The Mini Reunion

Thank you to Bill Stevens for writing today's blog. Bill is Director for Development Activities and Field Representative for the Southeast region. If you'd like to contact Bill to arrange a visit to your church or home, please call 904-260-2425.



I left Jacksonville just before 7AM for my four-hour drive to meet up with resident, Dan, who was spending his summer vacation in Lake Placid, FL with his sister and brother-in-law. In spite of heavy traffic getting to the interstate and taking the long route around Orlando to avoid the congestion, I arrived at my destination right on time at 11:30AM.  Dan’s sister had previously thought she would keep the purpose of my visit a surprise, but she spilled the beans and Dan rushed out to greet me with his usual rib-crushing bear hug.  He knew we were on the way to meet up with Louis, a.k.a. “Butch.”  Dan had not seen his friend of over 22 years in more than a year since Butch moved away from Shepherds to his new independent life in Sebring, FL. (see “Catalyst for Independence”).

After hearing about Dan’s latest fishing trip wherein he lost the “big” ones, we buckled the seat belts and headed back north some 20 miles to meet Butch at his home.  During the drive, Dan shared his recent life events with me.  He excitedly told me about being picked as captain of his bowling team.  It seems he is quite the bowler.  Several times he has bowled 200+ games according to his brother-in-law.  He ardently described his hook deliveries and how he had to position his feet and release the ball.  He has two bowling balls of his own of which he is very proud.  He also told me of a recent outing to the lanes where he met “Señor Michael” a six-foot four-inch, Spanish-speaking bowler who was with a friend who translated for him.  Dan and Señor Michael became friends quickly, and Dan enjoyed speaking through a translator.  Dan also shared about his personal experiences of trying to help a severely ill roommate at Shepherds.  He was asked to call 911 and stay on the line with the operator until help arrived.  Sadly, his friend David passed away, but Dan was so happy that he could attend his funeral.  Dan is quite the conversationalist and continually talks, jumping from one story to another.  He would punctuate his story telling by using the exclamation“all ex-sudden” instead of “suddenly”.  He must have peppered his conversations with that phrase during the course of the day twenty to twenty-five times.  Before the last few miles to Butch’s home, we stopped to purchase our picnic food.  Yes, weather permitting, we were planning an outside picnic with all southern food.  Dan picked out a box of fried chicken, southern style potato salad, baked beans, a peach cobbler pie, and two bottles of soda.  I added a bag of ice, and we strapped in the car again to make our way to Maranatha Village where Butch resides in his mobile home.

As we drove into Maranatha Village, Dan began sizing everything up.  Two lakes -he wondered if Butch fished.  I told him Butch said there were gators in them.  “All ex-sudden” he was alert, scanning the banks and looking with interest at the homes we passed until we pulled into Butch’s drive.  We made our way to the door, knocked, and when Butch opened the door, Dan exclaimed, “Remember me?”

Butch let us in, and “all ex-sudden” Dan saw Butch’s sister, whom he knew, and warmly greeted her too.  After she left, they noticed it was getting awfully hot and clouds were forming, so we had our picnic inside. 

Dan talked continually, filling Butch in on all the news about their mutual friends at Shepherds.  It was quite a reunion, although truly a mini-reunion since there were just the two of them.  After lunch, before our next adventure of the afternoon, Butch took Dan on a tour of Marantha Village on his golf cart in hopes of spotting gators. 

“Nope!” Dan said emphatically on their return. “No alligators, but I think I can teach Butch something about fishing.”   

Butch showed us his new propane grill, 

his new basketball hoop and stand, 

and told Dan about his landscaping work around his home.  Butch also works as general yardman and landscaper for the Manor Assisted Living Facility.  It was his earnings of $66.48 every two weeks that paid for grill, basketball stand, a new flat screen tv, and soon-to-be-delivered - a new stackable washer /dryer combination being installed in the bathroom.  That’s pretty common in most small mobile homes.  Butch really does a good job with independent living.  Not only does he work for the Village, but he is member of Maranatha Baptist Church where he now serves as an usher with his own name tag!

We buckled up once again and went to a local mall where they have an arcade called “Game Time.”  I had searched for a miniature golf (Putt- Putt) course, but the only one in Sebring was closed for the summer and the next closest was 60 miles away in Lakeland.  The guys enjoyed over an hour playing ski ball, basketball toss, milk can toss, and Ninja sword fighting.   

When their tokens ran out, we left the arcade to only find out it was really getting ready to pour. Dan wanted Butch to see where he lived on summer vacation so we drove in the driving rain back to Lake Placid and arrived at Dan’s sister’s house just as the rain was slacking.  It was still raining so Dan could not give Butch a tour of the property to see his brother-in-law’s fishing boat, the pool, and the grill “that is a lot bigger than yours!”  We sat and talked with Dan’s brother-in-law while Dan did most of the talking, telling Ron about their day and everything that Butch was doing.  Ron told me that Dan is high functioning enough to live independently, but he has problems remembering to take very important meds, and they have not wanted to chance it to this point in his life.  Dan is very happy and was looking forward to going back to Shepherds to resume his activities, his sports, his work, time with his friends, and his “Harbor” group home roomies.  I received another crushing hug, and Butch and I departed for the return trip to his home.

I dropped Butch off with the promise I would be back before the end of the year so we could grill out.  He was excited, not because of what I said or that I was leaving, but rather because he could hardly wait for the next day when he would go to Tropicana Park in St. Petersburg with a bus load from Maranatha Village to see the Tampa Bay Rays play.

I returned back home in Jacksonville about 7:30 PM and reviewed the pictures I had taken and enjoyed the blessings and good memories from the Mini-Reunion.  I love my job!

Changing My Mind

I had limited exposure to people with intellectual disabilities when I was growing up. 

There was a teenaged boy named Jeff in the house down the road from my childhood home. Whenever I saw Jeff, he was with a parent, he was protected by a very large, growling guard dog, and he was making noises that sounded to my young ears like agonized moaning. I walked by his house every day with my head down, hoping that I looked deep in thought, hoping that he, or his dog, wouldn’t notice me.

Then there was another teenaged boy named Eddie. He was the son of an out-of-state friend of my parents. I heard stories about Eddie throughout the years, but I only met him one memorable time.

I didn’t know how to act around Eddie the time we visited. I was fifteen and, being a girl, very self-conscious. 

I tried to talk to him once, but he didn’t say anything – he just stared. 

I smiled once, but he didn’t smile back – he just stared. 

I wanted to ride his dirt bike around the yard, but when I asked, he didn’t shake his head or nod or anything – he just stared. 

And this wasn’t the “wow, I think you’re cute!” kind of staring. It was the kind that had me running for the nearest mirror to do the nose check, hair check, teeth check, girlie paranoid thing.

So my very limited exposure to people with intellectual disabilities caused me to form a faulty perception, which was people with intellectual disabilities are unapproachable and very sad.  They spend their days moaning, staring and separated from other people.

 This perception wasn’t challenged until I started working at Shepherds. I saw that people with intellectual disabilities had personalities and character and charm. 

They had many moods, and sad was only one of them.

They moaned once in a while, maybe when the lunchroom ran out of pizza and they had to eat beef stew instead, but there was also chatter, bickering, smiles and laughter that filled the hours every day.

And rarely – rarely – did I see anyone just staring. Our people were engaged on all levels – mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually.

If anyone reading this blog currently shares the erroneous beliefs from my pre-Shepherds years, I invite you to visit our campus. Meet our people. Eat a meal with them at the Shepherds Table. Spend an evening singing bad karaoke with them. Talk to them about their families and God and their favorite dessert at Dairy Queen. They have a lot to say.

Sure, some people with intellectual disabilities communicate non-verbally. Some of their noises sound an awful lot like moaning. But stop for a moment and really listen. Watch their expressions and listen to the inflections in their voices. They have something to tell you. They are excited. They are angry. They have a story. Hear them.

And some people with intellectual disabilities stare. I do too when I’m writing, when I’m gazing inward at all the words floating across my mind like the messages in the window of a Magic 8 ball. I’m sure I’ve freaked out every single one of my co-workers. But when our residents stare, don’t let it unnerve you. Look deep in their eyes and acknowledge them. Appreciate the soft gaze of satisfaction deep within. Or notice the pinch of confusion or the light of curiosity. Just don’t turn away in discomfort as I once did. See them.

I wish I could take all that I learned at Shepherds in the last six years and give it to the little girl who wanted to be nice to Jeff, but didn’t know how. That little girl would have asked Jeff’s dad if she could sit by the pond in their front yard with Jeff and talk about how crazy the ducks got when someone threw bread in the water, or her amazement at the big hill in the center of their driveway. Did Jeff ever want to sled down it in the winter the way she did?

I wish I could tell my teenaged self that Eddie was staring because girls didn’t usually come over to his house. He didn’t realize that hair could be teased so high, and I didn’t realize how distracting my big, sparkling earrings were to someone with sensory issues. I’d like to think that my teenaged self would have been less self-absorbed and more patient, that I would have smiled more than once, or asked him more than one question. Or maybe I should have stared back to let him know that I was aware of him and wanted to take the time to figure out this whole new form of communication.

It took the people of Shepherds to teach me that disability doesn’t equal sadness and separation. Disability is just one tiny part of the richness of our human experience. The other parts? Purpose, faith, friendship, community, learning, talents, strengths, weaknesses, adventure, promise, love, loss, communication, caring… it’s all there in every one of us.

Shepherds changed my beliefs about disability. 

Has your experience with Shepherds changed you too? We’d love to hear your stories about Shepherds and the people who call this ministry home.