SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA (ANS) -- I shared many of the emotions most Americans had on the 11th of September. But I can't think of that tragedy without thinking of the couple of weeks that followed. I was scheduled to teach a Writers' Seminar for a group of professional women in Athens. They were planning to launch a magazine geared toward the women of Greece. My trip was to begin on September 20th.

United Airlines Flight 175 moments before crashing into the World Trade Center Tower

By nightfall of 9/11 there were no planes in the skies over America. The silence above seemed deafening. Like much of America, our family proudly flew the American flag each day. On Friday evening we joined hundreds of our neighbors to grieve together, to cry together.

God had put a specific message in my heart for the women I would be teaching, so I was confident I would be going.

After three days of empty skies, airlines were released to fly again. On the 20th I pinned a tiny American flag to my blouse. I was leaving my fellow Americans, but I would continue to identify with their grief.

Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) had changed. No private vehicles were allowed inside the airport. Passengers were dropped off at a nearby parking lot and bused to the terminals—eerily quiet with few passengers. With an amused peace I observed that everyone seemed to be eyeing everyone else. I had a message to deliver. I knew I was going to reach Athens safely.

Los Angeles Airport back in commission

Our documents and bags were carefully examined. There was even a pair of Customs Officers at the mouth of the ramp leading into the plane to recheck our documents. This entire process was repeated on the East Coast before we flew on.

My American hostess agreed the tiny flag I wore each day might make some Greeks uncomfortable. Yet the women I taught each day were gracious in their expressions of sympathy for what my nation had endured. I found myself frequently reaching to caress the tiny flag and send up a silent prayer for my fellow Americans.

Athens, Greece, my destination

Each day my hosts and I rode first a bus, then a subway into the city. On a free afternoon I wandered the marketplace, the old Roman ruins, and nearby Mars Hill—alone. No one seemed to pay attention to my tiny flag.

One afternoon there was an unsettling commotion at the subway entrance. A sign made it clear: the entrance was closed for an anti-American rally. My hand instantly reached for my flag - not to caress it. To cover it. I felt fear - a fear I had never known before. This crowd hated me and my country.

Quickly my hosts and I turned away and headed for another subway entrance a quarter mile away. The people we passed were intense, angry. Afraid they would know I'm an American by my clothes and gait, I avoided their eyes. Deftly I pulled the pin from the flag and put them both in my pocket.

I felt like a traitor to my country!

I knew this crowd had the potential to turn on me. Together my hosts and I - three Americans - headed back to their suburban home.

The rest of my time in Greece was memorable. I experienced no more fear. But I kept the tiny flag in my pocket where I could caress it secretly.

My trip home was totally different from before. I had delivered the Lord’s message to the group of Christian professional women. I didn't have that confident assurance that I would reach home safely. The security measures of two weeks earlier were minimal compared to now for coming into the United States. This only added to my awareness that the peace I had enjoyed while traveling before was by God's grace. Now I had to exercise faith to keep peace in my heart.

Before each flight, from Athens to Amsterdam, from Amsterdam to the East Coast, and onward to LAX, our documents were checked three times. Our luggage was searched and we were carefully questioned. My silent prayers were a continuous stream of petitions and praise.

Apprehension and suspicion were definitely my companions the whole way home. Yet I had the comfort of knowing that if I didn't reach my earthly home, I would reach my home in Heaven.

This week as I place our large American flag on our front porch I'll be thanking God for the freedom to fly my country’s flag openly, without fear, and without shame. God truly does bless America.

Bev Caruso, and her husband Pete, have served the Lord together for over 50 years. They pastored two churches for a total of 35 years and have preached or taught in 35 countries: in schools and colleges, barrios and offices, prisons and jungles. Whether encouraging weary pastors or missionaries or praying for the sick, speaking through an interpreter or teasing with their grandchildren, their love for God and His people shines through. They recently coauthored: Keeping It Fresh—A Love that Keeps on Growing based on the Marriage Enrichment Seminars they team-teach. The Carusos continue to teach and preach. They have three grown children, eight grandchildren, and currently nine great-grandchildren. They can be contacted at: Caruso@across2u.com. Or visit their website: www.PeteandBevCaruso.com