I posted Part 1 of my recent European Riverboat Cruise experience last week (scroll back if you don’t recall). Well, that was the good part. I saved the not-so-good part for this week (although I’ll stuff as many “good” photos on this post as I can). I suspect some of you will readily identify with the teeth-gritted-ness of a long awaited vacation going sideways and all you could do was helplessly watch your money, time, and good will slither away.
Days 1 and 2 of the 15-day river cruise were spent eating everything that wasn’t battened down and ooh’ing and aah’ing over the scenery of Amsterdam as we boarded our riverboat (whose well known ownership company rhymes with biking – but sadly had no actual bikes available for casual scenic riding like their competitor had for us on our first riverboat excursion 8 years ago. But then that other company went belly up three years ago, taking our already-paid-for 45th anniversary cruise with them).
*This is the convoluted reason we finally took our 45th anniversary Rhine and Danube combo river cruise on our 48th anniversary – saving up our quarters for three years made us a bit tardy to the party.*
On Day 3, while we were enjoying a small boat side-trip down parts of the castle-studded Rhine River that our larger Riverboat couldn’t navigate because of the drought-caused low river water, my tummy started churning. Not rumbling in a hungry sort of way, but rather in a dark sort of unidentifiable way. I thought it was just reacting to the delicious hot chocolate and lovely cheesecake I had just consumed, but no, for the next three hours, it didn’t stop. Something was wrong but I knew not what.
We made it back to our riverboat in early afternoon and had just started walking toward the lovely Austrian city where we had ported for an afternoon shopping expedition, when I suddenly knew without a doubt we had better bee-line it back to our tiny ship bathroom post haste. I will spare you the details but just imagine atomic bomb meets Bad Mudder. Oh. My. Gosh.
For the next six hours, I expelled more bodily fluids than I ever thought a body could hold. Poor Spouse had to morph the shopping exhibition into several medicine-seek-and rescue missions. I expected him to bring back magical tar-pills like I had experienced 8 years ago in Austria – you may recall that gosh-awful come-to-Jesus gut story from one of my Too Blessed to be Stressed books – honest to goodness, those diarrhea pills looked and smelled like someone had stamped little circles of tar right out of the street, but hey, they plugged the hole in the gut dam like the little Dutch boy’s finger in the dike (nod to storyteller Hans Christian Andersen).
This time, though, they weren’t tar pills, they were real Americanized Imodium. But there was a problem. I couldn’t keep even one “STOP IT!” pill down long enough to do any good – I upchucked each one up within five minutes after it went down, too fast to take effect. After we worked our way through the first entire box and started on the second, finally my revolting guts ran out of steam and things started to settle down.
But my real reason for sharing this with you is not to gross you out with a body fluids overdose (sorry about that), but to tell you about Jeanne. Well, her nametag said Jeanne but I think of her as a human reincarnation of Jesus.
My sweet angel, Jeanne. The poor doomed woman assigned to clean our room on the riverboat who got stuck with mega-sick Debbie.
She didn’t know me from Eve and didn’t even speak my language. But love and caring radiated like sunbeams from her eyes and as soon as she discovered my explosive condition, she dove in there with both gloved hands, holding the trashcan under my flopping chin while I filled it yet again. Cleaning, scrubbing, disinfecting the bathroom over and over, and mopping my sweaty forehead with a cool clean washcloth, she kept appearing every twenty minutes or so, caring for me in the most primitive of ways when I was reduced to a pathetic sick regurgitating puppy.
And I’ll never, ever forget the time she finished cleaning me up like a big helpless baby and I looked up at her from my death bed – a woman I’d barely noticed the day before – backlit while standing in the doorway holding the nasty trash bag filled with my vomit. She sure looked a lot like Jesus to me when she said in her pigeon-hole English, “Oh, sweet Debbie, I pray here in hallway. Just call out if you need me. I’ll be right here. ”
I’ll be right here.
Now I know that cleaning up nastiness and people actively making more is not part of a chambermaid’s job. And most certainly praying for them is not. But my angel Jeanne hovered outside my door, letting herself in with her key without anyone asking her to and rushing to my aid when I was not able to put words to my raw need. Like Mother Teresa did for all those Indian street orphans. And so many other women do who take care of the least of these, our sistern (and brethern), in their hour of deepest human fleshly need.
Jeanne may have had one of the lowest jobs on the ship, but she touched my soul in the highest way possible. She was right there. Every single time I needed her.
I regret that I never thought to take a photo of Jeanne, but her loving brown eyes will remain in my memory forever. I want to be more like Jeanne when I grow up. I want to love people in the rawest way possible and be Jesus in a real way to them, so that they’ll know that their Savior is there, He’s aware, and He cares. And whenever they need Him, they can be assured He’ll be right there.
My guts never fully recovered for the rest of the trip – or for that matter, even now, two weeks later. I don’t know to this day whether I had food poisoning or a sneaky boat virus (we heard of at least ten fellow passengers who suffered similar fates), but whatever the reason, I lost four pounds. On a cruise. Surrounded by more beautiful, luscious, incredible foods – that I didn’t have to cook – than we’ll probably find on even heaven’s bounteous table. Sigh.
But hey, looking on the bright side, four pounds is four pounds. My shorts button again. I’ll take it.
Okay, BFF (Blessed Friend Forever) it’s your turn – who was your own human angel and how were they right there when you needed help? We’d love to hear from you.
P.S. Last call for fall and Christmas special events – if you need an inspirational special events speaker for your church or civic event, please give me a buzz and we’ll work it out. But don’t tarry – only a couple of dates are still open. Hugs!