The Ocean that was The Louvre

 I was walking with Kristin. We were walking faithfully behind the rest of our group (Denae, Emily, McKenna, and Dillon) when we stopped to look at Venus de Milo. I had seen replicas of this sculpture, but never the real thing.

She was stunning. I had to get a picture. So Kristin and I walked a little closer to get a few shots. Being the perfectionist that I am, I wanted a better one, so I moved around to her other side to get a better angle. After getting in the perfect position and stretching and navigating over people’s heads, I finally captured a shot that I thought justified the amazing sculpture.

Then I proceeded to turn around only to find that Kristin was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, boy.” *Looked around nonchalantly*

“Hmm…” *Walked around casually*

“Ehh…” I stayed calm, but in the back of my mind I was starting to panic.

No international cell service. No wifi. No Kristin. No Denae. No Emily. No McKenna. No Dillon.

Living in a generation dependant upon iMessage, I was lost in a maze of a museum, one of the largest in the world.

With. No. Wifi.

Being a very responsible child, I can’t remember there ever being a time when I was little that I had actually been lost, so this was new territory for me.

I prayed. “God, please help me find my friends.”

I went through scenarios in my head, options of finding them. Ideally they would be around the next corner. Nope. Maybe I could log onto some free wifi. No wifi. Maybe I could ask a stranger (preferable one who spoke English) if I could use their iMessage to contact McKenna. Too shy.

Backup plan: go to the Mona Lisa.

I had mentioned to Kristin earlier, something to the effect of, “Can we just go to the Mona Lisa and be done?” Maybe she would remember what I had said and go there in hopes that I too would be thinking the same thing. So I went in hopes that they too would be thinking the same thing.

I got lost trying to find her, but was pointed in the right direction by a guide. I finally made it to her. She was smaller than I expected, probably because I had been passing paintings that were as big as walls and that covered ceilings. But she was still pretty. She looked just like she had in all of the pictures I had seen of her, with that quaint smile and that scandalous bit of cleavage showing. She looked out into the crowd who gathered in front of her, as did I. But neither of us saw what I truly longed for: the sight of my five friends greeting me joyously as the lost sheep who had finally been found.

But no. The thought of the Mona Lisa and all that she would bring to me at that moment was too good to be true. So I went on.

I made my way back to the sculpture that had so entranced me that I should be mindlessly separated from my school of fish in the ocean that was The Louvre.

On the way back to the beginning, which would also be the end, I started seeking help from the powers that be. The only problem was that the powers that be spoke French and only a tiny bit of English. The powers also did not have iPhones.

 The first guide that I talked to spoke about enough English to tell me that she spoke only a little bit of English. She also knew how to tell me how to get to the exit, but that didn’t help much. So I trudged on.

As I made my way back, I passed scores of people. While I hoped that someone who spoke English would notice that I was lost and offer their assistance to me, I knew that in reality, everyone in that entire museum was consumed in their own selfish ambition to encounter a piece of art that would so move them to an emotional experience, one that they would remember for the rest of their lives, one that at just the mention of the piece would bring back a flood of memories and their lives would be forever changed. They thought nothing of the lonely college kid who felt like an eight-year-old girl who had been separated from her parents for over half an hour.

So I had to continue on and take action. I sought out another guide who spoke better English than the last. I found her right outside the room of the very place where I had gone missing.

I stood there in that hallway conversing with a French woman trying to explain why I couldn’t use my phone and that I needed wifi in order to send a message. She finally began to explain to me where I could go to get free wifi. She also mentioned the place where missing people go and possibly find their flock. I considered this option for a hot second before realizing that I was not, in fact, an eight-year-old little girl and that my parents would not be seeking me out at in the “lost person” play pin.

It was at this moment when the answer to my prayers finally came.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

The familiar sound of Kristin’s voice calling my name never sounded so glorious:

Music to my ears.

I turned to see the beautiful faces of my great friends Kristin and Denae.

The lost sheep was finally found.

She may have wandered off and lost her way, but that was no longer significant.

The point was that she was now with the people she loved and who loved her.

Thank you, friends, for not giving up on me and for finding me when I had lost my way.

I am forever grateful for you.