Reflections of a Humbled Person
Pastoral | April 23, 2026 | By: Carolyn Meyers
On a trip returning from Chicago, my husband Dave, our son Brian, and I experienced an unexpected turn of events. While waiting at the gate, our flight was cancelled. Thanks to my husband’s quick actions, we caught another flight through St. Louis with the promise of arriving in Phoenix by 11pm.
The airline used open seating, so without assigned seats, we looked for the most convenient spot. The second row had two open seats! The possible reason? A well-worn baby doll and a faded pink baby blanket were situated in the window seat with no owner in sight. Assuming a parent and child would soon return, I mused that I love children, and the flight wasn’t that long. I eased myself into the middle seat, and Brian took the aisle.
It wasn’t long before a young woman motioned toward the seat next to me. No baby. No small child. Once seated, she immediately struck up a conversation, introducing herself as Sarah and beginning to tell us her story.
I took in her appearance—a lovely lady in her late twenties with a loose-fitting floral pantsuit and worn, brown hiking boots. Her fingernails were jagged with dirt under each one. Fighting back tears, she said the past two days had been horrible. The bruises on her arm were the result of her partner’s aggression. He had been asleep on the couch, empty bottles of NyQuil and wine nearby. When she asked why the dogs hadn’t been taken out, a senseless fight began.
She told us her partner had gotten her fired from a great job and that they lived in a lovely home by the ocean. Her partner, in his third year of law school, had used his legal prowess to report her to the police—even though she was the one with bruises. She went on to explain that her partner had been born female, but when she wanted hormone replacements and transitioned to a man, Sarah had been nothing but supportive.
My mind whirled as I tried to wrap my brain around this bizarre situation, trying to fill in pieces that didn’t seem to add up. Sarah said the Universe would work it out. She shared that she grew up Unitarian and felt like all religions had their place. She chose to be positive and believed everything happened for a reason.
My mind whirled as I tried to fill in a story that didn’t seem to add up.
My heart ached for her. All I could think about was how much she needed Jesus—but where to begin? I shared that I had found comfort in reading the Bible. She agreed she had heard it could be helpful but hadn’t really checked it out. She explained that the baby blanket brought her comfort.
Then Brian leaned across me to weigh in.
Our son was born with a developmental disability. At times, he can talk… a lot. He tends to miss the social cues that alert most people to stop talking, and sometimes his stories get mixed up. At times, my husband and I squirm as he goes on and on wondering, “Should we step in and stop the word avalanche?” He’s the dearest soul, but what might he say after hearing this unusual story of tragedy, loss, and abuse?
I was blown away!
Brian asked her if she had heard of Louie Giglio. She hadn’t. He said, “You would be so encouraged. He talks about the universe and how God created everything—about the sounds of the whales and the sound of the stars.”
Then he showed her a Bible app on his phone and how she could look up verses that might be encouraging. He went on to talk about our church, Scottsdale Bible, and how we have a wonderful online pastor and people who could pray with her when she is sad.
I sat there dumbfounded. My son was able to do something extraordinary—offering practical encouragement and advice in a way that was evading me. God used him, in his simplicity, to speak directly to this woman’s needs. As we deplaned, she told us that her heart felt lighter and encouraged.
God used him in his simplicity to speak directly to her heart.
As I reflected on what had happened, I realized that while my mind had been working overtime trying to piece together her story and make sense of it, Brian simply saw a needy soul and ministered to her.
I watched God’s glory shine brightly through my sweet son that evening, and it was breathtaking and humbling to behold.
I often tell Brian that God created him just the way he is, disability and all, because that is how He chose to shine His glory most brightly. Brian can minister to people in ways I can’t even touch, and it’s because of his disability, not in spite of it!
God uses our friends with special needs to bring honor and glory to Himself. The Holy Spirit has no disability within them; God is unlimited in every way. It breaks my heart when people with special needs struggle to embrace their disability. I’ve seen special friends, and even parents, feel embarrassed or ashamed of who they are. Yet this is precisely how God chooses to show His power… through weakness.
The Holy Spirit has no disability within them; God is unlimited in every way.
It reminds me of the words of Jesus in John 9:1-3, “As Jesus was walking along, He saw a man who had been blind from birth. ‘Rabbi,’ His disciples asked Him, ‘why was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his parents’ sins?’
‘It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,’ Jesus answered. ‘This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.’”
Disability has no inhibitions for our great God. In fact, I have witnessed again and again that God’s glory often shines brighter through it. It sure shined that day in our son, Brian.
Carolyn Meyers
Central Special Ministries Director
God is doing beautiful, powerful work through the individuals and families in our Special Needs Ministry. Connect with us to learn more, gain support, or discover ways to get involved.
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