[#25 Devotional] Ableism Followed Us On A Cruise. But Jesus Stepped In.
People often ask how we’re able to cruise so much.
And the practical answer is simple:
We live in Florida.
My husband works for Disney.
That explains how we can afford it.
But if you ask me on a deeper level, the answer isn’t simple at all.
It takes weeks—sometimes months—of intentional preparation for us to get our boys onto a cruise ship. Long before we ever step foot onboard, Maximus is watching every video available, practicing scenarios with his toy Disney cruise ship, studying printed deck plans to familiarize himself with the layout, and watching Disney movies that match the ship’s theming so there are as few surprises as possible.
This has been our system for the past year, and it’s worked really well.
This trip, however, came with a new challenge: the ship was brand new. We’re talking sixth voyage. Ever. There wasn’t much content available yet. Thankfully, the layout itself was the same, with the biggest differences being the shows and theming.
I never fully relax until after the muster drill. This time, having Max’s wheelchair, a drawing book, and his noise-canceling headphones made it a truly painless experience. Dinner that first night was perfect, but the family seated next to us couldn’t be pleased by anything. Their comments were constant, sharp, and uncomfortable. All of us felt it. Including Maximus.
The next day, Max refused to leave the room.
Anytime we suggested getting dressed and leaving pajamas behind, he would hide under the bed and cry. This was completely out of character for him, and I knew immediately what it stemmed from: the comments made the night before.
So we adjusted.
Mike and Finnegan went off to explore the ship while Max and I stayed behind. He only wanted to play with the figurines we had brought and began hiding them around the room. I gently asked, “Do you want to go get more toys we can hide?” His entire demeanor shifted. He perked up, got dressed, and chose a specialty Mickey Mouse superhero set from the gift shop.
We explored the ship together—Max happily playing from his wheelchair. Even when a Mickey figurine was lost and Minnie broke, he stayed regulated as I helped him through those hard moments.
But, Ableism Followed Us
By dinnertime, Max had calmed down. He had taken photos. He was excited to enter the Lion King–themed restaurant.
Unfortunately, we were seated just inches from the same family.
Max’s body immediately tensed. He crawled under the table, as he had the night before, while the comments continued—and they even tried to start conversation with me over my children and their behaviors. I had to step away with one child several times. Eventually, things quieted. Max stayed under the table.
Then a server accidentally knocked their tray into the wall nearby. Plates shattered on the floor right where Maximus was sitting.
By the grace of God, he was physically unharmed and honestly unaware of what had happened. But once I asked him to move off the floor, there was no coming back from it. We had to leave. He was begging to go home, repeating over and over, “I hate cruise ship.”
Mike stayed back to explain everything to our server, who assured us we would not be seated near that family again. And he kept his word.
That server—Declan—continued checking on us throughout the rest of the cruise. Not out of obligation. Not for a tip. But from the goodness of his heart.
He brought activity bags for both of my boys. He included a fidget specifically for Max. The next night, they surprised me by celebrating my birthday, and Declan made sure to sing quietly. Maximus clearly understood: Declan was safe. Declan was a friend.
During craft time, Max made him a card to give him on our last night.
That final evening, we were back in the Lion King restaurant. It was show night, and I was reassuring Max every step of the way: we wouldn’t be seated near them—and if we were, we’d leave.
Max was on the edge of a meltdown, but we proceeded to our new table to give him a chance of experiencing the show.
Then chaos broke loose. Mike’s beer spilled. Finn tried to grab a strangers hair. And Maximus?
He sat calmly at our new table, completely at peace.
At the end of the night, Declan came by to say goodbye. I couldn’t stop thanking him. He looked at me and said, “You’re on vacation. You shouldn’t be reminded of your struggles while you’re here.”
We hugged. We both cried.
Then Maximus stood up in his chair and wrapped his arms around Declan’s neck.
He didn’t say a word.
But we all understood.
Max had never verbalized his fear or discomfort—but somehow, he knew. He knew Declan had protected him. Declan didn’t have to. He chose to.
And that’s the thing.
It’s easy to get wrapped up in the negativity of the world. In the loudness of hurtful people—sometimes strangers, sometimes friends, often family. They tend to take up the most space.
But this is the hope I want you to hold onto:
There is still good in this world.
God created humanity in His image—and I believe that goes far beyond appearance. It reaches into the depths of who we are: our capacity for empathy, compassion, and love. Those qualities exist in us because they exist in Him.
When we accept God into our hearts, we aren’t just accepting His will—we are accepting His way of life. And when compassion flows through the Holy Spirit, it doesn’t just comfort. It protects. It changes people.
Good exists because God exists.
And sometimes, it looks like a server named Declan choosing kindness when it mattered most.
Stay Mighty,
Devotional of the Week
Hebrews 2:5-8 (NIV)
“It is not to angels that he has subjected the world to come, about which we are speaking. But there is a place where someone has testified:
‘What is mankind that you are mindful of them, a son of man that you care for him? You made them a little lower than the angels; you crowned them with glory and honor and put everything under their feet.’
In putting everything under them, God left nothing that is not subject to them. Yet at present we do not see everything subject to them.
Hebrews 2:5–8 reminds us that God entrusted the world not to angels, but to humanity. Ordinary people. Imperfect people. People capable of choosing compassion—or cruelty.
On that cruise, I saw both.
I saw how careless words can unsettle a child’s sense of safety. How quickly discomfort can turn into fear when someone feels watched, judged, or unwelcome. And I saw how deeply those moments can linger in a child’s body, long after the comments stop.
But I also saw something else.
I saw what it looks like when someone chooses to reflect the heart of God.
Declan didn’t fix everything. He didn’t make a spectacle. He simply noticed and protected our space. And in doing so, he restored dignity—not just to Maximus, but to our entire family.
Maximus didn’t have words for what he felt. But his body knew. His heart knew. That hug wasn’t accidental. It was recognition.
Reflection
Scripture says that even though we do not yet see everything under submission, we do see Jesus. And sometimes, we see Him through people who use their authority, position, or influence to care for the vulnerable instead of overlooking them.
God placed compassion into humanity because it reflects who He is. And when someone chooses empathy over indifference, gentleness over convenience, protection over passivity—we are witnessing God’s design at work in a broken world.
Good exists because God exists.
And sometimes, He lets us see it up close.
Journal Prompt
Where have you recently witnessed both the brokenness of the world and the goodness of God in the same situation? How did it affect you—or your child—to experience both at once?
A Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for reminding me that You are still present in a world that often feels overwhelming and unkind. Thank You for the moments when Your compassion shows up through people who choose to notice, protect, and care.
When my child feels unsafe, unseen, or misunderstood, remind me that You are near. Help me trust that You are still working through ordinary people to reflect Your heart. Strengthen me when I am tired, and guard my child’s heart when the world feels too loud.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
