So I owe you an update. Yea, I
know. That’s a dumb thing to say because
there are like, all of three people, maybe,
reading this, but it sounds way too weird to say “I owe myself and my need to process
and document life for the purpose of the future an update,” sooooo I’m sticking
with the I owe YOU an update line.
I owe you (and my need to process and document life for the
purpose of the future) an update on Disney World.
We went to Disney World for fall break. We were planning to go to the lake. We were planning to have cool temperatures, boat
rides, fires, smores, quiet, peace, relaxation, and absolutely nothing on our
must-do list, which seems to have grown to epic proportions lately.
Then my in-laws invited us to Disney World. Invited,
as in, we will pay for your family of
four to enjoy a weekend at the most expensive magical place on earth.
Would you say no?
Neither did we.
The kids were beside themselves thrilled. I went kicking and
screaming. Well, actually I was stewing
silently about my lost lake trip and keeping my entire body to myself and not
touching anything or anyone and using antibacterial wipes if I was forced to
touch something and passing out wipes to my kids and my husband and anyone near
me who would take one. But internally, I
was kicking and screaming. And what I
was screaming was, DON’T MAKE ME
GO!!!!!!
Our flight took off anyway, and God answered my first prayer when
our plane landed safely in Orlando with the seat backs and tray tables in their
upright and locked positions, and most importantly, the oxygen masks and barf
bags untouched. And although I never
expected God to follow us from the airport to Disney World, I’ll be darned if
he wasn’t right there with me the entire weekend, answering my prayers one
right after the next.
Now I do need to tell you that my prayers were sucky prayers. I wasn’t praying for big, important, world
peace and a family for every orphan kind of things. I do that, sometimes, but not when my focus is
on keeping my anxiety in check and my OCD under wraps in such a way that my husband
and children can enjoy themselves without being traumatized by my insanity. Disney
World is not the place to plead for an end to war. I was in a battle of my own, friends, and it
was all I could handle at the time.
I should also tell you that I’m aware there are countless people
who do not think I’m crazy because of my anxiety and OCD, but because I don’t
share their adoration of “the happiest place on earth.” There are people in this country who are
completely in love with all things Disney.
We saw at least half a dozen couples on their honeymoons at the Magic Kingdom. If my fiancé had even suggested we consider Disney
World for our honeymoon, I would have returned the diamond without hesitation and
fled, and I mean every word of that y’all.
Disney is a highly entertaining place. In my opinion, it’s a great place to take
children once every few years. I think It’s a Small World is an adorable ride
and I love Thunder Mountain Railroad. I could do without the women in shackles on
the Pirates of the Caribbean
extravaganza (shouldn’t someone be complaining loudly enough about that to get
some much needed, politically correct updates?), but I admire the way Disney
parks are kept clean and organized, the “cast members” remember to stay in
character at all times, and boy do those folks know how to put on a parade. But I am not one of those moms who shows up
at the gates of the Magic Kingdom with Minnie Mouse ears on my head secretly
harboring fantasies about becoming a squatter in Cinderella’s castle. And if any one of my friends ever mentions
going to Disney for a girls’ trip, I will never speak to her again.
Ever.
I go to Disney World because I want to witness my kids enjoy
it. Without them, I’m staying as far
away from that place as possible. So
those prayers of mine before we arrived and the entire time we were there? Well, I’d say totally and completely selfish
pretty much sums ‘em up.
Please, Lord, let the
weather be nice.
Please, Lord, let the
hotel be clean.
Please, Lord, let the
kids get along.
Please, Lord, let my
in-laws keep up.
Please, Lord, let the
lines be less than thirty minutes.
Please, Lord, let me
keep my lunch through the Space Mountain ride.
Please, Lord, PLEASE
let me survive two full days of large crowds, public bathrooms, and people
walking around chomping on turkey legs the size of my arm. (Could I get an Amen
for that one, people? Seriously, those
things have to be a public health hazard.)
The thing is . . . God knows me.
He knows my heart, and he knows that sometimes, it does beat for
others. Sometimes, I put away my egotistical
desires and ask the One who makes the impossible possible to do meaningful
things in the lives of those who need him.
Sometimes, I forget about my own needs and ask God to feed the hungry,
shelter the homeless, heal the sick, provide for the poor.
But sometimes . . . many times . . . maybe even most times, I go to God with nothing but
my own mess. My ugly, selfish, sinful
mess.
And He hears me.
And He loves me anyway.
And He takes my self-seeking prayers, and my filthy heart, and my
inability to look past my own circumstances, and He shows me just how much I
mean to Him.
The weather was perfect.
The hotel was wonderful. The kids
got along. The in-laws were
amazing. The lines were well under
thirty minutes. I kept my lunch through
Space Mountain (uh, barely, and just for the record, I am officially retired
from that ride, along with The Tower of Terror at Hollywood Studios, which I
will curse until the day I die).
I’ve often heard it said that God meets you where you are. I’ve also heard it said that he has no
intention of keeping you there, but we’ll save that for another day and another
blog. Here’s what I think . . .
I think God met me at Disney World. Amid the noise and clutter of a weekend I
didn’t expect and wasn’t sure I could embrace, I think God showed up in a
thousand different ways to remind me of a thousand different reasons He loves
me.
For the sake of full disclosure, I must tell you that those
amazing in-laws I mentioned hired a concierge to help us navigate the
logistical maze that is five parks in two days.
I am quite sure Ramon was very expensive. I am also quite sure Ramon was an angel sent
from heaven. With his MBA from NYU and the
five languages he speaks, Ramon left a lucrative career in risk management to start
his own concierge company, and he now spends over 325 days a year escorting
groups of people around the Disney parks, and any other major Orlando
attraction.
Ramon was not only an angel, he was a genius (and some might say
certifiably crazy because of the previously mentioned 325 days a year at an
amusement park). We never looked at a map. We never looked at a schedule of events. We never argued over what to do or where to
go or when to eat. We followed Ramon
around like ducklings as he calmly and casually escorted us to each ride, show,
restaurant and park. He took pictures of the family in all the right
places. He saved us a spot in the shade
to watch the parade, complete with a little mat for the kids to sit on. He found, cleaned, and set tables for us
while we ordered lunch so we could sit right down and enjoy our Disney dining
experience. He secured us a table at Animal
Kingdom’s Rainforest CafĂ© in under two minutes when there was a sixty-minute
wait. Our group of 4 adults and three
children hit five parks in one weekend and never felt stressed, rushed or even
tired, and the kids were able to do almost every single thing they wanted to do,
and more, in a 48 hour vacation.
I don’t know when we’ll go back to Disney World. This trip might have been our last because,
ya know, Ramon. Without him, we just couldn’t hack it, and based
on the treatment we received, Ramon is not in our budget. (If you’d like to
find out if he’s in yours, I will gladly share his contact information as I highly
recommend him to everyone on the planet).
The thing is, even without Ramon, I know I would have enjoyed our
trip to Disney World. Despite all my
resistance, I found much more joy than I imagined I could on our surprise
getaway. The weekend was miraculous, in my
opinion, and not because of the beautiful weather and the short lines and the generous
in-laws and the personal concierge. The
weekend was miraculous because God is in the business of making miracles, and I
asked him to come along. I invited God
to join us, and God never turns down an invitation to be present in our lives,
no matter where we’re going. And because I asked God to come with us, and I knew without a doubt that he would show up, I saw Him everywhere.