Defining moments: Miracle in Barcelona

For all the glorious sights and experiences of my nine-day European cruise, the defining moments unfolded in an unplanned window of time as I found myself alone in the crowd of humanity at Barcelona's Park Guell, without identification, money, credit card or a phone.

Heading out about 8:45 a.m. Tuesday with a tour group for A Closer Look at Gaudi, I was thinking again that I was out of my element. Here I was on the final day of an expenses-paid cruise from Dover, England, to Barcelona, Spain, that I had done nothing to deserve and seemed unqualified to appreciate to its fullest. From the moment the travel opportunity came up, I had prayed to know whether to say yes, and also for understanding of God's will whether I accepted the trip or stayed home. The answers were still unclear. But the uncertainty did not keep me from enjoying the overall trip or this tour, which was taking the group past numerous notable buildings, including at least two designed by renowned Spanish artist and architect Gaudi.

Then we arrived at his Park Guell, a beautiful and fascinating creation with terraces, steps, houses, columns, colorful mosaics and designs. It wasn't crowded when we got there, but became more and more so. I was taking pictures as usual with my little Canon and my iPhone. All was going pretty well until the Canon quit working. I couldn't get it to come back on after it closed when not in use. I tried swapping out the batteries, and it still wouldn't work, and then I swapped memory cards. Still nothing. So I took the batteries out again and blew on them. And it came back on. What a relief!

By now, the group was heading back to the tour bus. Unfortunately, when I got there, I couldn't find the memory card. The original one. Which meant I had no pictures except those on the iPhone. I looked through all my stuff, and it wasn't there. What am I going to do? I mentioned it to the people around me and the tour guide, and she said there was no time to wait for me to go and look for it, which I knew. But she and several people seemed to be encouraging me to go back to look, and then to take a cab to the next stop: Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia. I finally decided to do that, after making sure I had money for the cab ride to the landmark cathedral.

Stepping out

As I stepped off the bus and walked unaccompanied back into the gardens, I started praying. I expressed praise and gratitude and trust in God. I acknowledged I was unworthy of a miracle, but humbly asked for one. I also affirmed to God my trust that, whatever happened, it would be OK, even though, by this time, I felt more "out of my element" than ever. I was aware that, without a guide to lead the way in the park crossed with many paths and levels, I was unsure even which way we had come while I was trying to get the camera to work.

At some point, I was thirsty and started trying to fish a water bottle out of my bag. I got my drink and kept going. Along the way I also saw a cat and had to take a picture, even as I became aware I probably wouldn't find my little camera case and the memory card within it. I knew I didn't have all day to look, because I was to rejoin the tour at the La Sagrada Familia. I decided to call my husband and just tell him I had lost the memory card with all my pictures, but that I knew there could be much worse things to lose, so I would just go on.

And then I began to experience what could only be classified at the moment as "much worse." I could not find my phone. And as I kept looking, I realized I could not find my wallet, either. Usually the phone was in a zippered pocket on the outside of my nylon backpack, and the wallet was in a smaller bag inside the nylon one. But in my rush to make sure I had money and phone before getting off the tour bus, they ended up together in the smaller bag.

I didn't know whether one of the pickpockets I had been warned about had gotten it, or if it had fallen out when I got the water. All I knew was that I now was in a busy city park in Barcelona without identification, money, credit card or a phone.

No longer was I praying for a little miracle. I knew I needed a big one.

Here, the idea that I don't deserve a miracle -- nor did I deserve the trip -- returned. Still, I prayed. In faith. With confidence. Not knowing what to expect.

Instead of writing notes about sites in Barcelona, I began filling my journal with what was in my mind, trying to stay focused and calm, writing out prayers: "Lord, I trust You. I thank You for Your presence." Lessons: "Don't go alone! Never go alone! And even so, trust God. Trust God. Don't cry. Pray for calm. Seek help." "Be gracious." "I trust You, God. It will be OK."

Having no idea where this would lead or how long it would last, my first stop was the bathroom, then I checked with the gift shop in the area where I had looked for the camera card. The young clerk spoke English and said items that are found sometimes are brought there, but my bag had not come. He told me where I might find police to help me. I looked some more for the bag containing my phone, money and ID, praying and hoping against hope, but didn't find it.

Meanwhile, by about 11:30 a.m., a police van had come to the gift shop area. Fortunately, one of the Barcelona Guardia Urban's finest spoke some English, and eventually he was able to reach the cruise line by telephone. An official there suggested the policeman get me a taxi and assure the driver the fare would be paid when I arrived at the terminal. (It never occurred to me or the police to call my cellphone! Duh! That's another lesson to learn from this.)

Overwhelmed

It was in the taxi that emotions started to overwhelm me as I thought of the lost pictures and the lost opportunity -- and how helpless I felt. I also felt embarrassed, stupid, humbled, grateful -- but fortunately never really scared or alone.

Still, tears formed. All my pictures. Gone. Credit card, gone. Driver's license, gone. Euros and U.S. currency, gone. (At least I knew my passport, the identification needed to fly home, was on the ship.) "If possible, Lord, if it be Your will, please help me not cry. If it's better for me not to cry, please help me not cry. And if it's OK -- then let the tears flow. Or, perhaps, if the tears flow, please help it be OK." (The tears trickled, and it was OK.)

When the taxi arrived at the ship terminal, I was greeted by people from the cruise, who even before paying the fare informed me my bag had been found and would be back at the ship at 2:30. (This was about 1 p.m.) I wasn't totally convinced, but felt hopeful. I got a new room key, then went up, praying and again trying to be positive but hesitant to get my hope up. Shortly, I had a phone message. It was Olivia, a member of my cruise group who also was on the Gaudi tour. She was excited to tell me she had found my bag. I could come and get it in the room next door. But when I got there, it was the camera bag and not the one with the phone, etc. What had been the object of my original search now seemed so insignificant. I felt crushed again. But I thanked her and expressed hope that, possibly, the information about the bag coming back at 2:30 might also be true. Dare I hope? How could I not?

Again, I kept praying, even as I was afraid to get my hopes up. I also considered whether to call Gene yet or wait until I knew whether the bag was found. (I knew that if it wasn't found, I would need my husband's help in canceling credit cards and making other arrangements to get me home. And if it was found, did he even need to know about all this before I got home?) But right around 2:30, the desk called and said my bag with phone and wallet was there. I felt such relief. Oh my. Thank you, God!

It wasn't clear to me where the bag had been or who brought it to the ship, but I was just glad to have it back.

As soon as I had my iPhone, I used it to get online and check email. And I saw Gene had emailed me just after 11 a.m. (4 a.m. Oklahoma time). "Call ASAP. Lost handbag?" As soon as I saw it (about 2:45 in Barcelona and 8:45 in OK), I texted: "Handbag is found. You can call me when you get this or have a chance." He replied that he couldn't call out, so I called him. Little did I know ...

Meanwhile, in the U.S. ...

Gene told me he had been awakened at 4:03 a.m. by a call from my cell phone number. "And it's a guy, speaking English. Good English. Not even an accent." The man said a bag with this phone had been found. And this was the last number called. Gene said it must belong to me, his wife, and that I was on a Crystal cruise. The man said he would make sure the bag and phone get back to the ship. Of course, Gene is wondering what happened to me. "I'm literally thinking you are in the hospital or dead." He knows I often take my purse and phone with me even when I go to the bathroom at home, so for me to be separated from them seemed serious. Had I been kidnapped?

After a couple hours of wondering and worrying, at about 6:30 (7:04?), Gene called my number back, trying to get more information about what was going on. The man said the bag was being taken back to the ship (but he apparently had no idea where I was). Gene said he had not been able to contact me, so the man gave him a phone number for the ship. Gene called and talked to someone on the ship, but that didn't really provide any clarity as to my whereabouts.

So, while I had no idea Gene was aware that my bag had been lost and found, he had no clue about where I was or whether anything had happened to me until I called after 2:30 p.m. Barcelona time (8:48 OK time). (As best I can tell, that was at least four hours without him knowing; some of the times and numbers don't quite add up, based on what Gene and I remember and what time stamps on emails and texts reflect.)

Everything in its place

That night, I met my cruise group for a small party, but decided not to go back into Barcelona with them. I wanted to try to track down the rest of the story of who found my bag and how it got back to the ship and thank whomever was involved.

And, amazingly, I did! The woman at the ship's front desk said the person who brought it back was one of Crystal's ambassador hosts, and he was in the Stardust Club dancing. So I headed that way, and when I was about there, a woman going the other way looked at me and exclaimed, Are you the woman with the lost bag? I said, um, yes. I asked what she knew about that, and she said she and the woman with her were among the people who found my bag and brought it back. So I met her and her sister-in-law -- and the host who was the excursion's escort.

They were with a different tour going through Park Guell. They gathered in an area with benches, and some sat down. When they got up to go on, someone noticed the bag. They thought it belonged to someone from their group, but no one claimed it. As they tried to decide what to do with it, they saw the iPhone. Only one knew how to use it and decided to call last number. That's the call that awakened Gene, who was in Arkansas for a conference.

They could tell by the iPhone pictures that I was on their ship. Plus, one of the women said she recognized me (from my driver's license picture?) as someone on the ship. Of course, like Gene, they had no idea where I was or what had happened to me, so they were quite concerned and were praying, too.

They had been as interested in finding me as I was in finding them. They had checked with the desk later to find out if I had returned to the ship and were relieved to know I did. But we all were glad to get the chance to meet, take pictures, express gratitude to each other -- and thank God!

I've always had faith and an awareness that God loves me, never leaves me and works all things for good as I seek Him and trust Him. And if you asked, I would say I believe in miracles. I believe that, on Tuesday, Sept. 10, 2013, I experienced a miracle in Barcelona. I see no way except for God's perfect, divine intervention that all my lost or misplaced things could have made their way back to me. I just don't think that could all happen by chance.

While I missed my coveted visit to the architecturally and spiritually significant La Sagrada Familia (known, among other things, as a work in progress more than 100 years after it was started), God visited me -- His own work in progress -- in an intimate, powerful and transformative way. I stand in awe of His amazing grace and pray to respond to His glory.

Side trips on the way to the train ride

When I decided to ride Amtrak's Heartland Flyer from Norman, Oklahoma, to Gainesville, Texas, after checking to find out the fare was reasonable ($25 one-way, because of booking so close to departure), my plan was to drive my car to the Norman Depot and leave it until I returned, either that evening or the following day. But my husband, Gene, mentioned on the Friday afternoon before I was to leave Saturday morning that a co-worker had told him it wasn't safe to leave a car overnight at the depot. I don't have anyone (besides Gene, who would already be in Texas) I'm comfortable calling on short notice for something like a ride to the train station on a Saturday morning. So I really didn't know what I would do. If I hadn't already booked my reservation, I probably would have canceled the trip. The fun, convenience and spontaneity of riding the train was lost if I had to start calling to find a ride! On top of that, it was hard for me to believe the city of Norman (and Amtrak, for that matter) wouldn't make it a priority to keep passengers' cars as safe as possible. And the train station is right across from the Sheriff's Department and not far from the police station. But it's also right across the tracks from services for the homeless. Because of that, after Gene raised the concerns, I didn't dare want to risk leaving my car there and having it stolen or broken into.

So, acting on about the same kind of whim that led me to even make the train trip, I checked the Yellow Pages to see what kind of taxicab service Norman has. I called and found out a trip to the depot would be about $12. That seemed pretty reasonable. I called for the cab to arrive about 8:15 a.m. for my 8:50 train departure. The driver seemed to be glad to have a fare in what he said is a pretty slow summer in Norman (although not as slow as it used to be). It was a pleasant, leisurely way to get to the depot, and I figure the fare plus a small tip was worth it for convenience and car insurance!

At the train station, I had the pleasant surprise of realizing the depot is home to the Performing Arts Studio of Norman, and on display was an art exhibit for which I had just edited the newspaper's review at work the day before. Dixie Erickson's excellent "Instrumental Art" centered on banjos.

From The Oklahoman's review by John Brandenburg: "This banjo was the director of my band — I played all the variations," the Norman artist said of her use of various media and methods to celebrate the instrument. "My music is sight, not sound — all the different styles, all the different mediums, all the different looks of the banjo."

I never seem to make it to galleries to see art exhibits, so I was glad this was placed along my pathway to ride the train! Adding to my enjoyment of the exhibit was the juxtaposition: To see the single-themed artwork, I had to look above the wide variety of people seated below the mounted pieces, waiting for the train to arrive.

I guess the point of all this is to note that my decision to take a different route to a familiar destination led to unexpected perspectives and experiences. And that seems to be how it always is with life. I'm glad I was open to the opportunities. I hope to experience more soon.

Carried away by the train!

Something there is about riding a train. I don't recall getting excited about the arrival of a Greyhound or Continental Trailways bus back in the day. But some 30 years ago and again Saturday, I shared in the almost magical anticipation along with people from toddlers to grandparents and a range of couples, singles, families and even a 20-strong group wearing shirts proclaiming "The Royal Family of Lunch Ladies" -- all waiting for the train to arrive. "How will we know when it's here," a pretty young girl, maybe 4 or 5 years old and wearing a flowery summer dress, asked her family. Oh, you'll know, I wanted to tell her!

And soon there was the distinct sound of the train whistle, and then the vision of that intense light, for a short while barely seeming to move closer, and then suddenly at the station.

People seemed exceptionally good-natured awaiting, boarding and riding on the train. The Heartland Flyer's crew was friendly and professional. For someone more used to traveling in a plane, the seating seemed roomy and comfortable. The ride was smooth and amazingly quiet. The pace seemed leisurely.

In the nearly 29 years I've lived in Norman, Oklahoma, I've made the trip homeward to Gainesville, Texas, many times, mostly in a car or pickup, occasionally passing overhead in a plane. Except when construction causes traffic to bottleneck, I don't mind the ride along Interstate 35 at all and in fact enjoy parts. But making the journey on the less-traveled tracks of a train, through trees and brush and pastureland and right up against a face of the Arbuckle Mountains at a couple of places, provides a refreshing new perspective.

The people: I don't recall wondering about the stories and destinations of fellow vehicle-bound travelers on the highway, but aboard the train, leaving the driving to someone else, it was fun to wonder, eavesdrop and share stories. The guy sitting next to me was using the first of his 18-trip ticket package to travel from Purcell to Fort Worth to see his girlfriend. They hoped to watch a Rangers baseball game, even though it looked like the trip south was headed toward rain. In the row ahead, a 60ish couple traveled with two young grandsons. They, also, were trying to plan adventures around the rain; would it be the zoo or a museum? And of course I regret not getting to find out the story of the Royal Family of Lunch Ladies, but they were boarding when I spotted them, and I'm not sure where they ended up sitting.

The scenery: I think my favorite view is gliding through tall grass, brush or trees that seem to grow right up to the tracks. The recent rains added to the lushness, I'm sure. They also enhanced the view through the Arbuckles, where twice we got a good look at the winding Washita River. (The stewardess -- is that what she's called? -- described it as looking like a sea of chocolate milk. I think it had some strawberry in it, too!) I'm also fascinated by running so close to cow pastures, small towns, oil-industry compounds and railyards. And something intrigues me about crossing under the highways that are my normal pathway. The final fun perspective was actually crossing the trestle bridge over the Red River that I seem to always notice to the west when I cross into the home state on the highway.

I was met at the station by my mom, and after some shopping, we went out to the family farm, where I spent the afternoon visiting my parents and catching up and getting the facts straight on some family history. Then my husband, who had driven to Texas earlier to take care of some things, came over for steaks and then to drive us back to Norman.

To my surprise, as we headed across the Red River northbound on Interstate 35 about 7 p.m., just to our west was the leisurely Heartland Flyer. Rainbows to the east for much of the return trip were one more reminder that this was a day trip for which I had been destined.

I'm not sure when I started hearing the low train whistle calling me to ride, but I'm blessed to have responded by jumping on board! If I'd taken time to plan my trip, I could have saved money. But I probably never would have made it to the train station. I would have convinced myself it wasn't worth the cost, that it wasn't convenient or that it wasn't practical. And I would have missed a great day!


Sometimes God clearly says: This one's yours. ... I'm grateful I was able to hear, and I pray to continue to grow in awareness and responsiveness to such calls.