Jolly holiday

In Mary Poppins, George Banks “lucks out.” He begins the movie obsessed with work and neglectful of his family. By the end of the film, he gets his cake and eats it too. He is closer to his children and he keeps his job. All thanks to the magical nanny, Mary Poppins.

In August, I too had a “lucky” turn of events, and believe it or not, this one also involved a British nanny.

My wife and I planned to vacation with our 8-week-old daughter in Charleston, S.C. Those plans were cut short by Hurricane Debby, which drove us north to Smith Mountain Lake in Virginia, where my wife’s parents were renting a lake house. While in Charleston, we stayed in a 200-year-old bed-and-breakfast that had been preserved and remodeled to house 10 or more guests. Come to think of it, it wasn’t too different from the Bankses’ home.

The night before we left, we were picking away at our to-go dinners in the common area when we heard a voice behind us sing, “What a lovely baby that is. Oh, she is such a happy bunny!”

We turned around to find a tall, British woman in her 60s. Short hair. Large-rimmed glasses. Bright blue eyes. And, of course, an umbrella on hand. Her name was Christina.

Where had she come from? She definitely hadn’t been there a minute ago.

Christina was holding her own take-out dinner, so I invited her to join us. We learned she was on a monthlong tour of the “States.” Christina had a career in naturopathic medicine back in London, so naturally she took note of how well we were eating for Americans. (I had salmon, my wife had curry, and our daughter had, well, the usual.)

As our chat unfolded, Christina said she was concerned she’d be trapped by the hurricane and unable to take the train up to Richmond a few days later. “Luckily,” we told her, we would be in that area anyway, so we offered a ride.

On our six-hour drive, we talked about raising a newborn. We talked about England. We talked about American drivers. We talked about naturopathy and how to eat better.

And, boy, was she good with the baby.

And then, five hours in, I began feeling lightheaded ... and then nauseous, bloated, and thirsty. You may remember that our passenger was a naturopath. How “lucky”!

Christina took stock of my symptoms and came up with a diagnosis … hyponatremia: a sodium deficiency.

Apparently, healthcare looks a lot different in the U.K. She was shocked by the lack of sodium tests available when we pulled into the local CVS—and by the curt “we’re closing in 15 minutes” we received from the urgent care doctor.

Our only other option was the ER. So, we checked into the Rocky Mount Emergency Room, just to be safe. Good thing, too: A couple of hours later my blood test results came in and showed … hyponatremia. My sodium sat at 120-125 mEq/L. Any lower and I’d have been at risk for a seizure.

Thanks to a slow drip IV, I was back on solid ground the next morning and ready to resume vacation at the lake house. And guess who was lucky enough to join us?

In her 61 years, Christina had her fair share of adventures, from typhoons in Thailand to train rides through Switzerland. And yet, she was blown away by the shimmering waters and green mountains around Smith Mountain Lake. “Purely spiritual,” in her own words.

It didn’t take long for my in-laws to adopt our new nanny, as Christina now referred to herself with a twinkle in her eye. They even mentioned inviting her to every family trip from here on out. No one said it, but I think we were all afraid that if it ever got cloudy, she might conjure an umbrella and disappear into the sky.

On our final day, Christina said something that struck me: “Aren’t we so lucky?”

What she meant was, the young couple with the hurricane escape plan. The in-laws with the lake house. And especially, my health scare and her just happening to be in the car to diagnose. It was almost as if all of this was orchestrated.

“Well,” I began, hoping I wasn’t being tacky. “We Christians call that providence. Only a good God could give us such good gifts.”

Christina nodded. “I like that, yes.”

Green light.

The next 30 minutes felt like a rag-tag presentation of the gospel. So just in case we didn’t articulate those truths well enough, we put them in print, slipping a note into her bag.

Maybe Christina read the note at her next stop, Lancaster, Pa. Or maybe it turned up when she returned home to London. If we’re “lucky.”

—Caleb Bailey is a feature reporter with WORLD Watch