Humiliation Nation Goes International - Part 2

Go here if you missed the first part of this glorious story where I have one of the more humiliating moments of my life...

If the toilet could have swallowed me up, I would have gladly flushed myself. I could not believe that the entire team was waiting on me. That the entire team knew I had...had...well, you know what I had.

I begged. I pleaded. Leave without me. Let me stay in my room and get through this "issue" myself. And they would not consent. Now only had my situation become public knowledge, but now they were running late because of me. Could this get any worse?!

They would not relent and somehow missed the concept of what I was going through. Not understanding how these people could not comprehend or sympathize with my predicament, I unhappily collected myself, desperately praying that I could make it on the bus ride to our destination without some sort of accident.

I walked swiftly to the bus with my head lowered. I could not look the 20+ people (a few local pastors had joined our group now and were also aware of my problem) in the eyes knowing that they knew. Knew that I had held them up while I took care of business. I quietly answered their questions concerning my well being while my stomach continued to declare mutiny.

I sank into my seat wishing no one could see me and that this would all go away. I closed my eyes and began to just worship God. I soon found peace...in my soul and stomach. I still had some discomfort, but I knew I was safe until we reached the host church.

I sat listening to the others and continued to collect myself. Maybe they would forget. At the least they wouldn't mention it. I could put this behind me. (No pun intended.)

As someone began to engage me in conversation, one of the team leaders came over. A loud man full of zeal. He ordered me to stand up so that he could pray for me. Why hadn't I tried to flush myself?

I stood up feeling defeated. He began praying. Loudly. The others got quiet. And I...I was not feeling very spiritual at all. I have never not wanted someone to pray for me as much as right then. I fought through my emotions and tried to be thankful that these people cared.

And I was thankful.

Right up until he began yelling about my bowels. My bowels! Commanding them to function properly. My head began to swirl. My stomach began to hurt all over again.

Just when I couldn't have been more humiliated, he drove the nail in the coffin. This could not be happening. Why was I not waking up from this nightmare?

Eventually the prayer ceased. I managed to squeak out a thank you and lowered myself into my seat, thankful that the bus was dark and no one could see my face.

I love passionate people. I love to hear passionate people pray. Just not when it involves screaming about my bowels. I'm picky like that.