I was at home, dressed and ready for work, but resting my weary pregnant body on the couch. I was flipping through the TV stations when Katie Couric said something about planes flying into buildings. I don’t remember many details about the rest of that day, but I do remember rubbing my belly all day, wondering what kind of world my baby was about to be born into.
The fears of that day have long subsided, but I haven’t forgotten the effect they had on me…on so many others. I haven’t forgotten how bonded I felt to total strangers, just because we were all Americans. I haven’t forgotten how good it was to hear Hubs’ voice on the phone that day, or how good it felt to feel his strong arms around me that night. I haven’t forgotten how fervent the prayers were the next Sunday, or the hundreds of flags hung on houses, in stores, from vehicles. I haven’t forgotten how faithful God was to calm my fears and how His name was invoked by so many. I haven’t forgotten.
This morning, I took our girls and a friend to see the 9-11 lawn memorial at our nearby college. I was moved to tears as I told them about the plane crashing into a field in Pennsylvania and the bravery of the people onboard. The girls walked around the flags so quietly and reverently, stopping to read the story of a young woman who worked in one of the towers. They asked a few questions, but mostly looked. On the way home, I caught snippets of the two oldest girls talking about mission work and wondering aloud if it would have mattered if someone had explained who Jesus is to the terrorists. I love that they were so sure that it would have mattered. I love that it was the first thing they thought of. I love them.
Today, we all remember…the grace of God, the Love that drives out fear, the sacrifice of Jesus. We remember.