gift I’m sharing with you.” And so it went from week to week, whatever was in season and producing on their land, I would receive a bagful freshly picked that morning.

As time went by Signor Ludovic built up trust with me and told me about his wife who had died several years earlier. He told me how he had built the house he lived in with his own hands and how all he longed to do was return to the land. He frequently asked me why I came to him every week and I always told him, “it’s a gift from God that I want to share with you”.

His son Michele told me how his father no longer complained about his lot in life and was much happier to be around. He said that before I began coming to him, his father would break into uncontrollable sobbing several times a day and that now he rarely cried. He also said that the rest of the family enjoyed being around him more now too. Signor Ludovic told me that his legs felt less “heavy” now and that his back hurt him less and, like a true Italian, he also started to flirt with me a little!!

The weeks that Don Rafaele came to visit and sit and pray while I did the massage, he would talk to me afterwards and reiterated what Michele told me. He also marveled at the fact that he was being given the opportunity to see how the healing powers of God worked in many different ways – even through the hands of a purple-haired massage therapist!

But for me the most amazing part of the relationship with Signor Ludovic was the unspoken friendship that we enjoyed. He was able to communicate so much through his eyes, and the biggest gift he gave me was his pure gratitude and the total feeling of satisfaction that he received from the massage. His eyes would frequently seek out mine during the massage and he would either be saying “thank you” or “oh that feels so good” or “you’re here again – how amazing!”.

I also came to realize that he was giving me an awesome gift in the shape of a mental and spiritual healing with my father. I would frequently think of Dad as I massaged Signor Ludovic, and I was able to come to a place of peace and forgiveness with him for never having said “I love you” to me when he was alive. It seemed as though Signor Ludovic was saying it on his behalf. This was a huge blessing for me.

In February 2000, Signor Ludovic suffered a second stroke which increased the paralysis and robbed him of his speech. I would go and sit with him, place my hands softly on his head and hold him then massage his Hands, one of which was now totally seized up. He would grab my hand with his good hand and carry it to his lips, drool and all, and just hold it there. I saw the life ebbing slowly out of him so began visiting almost every day. His eyes had become rheumy and glazed as though he were absent.

I last saw Signor Ludovic alive in the afternoon of Friday 31 March 2000. He had not eaten for about eight or nine days and was very weak. He was sitting propped up in his chair. There were several members of his family around him. I sat with him and took his feeling hand which he immediately carried to his lips. When it was time for me to leave, I told him I was going out of town for the weekend and would not see him until Monday.

His eyes suddenly cleared and he focused them fiercely into mine and I knew instinctively that he wanted to “tell me” something. I gazed back intently into his eyes and “heard” him tell me that he needed to go. I could not speak out loud, so focused back and “told” him that he should do what he needed to do for himself and thanked him for his presence in my life. He kissed my hand and I leaned over and kissed his cheek and whispered “arrivederci” in his ear.

At 6am on Monday 3 April 2000, before I could get to visit him again, Signor Ludovic passed away. I have thought of him frequently over the years and am truly grateful for the gift of our special relationship, for the joy that he brought into my life, and for the quantum leap in the lesson of compassion that he gave me .

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Vignette: Remembering Cindy

Margo — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 23:02:08 +0000

I managed to drag myself out of bed at 5.45am today. I am not an easy morning person. Once I am up and get going then I am okay. It’s the clawing my way up out of sleep and letting go of the sheer wonderfulness of being snuggled up that I find hard. But I really want to create a routine for Thursday mornings; going to 8am Mass followed by a special Rosary with a small group.

When I walked into the church the first thing I saw was a closed coffin in the center aisle in front of the altar. We had a funeral Mass set for 11am. I am part of the Ministry of Consolation and knew of this, but hadn’t expected the coffin to be there already. Then as I took my place I realized I had sat behind Jim. So between the coffin and Jim I was thrown into the reservoir of my memory.

You see, another area in which I volunteer is with an agency called Community Hospice of North East Florida. I had been introduced to this agency by a new friend just a few months after arriving here in January 2004. My mother had been cared for by Hospice in London, UK during the period between her diagnosis of pancreatic cancer (12 February 1996) and her passing (9May 1996). So I determined that I would become a volunteer with the organization here in gratitude for those wonderful nurses.

I underwent training in July of 2004 and was assigned to my first patient in August. The main thrust of Community Hospice’s work is to be there in full support for the patient and family, offering compassionate care, and to help lend dignity and meaning to the patient’s end stages of life. My role as a volunteer is to offer respite to the main care-giver as often as possible, allowing them some time to run errands or have some personal breathing space without having to worry about their loved one. It is a small mercy that I feel I can give to someone in such circumstances.

Over the intervening years I have also trained as a Peds Volunteer, a Complementary Care Volunteer, a Spiritual Care Volunteer, and an Ambassador (volunteering on behalf of Community Hospice at Health Fairs and speaking to small groups about the services the agency offers). But back to Jim.

I met Jim almost two and a half years ago when I was assigned as a volunteer to his wife, Cindy. I will never forget walking into their living room and seeing the look of total fascination on Cindy’s face. She could not take her eyes off of my hair. My hair is somewhat noticeable – it is purple! As Jim and I talked I would look over at Cindy from time to time to include her in our conversation even though it soon became obvious that she did not speak, and always her eyes were on my hair. So I got up and went over to her and asked her if she wanted to touch it, just to check out that it was real. She did so, rubbing it gently between her fingers as though she were touching a piece of fabric. And so our relationship was cemented.

Cindy was diagnosed with Frontal Lobe Syndrome (I don’t remember what the correct medical term is), a disease that slowly robs a person of their emotions, their ability to speak, then takes away their strength as the brain shuts down pixel by pixel. When I first started visiting with Cindy, even though she could no longer initiate or maintain a conversation, she still was able to communicate in her own way. When I asked if she wanted something she would either just look at me with no real expression or reaction, indicating no, or she would take a deep breath in, raise her eyebrows, and sigh her breath out, indicating yes.

In the early months of our visits when she was still mobile, even though she couldn’t talk, Cindy had a mind of her own. We would be sitting watching TV and suddenly she would be up out of her chair and headed for the stairs or the front door. I would have to be quick off the mark to catch up with her and gently but firmly bring her back to her chair. If it wasn’t too swampy-Florida hot, then we would go for a walk in the neighborhood and I would be hard pressed to keep up with her! Often we would spend time in the garden on the swinging chair watching the birds and the squirrels.

It was on one of these rushes to the front door that she suddenly stopped beside a small cabinet just inside the door. There were a couple of objects laid out on top of the cabinet along with two Rosaries. Her hand reached out to touch these and I asked her if she would like to say a Rosary. Deep breath, eyebrows raised, great sigh out. So we each carried a Rosary back to our chairs and I began the prayers. Imagine my surprise as I realized she was whispering the second half of the Hail Mary. And so began a ritual that would take place almost every time I visited.

Cindy loved receiving hand and foot massages and when I arrived she would always check out if I had my purple tote with me. That was where I carried my creams and a towel. Sometimes I would bring paperwork that I needed to do and would immerse myself in that after making sure she was comfortable and didn’t need anything. But I would soon become aware of movement coming from her direction. Looking up I would see that she was leaning forward and her eyes were fixed on my tote. As soon as I touched the bag she would lift her hands, deep breath in, raise her eyebrows, sigh out.

It was during one of these massages that I was given the gift of the “presence” of Cindy. I happened to look up at her face as I was gently rubbing the cream into her hand and I saw a tear roll down her cheek. Initially I was concerned that perhaps inadvertently I had hurt her, and I let go of her hand, came close to her face and put my hand on her cheek and asked what was wrong. She just looked at me with those beautiful deep eyes of hers and lifted her hand to me as if to say “just keep on massaging”.

Another way that I shared time with Cindy was to watch DVD’s. Her all-time favorite was Disney’s Anastasia. I had never watched that movie before. I guess it became popular after my daughter had become a teenager and was beyond Disney. I think I could recite it word for word, song for song now. There was only one other video that competed with Anastasia for Cindy’s attention – Shrek, and I know that one pretty much inside out too!

The seventeen months that I spent with Cindy were a true gift, a joy. Being able to give her friendship and care was an honor and a privilege. But another gift that I received during this time was given to me by Jim. He allowed me to experience the true marriage commitment of “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part”. His love, dedication to, and care of Cindy right up to her last breath were deeply moving and nothing short of spectacular. I feel truly blessed to have been a part of their lives.

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Vignette: Mother-Son Love

Margo — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 01:51:06 +0000

Today we celebrated yet another funeral in my parish. I use the word celebrate because in the Catholic faith we chose to say a Mass of the Resurrection in celebration of the deceased being resurrected into new life with Christ.

I am a member of the Ministry of Consolation and so I find myself attending more funerals than the average person. As part of our ministry we prepare the church for viewing services and vigils which usually take place the day before the funeral Mass, and then for the Mass itself. We are on hand to greet family and friends of the deceased as they come to the services and to be of any assistance to them or the priest.

As I stood in the church narthex this morning greeting everyone, I noticed a mother and her son come in to join those already present. The young man carried himself with great care and dignity. He wore a uniform of sorts, some kind of cadet perhaps. His posture was perfect, and even though he walked with a slight limp, he carried himself “tall”. I found out later his name was Teddy.

In all the time they were in the narthex before Mass started he stood quietly by his mother’s side. Every once in a while they would look at each other and smile. I could not help but notice that it was more than just a smile. It was a communication. In that one act they seemed to speak volumes to each other.

Close by them stood another couple with a small girl of about three years old in a stroller. Teddy noticed the girl and stood staring at her as though mesmerized. After some moments, his mother touched him gently on the arm and he looked at her with a huge smile. He then turned his attention back to the girl for a few more moments before turning once more, the smile still upon his face, to gaze intently, lovingly into his mother’s eyes. Again I had the feeling of a long, silent communication between them.

It was time for Mass. We discreetly directed everyone into the church and Mass began. The ritual was beautiful, the songs and readings perfectly chosen for the occasion. Then came the moment for Communion and once again Teddy and his mother took front and center stage of my attention.

I had already received Communion and had just returned to my seat to pray when I looked up to see them returning down the aisle. As before, I noticed how tall and straight Teddy walked. His mother walked beside him and, with one hand resting lightly in the center of his back, seemed to gently guide him. But more than guiding, it appeared to be a sign of reassurance.

It seemed to me that Teddy was totally focused in the moment. He had just received Communion and his hands were folded in front of him in a gesture of quiet reverence. Yet as they walked together I noticed that with a slight movement of his head he seemed to keep his mother in his peripheral vision.

Once back in their pew, they knelt side by side. It looked as though it was difficult for Teddy to kneel, perhaps something to do with that limp. Then he slightly turned his head to his mother and waited. I don’t know how I knew he was waiting, nor did I know what he was waiting for. As I watched, his mother leaned in to him and brought her lips to his cheek in close proximity to his ear.

As if on cue, Teddy inclined his head just fractionally in her direction and she began to speak to him. In that moment I thought that perhaps she was saying some prayers for him, or perhaps suggesting some prayers that he might like to say. No matter what, the moment was precious, just utterly precious, and I felt humbled to have been part of a very intimate act between them.

What made this Mother’s and son’s love so precious and special? Teddy is a Downs Syndrome child. He is now twenty six years old. The unconditional love that flowed so freely between them was palpable. I felt privileged to see the warm compassion that this mother showed her special child. As I was allowed into their space and allowed to share their beautiful relationship,I felt as though I been given a priceless gift.

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Vignettes: Young Grief

Margo — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 23:08:41 +0000

He wore a bright apple green tee shirt. He was probably about 10 years old, slight in build with mid brown hair. His shoulders were hunched and he clung to his mother’s hand as they came into the church entrance hall. His eyes were red and he had obviously been crying quite a lot.

As his mother made her away across the narthex toward the tables full of photos and other small items, he held back a little – as though afraid. He cuffed His nose with his wrist and his mother put her arm around his shoulder. He leaned in, almost as if he wanted to disappear, perhaps hoping that if he did the whole circumstance would disappear too.

They approached the book where friends and family stopped to sign their names, a testimony of loving memory to Sophia and support to her parents. Yes, we were laying little Sophia to rest. Her parents had had to make that unthinkable decision to switch of life support. They had hung on for a few days so that out of town family could come to say their farewells, and perhaps hoping for a miracle that would bring their Sophia back to them.

The boy was destroyed by grief. His face was drawn and wretched with it. His mother signed and asked if he wanted her to sign for him. He shook his head and held out his hand for the pen. As he bravely added his signature to the growing list, he sniffed a couple of times and hung onto his stomach with his other hand.

I watched as he slowly walked passed the photos looking intently at each one. Tears rolled down his cheeks and my heart felt heavy at the sight of his young grief. And yet I did not wish that he shouldn’t suffer so. I realized he was learning a grand lesson in this grown up world. He was courageously grieving the loss of his little friend openly. He wasn’t trying to do the “manly” thing and cover up his feelings. His heart hurt at his loss and he was crying with the pain, not the least bit embarrassed .

They took seats inside the church along with his Dad and his sister. The funeral Mass started and I saw him lean into his Dad for a while, then once more against his Mom. He was feeling this every step of the way. Finally, it got to be too much, and he and his mother went back out into the narthex and sat on a bench under the window. His slight body was caved in and he clutched onto his stomach with both hands as if in letting go he might lose a part of himself.

So as I prayed for Sophia and her family, I also prayed for the little boy in the green tee shirt. I asked God to comfort him and to heal his broken heart.

After the Mass, my friend Debbie told me she had spoken to him out in the narthex and asked if he was Sophia’s friend. He had nodded yes. She then said that she imagined they had had some very happy times together and told him to think of just one time when they had enjoyed something really special. She then encouraged him that when he said his prayers that night, to tell God to tell Sophia that he was thinking about that one very special happy time they had had, and that he was happy to have that memory. And she told him in the following days to think of other happy times and do the same thing: tell God to tell Sophia about them. Debbie assured him that if he did this he would then always have happy memories when he thought of Sophia.

What an incredibly beautiful and love-filled gift she gave that boy. I know that it was God speaking through her. He has a way of using her in that way – to uplift others with her words. And once again I was grateful; grateful for community and the gift of love that we share with each other.

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Vignettes: Giulio’s Wedding

Margo — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Imagine a movie set in a sunny Mediterranean country: imagine Italy. Imagine a small quiet town nestled at the feet of a range of mountains; imagine Aviano. Imagine a warm sunny day, picture perfect for a wedding; imagine 13 June 2009.

I am so excited. I am the mother of the groom! My youngest son Giulio is about to marry the woman of his dreams – Alina. They have grown their love together for about 5 years. They have walked through some tough times and have enjoyed much happiness. They are now ready to declare to the world that they wish to become husband and wife and create a family.

Imagine a small cobbled square bathed in sunshine in the center of Aviano. Trees offer a shady oasis on one side of the square where Giulio and myself and other family members and friends await his bride. And there she is, rounding the corner accompanied by family and friends. Giulio and I move into the entrance of City Hall.

What a fairytale sight as Alina crosses the square. This woman has a sweet angelic face that is haloed by blond hair and a shimmering veil that floats gently on a soft breeze. She looks like a princess in her stunning white crinoline gown. She is so perfect for my sweet-tempered son Giulio.

She comes into City Hall followed by the two flower girls Elysia and Daisy my great nieces. Their older brother Cameron is the ring bearer and he moves into place behind Giulio as he takes his bride to the front of the hall and they stand before the officiator and registrar.

Imagine a love so palpable that it seems as though it can be touched. Imagine a love so real that it radiates from them, flows between them visible to all those present. Imagine a love that fills their eyes to overflowing. Imagine a love that playfully touches their lips as they smile at each other. Imagine a love that puts a glow on their faces as though they have been touched by the Almighty himself.

I stand to the side and watch their faces as they listen to the solemn words of the laws that govern the sanctity of marriage in Italy. They are both attentive and focused. They know exactly what they are doing and are ready to face the future together. There are no tears for me. I am so full of joy and happiness as I see the love they share. This is indeed a day that the Lord hath made.

Vows are finally exchanged. They are declared husband and wife. Giulio kisses his bride. They smile, they laugh, they are so happy. We all spill joyously out into the square. Good luck rice is thrown (it’s an Italian thing!) and photos are taken. Finally I can say: I am a mother-in-law:-).Along the same lines:

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Vignettes: Angie’s Wedding

Margo — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 13:14:00 +0000

Angie is the last of my nieces to be married. She is a strikingly beautiful girl: tall and willowy with an ivory complexion and dark features framed by long dark hair. Since graduating from college several years ago, she has been to Africa to do some teaching and then spent over a year in Italy teaching English as a second language. Then she met Wadey.

Wadey is as tall as Angie and is strikingly handsome. He too has a fair complexion with dark features and has delightful dark curly/wavy hair. His real name is Chris, but all the male members of his family seem to go by the name of Wadey? I don’t know him very well but I do know that he has worked for a couple of companies and Angie ended up working in the same place, but in recent times he has followed Angie to work at the same company as she does. The best man seemed to take great delight in teasing them about this in his speech.

The wedding was their fairy tale come true. It was set in a delightful “olde worlde” English country manor that has been turned into a lovely hotel in the countryside. The day before the wedding my sister Theresa and I had spent the day preparing all the flower arrangements, and on the morning of the wedding we put them all in place. Guests arrived and socialized before gravitating into the nuptial salon.

Wadey seemed quite at ease as he waited for his bride, as though this was the next most natural thing for him to be doing in his life. A murmur rippled through the crowd and Angie made her entrance. I glanced at Wadey and saw his face light up and this huge grin spread across his face. It was a sign of the joy that was to fill the rest of the day. Angie looked absolutely stunning. Her dress was richly simple and elegant and her face was aglow as she approached her husband- to-be smiling widely.

The wedding ceremony was simple and sweet. Vows were made and exchanged. Kisses were given and the register was signed. Photos were staged and taken while the salon was transformed into a dining room to which the wedding party eventually returned and where a lovely meal was enjoyed by all. The speeches were full of joy, humour, love, and great sensitivity, and on more than one occasion the groom needed a tissue as he described his love for Angie.

The meal was followed by an evening of music. The bride and groom could be seen literally jumping for joy as they joined their friends on the dance floor to celebrate their marriage. I realized that I had been surrounded by joy all afternoon and hope that this will follow Wadey and Angie as they set out on the adventure that is their life together.Along the same lines:

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Vignettes: Two Cellos

Margo — Sat, 23 May 2009 03:25:14 +0000

Hayden and Vivaldi performed in the same program? Music for two cellos? I wasn’t so sure about Hayden (I am not very familiar with his work), but Vivaldi will be forever connected in my mind with his “Four Seasons”. A full orchestration with sweeping movement, producing majestic images of nature’s incredible beauty in all its variations. So, my curiosity was aroused by the idea of Vivaldi writing a concerto for two cellos.

To the sound of applause the first violinist entered, bowed, and set about the business of “tuning up” the orchestra. Cacophony of sound; I always wonder how they manage to get in tune in the midst of such discordance? A moment’s pause and the conductor entered; more applause. Graceful of movement, he ascended the rostrum and bowed to the audience. Turning back to face the door he had just entered from, he extended a hand and the two cellists came onto the stage: Matt Haimovitz and Alexei Romanenko.

With interest I studied the two young men as they took their introductory bows. Physically they were very different, Matt being short and stocky with long hair gathered in a pony tail, while Alex was tall and slim with short almost military-cut hair. This difference also manifested in the way they dressed. Although it was somber grey, Matt wore a flamboyant, Edwardian length velvet coat over a collarless, open-at-the-neck, white shirt, and black pants. Alexi on the other hand was dressed like most of the orchestra members – black shirt and black pants. My curiosity was piqued even more.

As the music began my heart soared with the artistic beauty of it. The first movement was fast paced and I was lifted along with the liveliness of it all. I noticed how “contained” Alexi was, yet there was a quiet passion about him as he played within his own small, private circle. I found myself thinking, “still waters run deep”.

The same could not be said about his fellow cellist. I have never seen so much movement erupt from one person in a symphony orchestra!! His whole body was in constant motion, rather like a marionette at the hands of a mad puppeteer. His head jerked from side to side and seemed to belong to a different body from his arms, which had a rhythm all of their own.

His hands came from another planet, the left one flying up and down the chords at speeds that left me breathless, while the right hand furiously drew the bow back and forth and up and down. Then there were his legs and feet creating a frenzied dance of their own, sometimes both of them lifted off the floor at the same time defying him to keep balance on his chair. He not only went outside his own personal circle of space, he also made it quite clear that he would invade anyone’s circle that happened to be close by.

I was transfixed, mesmerized. Two very different people, each unique in his own way, but the music and their individual passion united them as one. Between them they created a sensory magic that was difficult to describe. They held the audience captive and I vaguely noticed most people sitting forward in their seats as though they were being drawn in by some invisible force.

Then came a moment that transcended magic and passed into the realm of mystique. The second movement contained passages that were lively and yet others that were slower, more peaceful. Then, all of a sudden, the only person playing was Matt. After a series of high energy, all-over-the-place chords, he executed a succession of lighter melodic phrases that began at the low end of the scale. Slowly, very slowly, he worked his way up the scale until he produced a single, exquisite, silver, soprano note that hung in the air like a thread of the lightest, finest, spun silk. I was suspended in pure joy and peace.

I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the concert. It was full of passion and talent and magic. But I shall be forever grateful for that one note that transported me to another realm. That one note that granted me access, just for a few moments, to a place that hung between the spiritual and mystery.Along the same lines:

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Vignettes: Gratitude in Central Park, NYC

Margo — Sat, 23 May 2009 03:12:48 +0000

The sun was dappling through the trees in Central Park, and sparkled on the waters of the pond. Families were spread out on picnic blankets enjoying the warm spring day. Couples sauntered hand in hand, stopping now and then to kiss. A few bikinis dotted the grass here and there as bodies eagerly soaked up the pre-summer sun. And exercise-conscious people jogged and walked around the lake while others cycled or roller skated on the designated pathways.

Along the edge of the pond a small man-made beach had been created. Two little girls were playing happily in the white sand oblivious to the quaint picture they made. Each had a large, floppy, white bow tied to one side of their short, bobbed, blond hair, and they were wearing drop-waist, pleated sun dresses, short white socks, and black patent ankle strap shoes. They could have stepped right out of a Victorian photograph. In some small way I was reminded of my childhood. As I watched them with amusement and nostalgia, a movement a few yards away caught my eye.

Under a large spreading tree I saw a woman. She may have been Korean or Vietnamese. She stood beside a large, almost bed-like wheelchair in which sat/laid a man. He was obviously paralyzed or fairly severely handicapped. I could not tell his age. Perhaps it was her adult son or her husband or a brother. She stood in front of him slightly to his right, her right hand lay on his right knee and she glanced around at her surroundings.

As I watched, she took a step forward and gently rubbed her right cheek against his. Then turning slightly she placed her lips against his cheek and began to speak softly to him. Was she describing the beauty of the scenery? Was she telling him she loved him? I do not know. I was not privy to her words. She then stepped back to her original position and moved over and placed her left hand on his left knee. She glanced around once more, then leaned into his left cheek, first rubbing it with her own before placing her lips there and speaking softly once again. It was a profoundly moving scene.

This time I had a clear view of the man’s profile. He moved his head ever so slightly up and down and from side to side, while a small smile hovered on his lips. I felt his joy and his happiness in those small gestures and humbly offered a prayer of gratitude. Gratitude for my own health and gratitude that I had been allowed to share this incredibly intimate moment between these two people. I will never know who they were, but my life is richer for their short presence in it.Along the same lines:

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