God Has A Sense of Humor

The year 1991 was a bad year.

The kind of year whose consequences would echo for decades.

In January of 1991 the 1st Gulf War began. On March 3rd, Rodney King was beaten by Los Angeles police. And my marriage was falling apart, as was I.

My 32-year-old husband refused to give up (or even admit to) his affair with a teenage girl. 

And years of his emotional and psychological abuse had stomped down most of my ability to believe in myself or make any kind of decision or feel I deserved anything.

So it shocked not just my husband, but me as well when I announced in early March that I was going to Virginia for spring vacation. 


I planned to spend the entire week in Virginia farm country with my cousin, Peggy Lou. 

I had never asked for anything like this. And the fact that I stated rather than asked just burned inside him. He said I couldn’t go and asked “Who do you think you are making decisions like this on your own? You can’t go! Who will watch the kid?”

I just reiterated that I was going. Period. And braced myself to be hit, though at this time he'd never been physically violent.

When he didn’t hit me, I reminded him that he was their father and would be on vacation, so he could watch them. 

I didn’t grovel. I didn’t beg. I didn’t even cry, which for me was a miracle in itself. 


Instead I went out and bought myself a bright fuschia coat (as it would still be very cold back there and I didn’t own any warm clothes) and started making a list of things I would need to pack. Eddie was livid.

I never would have had the nerve to do that alone. I had consulted a very dear Friend who has always stood by me and always given me the strength I needed for the task at hand. 

I had prayed about this for two weeks, telling the Lord I know I didn’t deserve it. And I know it was selfish of me. But I needed to do this so that I could have the courage for the dissolution of my marriage that would undoubtedly come with the end of the school year. 

“I need Your help, Lord,” I said. “I need you to show me I can do something on my own first and prove to me that I can handle what is to come; that I am strong enough to raise these children on my own. I need you to help make me strong.”

Well, let me tell you, God has a sense of humor! 

Eddie refused to take me to the airport, just flatly saying that I wasn’t going, as though that would make it so. He said it assuming that would be the end of my willfulness. I didn’t let that hinder me; I caught a bus instead.

At the airport national guardsmen with guns watched the comers and goers looking for terrorists, slowing things down and adding an unaccustomed scary element to travel for the first time.

At the check in kiosk, an airline employee announced that they had overbooked the flight and though I’d been on time, there was no seat for me on the plane. 

Not knowing how these things worked, I pictured myself having to return home, defeated. I burst into tears telling her I just had to catch that plane. But she said there was no way, although I was not to worry. She’d see I got onto the next flight.

She found me a flight that left for Newark, New Jersey leaving in a half hour and said she would book me another flight from there to Washington, DC. 


Somewhat shaken, but still standing, I took the ticket she printed out and made my way to the new loading gate.

The flight arrived late in Newark, causing me to miss my connecting flight. 
  
At this, I burst into tears, not knowing what to do next. 


Alone, twenty-six hundred miles from home, in an unfamiliar place and overcome with anxiety, I asked ‘God, what happened to your promise? I thought you were going with me on this journey. Please, help me to be strong!’

It was then that He whispered softly into my ear, ‘You know, your brother’s ex-wife lives here in New Jersey. Give her a call…”

I hesitated because I had no idea if she’d talk to me as their divorce had been bitter. But when God whispers in your ear, you’re not allowed to take those kinds of things into consideration. 

So I called. Her mother answered and said Liz (she’s a Liz Carson too) wasn’t home but would be back in an hour if I wanted to call back. Shaking, I hung up and decided to just try to find another flight.

But God said, ‘You asked to be strong. Book a seat on the same flight tomorrow. Trust me.’

So I made a reservation for 24 hours from now and called Peggy Lou to tell her I’d be a day late arriving. When I called Liz back I told her I was stuck in NJ until tomorrow evening and she very graciously invited me to stay the night with them – just a short drive from the airport.

I had a wonderful, if brief visit with my niece and nephew I hadn’t seen in years and their mom, who I had always loved. At the end of the 24 hour visit, it was hard to say good-bye to them, but I did. I still remember the last time I saw Alexis, then nine years old, standing by the back door.

Sitting in my cramped window seat aboard the plane, I fidgeted anxiously as the flight attendants passed out pillows and blankets just prior to take off. 


The pilot came on, apparently in a very good mood and announced that we had just over half occupancy, so feel free to spread out if you need more room. I relaxed at the pleasant sound of his cheerful voice.

He said they were offering free headphones to anyone who wanted some. "And if you’ve ever wondered what kind of boring things pilots talk about up here in the cockpit, tune in to channel 13.” 


I figured it would be fun and give me something to share with my young son, Nick, when I got home.

But first I bowed my head in the twilight and said, “Thank you, Lord, for making me stay here in New Jersey last night, and for letting me see Alexis and Spencer and Liz. Please bless them, and remind me of the special time we shared the next time I doubt Your call."

I plugged in my headphones and listened to the chatter between the various pilots and the control tower. Half of it I didn’t understand, but it I found it interesting nonetheless.

We were cleared for takeoff and I gripped the hand rest as we rumbled down the runway and lifted off into the darkening evening skies. 

The pilot chatted with the tower giving coordinates or something. Not five minutes into the flight, and still not at cruising altitude, everything seemed normal with pilots laughing and making small talk. 

Then all of the sudden our plane plummeted downward so quickly the flight attendant hit the ceiling and I banged my head on the overhead storage – even though I was still buckled in my seat.

The flight attendant started screaming for everyone to remain calm, then bent over and vomited into the seat behind mine as the plane bucked and twisted at odd angles. 

More frightening still was the turn of the friendly pilot banter to hysterical screaming and crying from the cockpit over my headset.

“Mayday! Mayday! We’re going down!”

The pilot frantically called to the tower telling them we’d hit a sudden downdraft and were bound to crash this close to takeoff. There are no words to describe the fear in his voice. 

The plane lurched erratically left, then up, then down again. The tower radioed back that a sudden storm had blown up out of nowhere and they didn’t think we could make our way around it… I wanted to pull the headphones off, but couldn’t.

“Oh Jesus! We’re not gonna make it!” the pilot screamed hysterically at the helpless tower.

“Oh Lord!” I prayed hysterically. “You promised to make me strong on this trip. I can’t die today. Who will take care of my babies!?” I tried not to cry, thinking of my three little ones at home.

The plane veered abruptly upward as the flight attendant tried to buckle herself into the seat behind me, and the smell of vomit almost made me lose my lunch as well. 


We slammed up and down and sideways several times in rapid sequence and I burst into tears and wished the pilot had never suggested eavesdropping on their world.

The tower radioed that the spring thunderhead that had blown up so instantly was in front of us - to the south and slightly east of us. If we banked hard to the right we might be able to pull out of it.

“Oh my god! We’re going to die!” the flight attendant behind me screamed and then vomited again.

The engines roared as the plane accel- erated upward and to the right in an angle so sharp I was sure we’d just slide out of the sky. But it worked. 

The bucking and lurching of the plane lessened as we headed west toward the last rays of sunlight. Finally we leveled out and the folks in the tower cheered loudly. 

They radioed the pilot that we could come back if he wanted to, but when he asked about continuing on, they told him if he circled way to the west he could miss the storm. “Well, we need to get these folks to DC. They have plans,” he said stoically.

We headed west into the light and rose slowly and steadily above it all. Then the chatter instantly stopped on channel 13 as the captain remembered he’d opened it for us to listen in.

“Sorry about that, folks,” the pilot said over the PA system.

“And I especially want to apologize to those listening in on channel 13 for my unprofessional behavior. But it appears that we were snatched from the sudden storm by none other than God himself tonight. Because I surely didn’t do that…”

I don’t remember anything else of the short flight from Newark to DC after the cheering of the passengers. But when we landed safely and disembarked, I began to tremble. And I was not the only one crying. 

I have never under- stood why people feel the need to kiss the ground after a traumatic ride until that moment. 


But I would have done just that if not for the push of the crowd around me. 

I hugged Peggy Lou tightly. But it took several minutes before I could speak and tell her about the ordeal we’d come through. 


And back at her house, I lay sleepless for hours, afraid to close my eyes.

“Lord, when I asked you to make me stronger, this is not what I had in mind!”

The week flew by and though I missed my children terribly, spending quiet time in the beautiful northern Virginia countryside fed my soul. 


I felt a peace there I’d not felt in years; quietly walking the hills through farm country alone, watching movies with Peggy Lou; just sitting in the swing on her front porch watching the creek run by and waving at the occasional car that passed by.

At the end of the week, I did not want to leave the wonderful haven of Peggy Lou’s. 


And I certainly didn’t want to get on another plane! I found myself on the verge of panic at the thought of flying.


I didn’t care if I had to walk all the way home to the west coast!

On the way to the airport, we stopped by my cousin Mitchie’s house nearby to say goodbye. 


She took me on a quick tour of her tiny 1700s gatehouse and then reached down to a bottom shelf in her living room and picked up a heavy, beautifully cut, 8” crystal bowl and dusted it off with her shirt tail.

“I want you to have this, Liz,” she said. “It belonged to our Grandmother Carson. She got it as a gift at her wedding. Then it came to my mother when my father died and she had to start a new life without him. 


"I want you to have it now as you have to face new and scary things. It’s sort of a symbol of strength and connection with the strong women in our life… And a reminder that you are never alone."

I politely declined, thinking I wasn’t worthy of such a gift. I didn’t want to take it away from her (though it was beautiful and I had nothing of my mother’s let alone my grandmothers.) Besides, my suitcase was packed and full. But she insisted. 

She wrapped it in newspapers and taped it up and we squeezed it in my carry-on bag with my extra sweater and reading material and snacks.

With the newly-started war in the Gulf, the government had brand new security measures in place. For the first time, loved ones were not allowed to see you off at the gate. 


I was suddenly terrified to have to walk to the gate alone. Just me and my carry on. A sense of fear began to well up inside me as I remembered my last flight experience.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply and prayed, “Lord, make me strong.”

I hugged my sweet, unflappable Peggy Lou good bye, and a little too long. Then I smiled at her sheepishly and took my carry-on bag to the x-ray machines. I turned and waved good-bye to her with tears in my eyes. I stood in line waiting, fidgeted and biting my nails without realizing it.

I finally reached the x-ray machine as the newly orientated x-ray operators began whispering to each other and pointing at the screen, their eyes wide. 


They called over a third man who looked at it and asked, loudly, who the red bag belonged to.

I pulled the fingernail I’d been anxiously biting away from my face and said timidly, “Um, that’s mine…” mortified at the thought of being the focus of attention.

Faster than I could register it, two large national guardsmen grabbed me each by one arm and roughly pushed me up against the wall, giving me a very close look at the horizontal subway tiles of the wall. 


Someone wrenched my arm behind my back. And one had his hand on the back of my neck, in a sort of reversed choke hold, pinning my face to those tiles.

“Tell us about the metal object in your bag!” someone snapped. But I couldn’t turn to see who had spoken.

Traumatized, I wracked my brain, trying to make a mental list of everything in the bag, but could not come up with anything metal. 


A forest green sweater…. A squishy, blue cervical pillow… A book of crossword puzzles… A container of Pringles Peggy Lou had given me. But those containers are cardboard,… I think… A novel… A spare toothbrush…and a hairbrush… Books and stuffed toys for the kids…

“There’s nothing metal in there,” I told the man holding the back of my neck in a vice grip

“Don’t lie to us!” he snapped, and pushed my face harder against the tile wall.

And silently. I prayed, “Lord, make me strong.” I didn’t want to cry.

Again I insisted, “There is nothing metal in there.”

“Yes there is!” the guard snapped. It’s a big, round metal object – about 8” in diameter…”

Suddenly the urge to laugh swept over me. I don’t know if was hysteria…or a suicide wish…or just the irony of it all. 


But I began to giggle with the right side of my face smashed against those white tiles. 


First my body began to shake, then a full, audible giggle slipped out, followed by uncontrolled laughter. And this only made the security guards madder. But I couldn’t stop.

“It’…it’s…s a bowl! My grandmother’s crystal bowl,” I managed to get out amidst the laughing.

“No it’s not. It’s metal!” someone I couldn’t see insisted.

“It’s a crystal bowl,” I assured them. “It must be the lead in the crystal,” I offered. 


But none of these marginally educated security guards believed for one minute that there could be invisible lead in a crystal bowl. The guy holding my neck loosened his grip somewhat.

“Open it!” I insisted, “And you’ll see!”

Someone took a pen and carefully lifted the edge of the bag enough to peer in and see the newspaper-wrapped and taped object.


“Go ahead. Open it!” I insisted.

But they insisted I open it. They pulled me away from the wall and led me to the bag. “No, you open it. If it’s a bomb, I don’t want to be the one to open it,” the one with his hand on my neck said.

Everyone stepped back several steps (as though that would save them from a bomb!) And there I stood, all alone with my red bag…and my bomb.  

The cheese stands alone… The cheese stands alone… Hi-ho the dairy-oh. The cheese stands alone.

One of my greatest fears revealed – to be standing alone, the center of attention. “Lord, please make me strong…”

With that floating through my head, and all eyes on me, I untaped and then unwrapped my grandmother’s beautiful lead crystal dish.


As I peeled back the last layer of newspaper my fellow passengers burst into laughter and then cheers. And there I stood, alone, exposed, and the object of the laughter and cheers from a hundred people I didn’t know. 


I blushed from head to toe, but I survived.

They made me send the lonely crystal dish through once more, unwrapped and naked, before they were convinced. 


Then without so much as an apology the security guards turned back to the now large crowd that my bowl and I had held hostage during the last several minutes.

“Okay folks. Nothing else to see. Back in a single file line…”

Embarrassed to have been the center of such a spectacle, I quickly fumbled to pick up my open bag, my grandmother’s 80-yr-old crystal dish/bomb and handfuls of newspaper and carried it to the nearest bench to reassemble. (At least this was in the pre-take-your-shoes-off days!)

Once on the plane for the last flight of the trip, I sat holding my bag and shook my head, and then sighed deeply. 

Eventually, I smiled reluctantly. God certainly has a sense of humor, I decided. I had told him I needed to take this trip to Virginia alone to prove that I was strong enough to raise my children alone once my husband left in June.

“Lord, make me strong,” I said. And He bumped me off my flight.

“Lord, make me strong,” I said. And He made me miss my connecting flight and sent me to visit my estranged family.

“Lord, make me strong,” I said. And He let me hear the pilot cry out that we were all going to die, and watch the well coiffed flight attendant wretch in the seat behind me.

“Lord, make me strong,” I said. And He let the burly security guard shove my face into the wall and then let me stand alone as everyone laughed at me when the bomb proved to be a crystal bowl.

Looking back, those hurdles seem much smaller. I've grown a lot. And I can barely remember that doormat of a woman.

It took me quite a while to learn from the lessons above. But I finally realized that with each of those unexpected experiences, God showed me how strong I really am with Him by my side. And He made me that much stronger.God has a great sense of humor, so be careful what you ask for.

Liz Carson Rosas
17 April 2009




"Blessed is the man whom God corrects;

so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty.

For he wounds, but he also binds up;

he injures, but his hands also heal.

From six calamities he will rescue you;

in seven no harm will befall you.

Job 5:17-19

Consider it pure joy, my brothers,

whenever you face trials of many kinds,

because you know that the testing of your faith

develops perseverance.

James 1:2 & 3