Even though I was totally awe-struck with the Holy sites I saw and experienced during my recent trip to the Holy Land, humorous things did not escape me even there.  Some involved me; some, other people.

The first night in the hotel, my roommate and I were totally exhausted and wasted no time hitting the bed.  I heard her stirring the next morning and knew she had set her clock so we wouldn’t miss breakfast.  After giving her a few minutes in the bathroom, I got out of bed thinking I had experienced a good night’s sleep.  I, then, bathed and got dressed.  None of the clocks and watches in the room were in agreement.  Apparently, the portable devices made the time change slowly, or so we thought.  By that time, my phone said 2:00 AM.  Surely that couldn’t be right!  We looked out our hotel window, and night still ruled.  Yes, we were in time for breakfast because we started our day at 1:00 AM. We had a good laugh and sat around and talked until real morning came.

My friend Glenda was having her own problems at that time. She decided to wash her hair before coming down for breakfast because she had awoken early too. With the hair dryer provided in the room, she dried it successfully.  The problem arose when she attempted to use her curling iron.  She had brought the proper converters, but apparently the current was still too much for the small device.  On the first swatch she attempted to curl – her bangs – she smelled something burning, only to discover it was her hair.  When she took the curling iron down, that lock of hair came with it. Ever after on the trip when someone smelled smoke, they would say, “Where’s Glenda?” She is confident enough in herself to refuse to fret over the situation; she also saw humor in it.

Oh, but the humor DID continue.  I started feeling ill on the tenth day when we were enroute to our last sites and then to the airport.  I opted to sit out the last excursion and stay on the bus.  I asked the driver to find me a restroom.  He DID NOT.  When the group returned to the bus and we started our bumpy, curvy journey, I made that driver wish he had been more diligent in his search for a restroom.  His garbage can probably had to be destroyed.

But it still wasn’t over.  Near midnight when we arrived at the airport, LONG security lines awaited us.  After standing in queue for over an hour, it was finally my time at the first security check at the Tel Aviv airport. My sweet host saw my condition and lifted my suitcase onto the counter for me.  Just as I walked up to the agent, I couldn’t speak; I could only point to the can behind him.  (There’s more to this story, but enough gore for the moment.) The agent, who had previously been so stern, showed sympathy and sent me through in a hurry.  I’m not sure I would ever be allowed back in that airport though.  After that, I used the extra set of clothes in my carry-on and told the group, “If I have one more “event,” I’ll be riding home in PJs” (the only thing left in my bag.) Aren’t we thankful God gives us a sense of humor so we can laugh at calamities?