Part of growing up at our house was participating in Summertime mission trips and choir tours. Our four children, though not entirely angels (Okay, church friends, stop laughing), had many wonderful and fulfilling experiences through these spiritual opportunities. As they got older, I was able to go with them as a mature chaperon... a voice of reason...a godly example. This worked pretty well until I accidentally got my youngest daughter drunk on a mission trip. Oops.
Since she is living out of state as a fine example of a grown up, I feel I can now admit this little error. It was a completely honest mistake. It all started when I tried to assist her in the midst of a panic attack. You have to understand that although she is an incredible "Over-Achiever", who can do anything she sets her mind to, she had one little bitty weakness. She did not like boats. Not at all. Not any size or shape. (It might have had something to do with not being in control, but I would never say that). Imagine her surprise when she discovered that the mission trip to the Bahamas for which she had committed, required that she travel on a rather sizable vessel over water. Yikes!
Her worries (and mine) diminished when she made the voyage from Ft. Lauderdale to the Bahamas without incident, and barely a ripple. She was nervous, but handled it remarkably well. She did not even need the motion-sickness medicine I brought along. I had the forethought to get the kind that makes one drowsy knowing that if she had to take it she would fare better if she could at least doze off. But the trip was so smooth she was fine.
She spent most of the week (Spring Break) doing back-breaking construction work by day, and singing and worship in the evenings. 
She accompanied the group with her Djembe and sweet spirit all week long. The day for the return journey was a bit breezy and overcast. That factor alone had her anxious. It was obvious the moment the ship cast off that my little girl would definitely need the medicine this time. She was so caught up in her anxiety that she needed the drowsiness effect even more than the motion-sickness aspect of the medicine. Our intrepid group got tables in a large entertainment/lounge arena. I'm sure the comedian who was performing believed the large crowds were there to hear his routine, but the truth is that the weather was deteriorating and everyone was seeking refuge from the big fat rain drops that were now falling. Most of the group was happy for the chance to relax after a week of enjoyable, but grueling labor. But my poor baby was falling deeper and deeper into a full blown panic attack, and I was at a complete loss as to how I could help. That's when I had my most brilliant idea. I remembered that I had a prescribed bottle of a sleeping aid in my purse (to help me sleep on the floor of the church that week). Of course, if my child took one of these tiny pills, she would fall fast asleep in one of the cushioned chairs of the lounge. I confidently encouraged her to take one and waited for the magic to happen.
The magic didn't seem like it would ever happen. I noticed that my daughter's fingernails were gouging the skin of her arms where she had grabbed them so tightly. Finally I thought I would walk with her on the deck above and let her get some fresh air. Surely that would help. I put my arm around her (I noticed that her steps were not terribly even) and helped her up the little stairs leading to the deck. I pushed the resisting door open and almost got knocked over by the fresh air. Yes, the winds had picked up, and the view of the horizon that I thought might be helpful was more like
an out of control see saw. (and wasn't it nice of National Geographic to capture it on film?)
Almost immediately my daughter's head rested on my shoulder. Ahh, success! But strangely, as the crowd would laugh or respond to the performer on the stage, her head would rise up, and she would say things like, "Who let those frogs in here?" And of course, being a supportive group, her
friends quickly learned that she was far more entertaining than the "comic" on the stage. After several incidences of completely bizarre statements bursting forth from my daughter's mouth, I had to face the truth. My daughter was drunk! And I did it to her! Apparently you have to be careful about the kinds of drugs you mix together. Who knew?
It is ironic that my sweet little girl who would never knowingly put herself in an "out of control" situation, nevertheless experienced a drunken stupor...instigated by her mother...on a mission trip. Oh dear. Please don't tell anyone!
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