Remembering

(originally posted on 9-11-08)

I remember sitting in my parents home, our transitional home while we built ours, alone with Nicholas who at just ten months old had decided he needed to be up and walking. I was waddling after him, as I was five months pregnant with our second child.

I remember turning on the television, which was so out of character for me to do that early in the morning. We were not hooked up to cable, so my selection was limited to just the three local networks. I was busy about the house, cleaning up breakfast dishes, washing the sticky face of a toddling boy, and running back and forth trying to make beds and get dressed. Using the television for little more then distracting noise.

Somewhere in there, I glanced up. I glanced up to the horrible images and frantic voices coming from my television. It was as though the local news programs had been suddenly removed from the air and some distasteful Arnold Schwarzenegger movie was instead filling the airwaves.

I remember dropping to the floor of the living room and watching in slow motion as the realization came fully over me that this was indeed live. I flipped quickly to the other two networks only to be met with more of the same horrific images. I sat there. Quietly entranced. I am certain that tears ran down my cheeks as I reached up and grabbed hold of the giggling toddler that ran by me. I pulled him down into my lap, and even though he had no comprehension of the way that his world had changed, he sat there quietly cuddled tightly in my arms.

I do not remember how long I watched before I got up to make a phone call. But those moments seemed like an eternity. Even though I had no one who would be directly affected by this horror, I felt compelled to contact those closest to me. Just to hear their voice and share their sadness.

I remember the fear that gripped my heart. The fear that spoke death into our futures. The fear that made me look up and tremble at the thought of what was next. I remember going to bed that night in what felt like a fog. And mostly I remember waking the morning after with the hope that perhaps it had all just been an overactive hormonal pregnancy induced nightmare.

But as the sun rose so did our nation. The sadness and loss was so thick it could be felt in the air we breathed. But the hope, the resolve, the patriotism, the faith, the love--it was stronger. And even now, seven years later, I think about that day and all that the enemy had hoped to accomplish in their attempts to rob us of our security. I think about the evil that rested in the soul of those terrorists and I can not help but feel pride and joy in knowing that they did not succeed.

For just as the Lord has promised us, He turned the ashes into something beautiful. Though our sorrows may last for a night, His joy will come in the morning. And in the mourning of those who gave so much.