9/11 ... Choosing to Remember

I am sitting in a cool room, lit by golden beams of sunlight streaming through the window. Looking out I see cardinals flit to and fro around the backyard, as well as the occasional bright color of a butterfly fluttering past. I am surrounded by the voices of my children, as they laugh and play in the next room with their neighborhood friends. All afternoon I’ve been mentally working on a grocery list, while Jon’s been tending to the yard work. In the background I hear the low hum of the dishwasher as it completes its cycle. And though I wish I could imagine it away, I know there is still a smallish mountain of laundry just waiting to be washed and dried and folded. It’s another perfectly normal day and somehow everything seems right in my little world ... just as it did ten years ago, before the towers fell.

Ten years ago in late August, I moved with my family to Monterey, CA. Joel was 17 months old. I was 7 months pregnant with Nathan. We moved there because my husband was in Army training, learning the Arabic language oddly enough. At the time, my biggest problem was figuring out childcare for my toddler when I went to my OB appointments every other week now that we were living in a new home so far away from all of our loved ones.

On the morning of September 11th, I was awakened by a phone call from Matt. It was very early in CA. I remember him saying that I should turn on the TV because something big was happening. I stumbled into the living room and turned on the news just in time to watch second plane crash into the WTC.

I had a terrible knot in my stomach. After a few quick minutes, I turned it off. For the rest of the day, I simply cared for my toddler, trying to pretend that life was the same, even though I knew that life would never quite be the same again.

Every so often over the next few days, I would try to watch a bit of the news coverage, but I never really could watch for very long before I would turn the TV back off. I told myself it was because I didn’t want Joel to watch those images. That was true, but honestly it was more because I didn’t want to watch those images either.

During those first few days and weeks following 9/11, time seem to drag by so slowly. I was always hyper-aware that we had been attacked and that our nation was at war with an unseen foe. But somehow, after a while, life sort of moved on. Within just a couple of months of 9/11, I had a new son to care for as well as a very active toddler to keep up with ... my life was moving forward and I was busy trying to keep up!

And now, ten years have passed. Ten autumns, ten winters, ten springs, ten summers ... full circle and back around.

Ten years ... yet somehow it doesn’t truly seem like it was all that long ago.

Ten years ago, I didn’t know that my precious toddler would grow into a tall, lanky young man, who would someday wear glasses. I certainly didn’t imagine that my sensitive boy would turn out to have a heart of courage. He grew into this child who wrote letters to presidents, won math bees, ran for office at his school clubs, asked his friends to donate money to children in Iraq instead of giving him birthday gifts. All I knew then was that his sweet, shy smile that melted my heart, and ten years later that still hasn’t changed.

Ten years ago, all I knew about Nathan was his name ... and that he kicked harder than his older brother. My California Beach Boy was born into post 9/11 America. Over the years he has grown into a chubby baby with the great laugh and then transformed with time into a handsome 9 year old ... big dimples, bright blue eyes, and a personality as big as his 5‘ 0”, 110 lb frame. He has 1001 interests and at least that many talents. Intensely loyal. Protector of the right. Defender of the weak. This is the son I carried ten years ago today.

Ten years ago, I never even dreamed that I’d be the mother of a little girl. But two years after 9/11, Julia breathed her first breath, and I’m forever blessed because of her pinkish giggles, purple ponies, and passion for life. Full of cuddles and hugs, yet fiercely strong-willed. Ten years ago today I didn’t know how much I needed my Julia.

Ten years ago I was married to another man. I thought I was going to die when my marriage fell apart. But God picked up the ashes of my life and molded it into something much more beautiful than I ever dreamed possible. Because of that, when I look back upon the last ten years of my life, I see ten years of blessings.

Of all the blessings from the past ten years, the best of them all has been Jon.

Jon. Tall, hazel-eyed, guitar-playing Jon. Like a warm wind blowing on a cool spring day ... like a cold glass of lemonade in the heat of summer ... like toasting cold fingers in front of a flickering fire on a brisk autumn night ... like gingerbread smells and singing familiar carols in the deep of winter ... my Jon. Comfortable. Cozy. Wrapped up in love. His name means “God has given” and that is exactly what he is ...a gift to me from God.

And so Jon brought to me blessing after blessing after blessing. Through his love, I gained two beautiful daughters ... Maddie, brown-eyed beauty with the gift of humor and laughter, and sweet, freckled Meg with the heart of gold. He gave me new friends to count among those old and dear. He gave me new perspectives on life. He brought me to a new place to call home. Through Jon I was given a new life, all fresh and bright again. These were my gifts, given to me by God through Jon. Ten years ago, I never knew what was going to happen, how my life would change, how a personal tragedy would eventually turn my life into something far more meaningful.

Grace has that sort of affect, I think. I look back on my life with grace-colored glasses and see the fingerprints of God over it all.

Grace has been poured upon my life, drenching my spirit and now everything has changed. Not perfect or without flaw because we still live in a fallen world and long for the perfection of paradise. Yet with grace, grace, grace we catch a glimpse of God’s glory.

This has been my life the past decade or so. From day to day it doesn’t seem like much ever happens, and yet when looked back on all at once ... well, my how things have changed! And all I did in the interim was live.

That’s the thing that seems so shocking and stunning about 9/11. All those victims ... those faces ... those numbers ... they represented real people. People who were in the middle of living life. On September 11, 2001 they were just working or taking trips or running errands. Life was happening and then suddenly, unexpectedly, tragically it was over.

In the past ten years, I’ve often heard it said that on September 11, 2001 life as we knew it in America ended. Perhaps. But I can honestly say that I don’t really live my life much differently than I did ten years ago. I still do the things I’ve always done ... care for my family, go to church, shop, drive, travel, etc. There’s no fear. I don’t do these sorts of things differently. Life’s not changed in that way. Not in the day to day living.

And yet, I can’t help but think of 9/11 and grieve for all the lives lost ... lives lost in planes crashes, burning buildings, toppling towers, and even on the battlefield in the Middle East. Living life as each of us do, one breath at a time, only to suddenly find that the next breath doesn’t come. Life is over. Life is done.

And this is the tragedy of 9/11 ... the senseless deaths of so many who were just going about life.

This morning, at about 9:15 am, I sat next to my Maddie-girl as she prayed and asked Jesus Christ to be her Saviour and to give her the blessed assurance of heaven. I don’t know if there is a greater joy on this earth than watching a person (especially when it is your child) experience the grace of Christ for the first time.

What Maddie did this morning has given her peace ... peace that when the tragedies come and the towers fall, she will not be alone. She has assurance that in her life there will be grace ... grace to drench her spirit and grace to turn her ashes into beauty. But mostly, she now knows that when life stops for her, when she no longer takes a new breath, that she will step into paradise ... perfect paradise where grace will no longer be needed.

When we turn to God and accept His grace in our life, falling towers can no longer threaten us. We will be able to live confidently in knowing that bad times and tragic events may happen, but God will not let us go. We will not fear for we are not alone. No matter what happens here on earth, the best is yet to be when we finally draw our last breath and go home to paradise in the presence of our Saviour.

No, I will never forget what happened on 9/11/01. But, I’ll never forget what happened on 9/11/11 either ... for in the grand scheme of life, the hope and the peace of salvation is far, far more important than the chaos of tragedy.

My prayer for each of my friends is this ... that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height, to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

Sometimes you just know ...

Sometimes you just know ... deep, deep down in the soul. In the hidden places of the heart there is a knowing so vague that cannot even be formed into coherent thoughts, much less formulated into words. Sometimes you know but cannot fully acknowledge even to yourself that you know ... and yet ,when it comes to pass, you know that you have known that it would all along.

Sometimes you just know ...

There was some part of me that knew as I drove past that house every morning on my way to teach ... it's white frame glimmering in the fog, green and rolling pastures surrounding the yard. The house seem to smile, and my heart knew it was a place where good things would happen. It was a good home ... for while I lived there, a baby boy came into my life, made me a mother and changed me forever for the better. And somehow, years before I ever unpacked the first box and hung the first picture on the walls, I knew that the house on the bayou would be mine.

Sometimes you just know ...

There was some part of me that knew the moment I walked into the room that this lady standing before me was a friend to keep. I was new to town ... 6 months pregnant with two small boys clinging to my hands, and an absent husband who was busy preparing to go fight in a war across the ocean. But her smile seemed to light up the room, and suddenly I didn't feel quite so alone. Sometimes ,looking back, I am surprised that she's my friend ... we have so little in common, yet over the years we have shared so much, mainly a love for Christ which has bonded us as sisters forever. And somehow, even as we exchanged our names with a smile, I knew that Josephine was going to be a cherished friend.

Sometimes you just know ...

There was some part of me that knew as I said goodbye on that cold February morning that it was the last goodbye. I don't quite know how, but I already knew deep down ... otherwise, why would I have cried for thirty miles down the highway, sobbing until my eyes were so blurred with tears that I couldn't see the road before me and my chest heaved so that it hurt to even breathe? The end had come ... though not at all when or how I expected, and the grief before the storm ever even started was nearly unbearable. Yet somehow, even as I drove away with him standing there on the driveway and me not yet knowing why my heart ached so much, I already knew that there would be joy again.

Sometimes you just know ...

There was some part of me that knew the job would one day be mine. I was scared to apply for the position, to move into a career that was not familiar to me. I was not sure it was even what I wanted to do, and yet it seemed to be perfectly suited for me as well. The morning of the interview I wore red, to boost my confidence. I wore the same perfume my grandmother had always worn ... it felt like a hug from her, encouragement from one who had also been a 4-H Extension Agent years before. And somehow, when a few days later the call came in offering me the job as 4-H Agent, I already knew that I would enjoy the experience.

Sometimes you just know ...

There was some part of me that knew just by reading the words he had written. I can't say how I knew but I knew very strongly that this was the man God had revealed to me as a result of my prayers ... the man I had asked him to show me, the kind of man who was worth waiting for, the kind of man worth marrying. I read his profile and knew ... this was a man devoted to his Savior, active and seeking in his relationship with Christ, humble and true. I knew that he was exactly who he had written, and so very much more.

I knew from the beginning when I first read his honest words, "I don't know that I am ready to date at this point, but I know that one day I hope to be married again."

I knew the first time I heard his voice on the other end of the telephone ... and it felt familiar, like coming home.

I knew the first time I looked into his hazel eyes ... and saw that charming sparkle and shimmer and zest for life.

I knew the night he suggested we were already more than just friends ... and then he asked if he could pray with me.

I knew the first time he held my hand, the first time he kissed me and then second first kiss that we shared.

I knew when he brought to me three roses on Valentine's Day ... yellow roses with a bright flame of red on the tip of each petal, a "Dream Come True" rose for a friendship turning into love. Three roses ... a signifcant number, for in our relationship there had always been three, God with us.

Before I even knew, my heart has always known ... that this man was given to me and I was given to him. Certainly this was not of our own choosing and somehow beyond our control ... and yet I wouldn't have it any other way.

There are just fifty days remaining ... Fifty days until we recite our vows. Fifty days until we join our lives together forever. Fifty days ... that's all there is to go. Then we will begin something new. And my heart is trembling with a bit of anxiety for I am fearful. Fearful of moving forward, fearful of blending two families, fearful of failing at a second chance, but mostly just fearful of the unknown. And yet ...

Somehow I already know ... it's going to be a wonderful life.

For it will not just be the two of us ... there will be three, God with us.

"...and they will call His name Emmanuel, which means God with us." (Matthew 1:23)

Seventeen Years Ago Tomorrow

Just a little over an hour ago, the date on the calendar beckoned to me and for the first time in a long, long while I remembered the significance of tomorrow. I scribbled numbers on paper and quickly worked out the math to figure out how many years had passed because I no longer remembered. Seventeen. I didn’t realize it had been that long ago now.

Seventeen years ago tomorrow, also on a Saturday, I was a bride.

It’s all packed away in a box now … the scrapbook filled with photos, some dried flowers from my bouquet, the white dress, a napkin embossed with two names and a date, cards and letters that span the fourteen years of life shared together now held together by a rubberband. I’m saving those things, not because I need that connection to my past, but because my children need it. Someday they will want to see it and touch it and remember that it wasn’t always broken. They will want to know of the beginning of the story, just as they know the ending.

Just last week, the oldest one asked, “Momma … do you miss Daddy?”

How can that question possibly be answered? There is a flood of history there that I cannot, I will not explain to my child … certainly not now. Too much for his small soul to bear. Too much for him to carry right now … maybe ever. Children are meant to love their parents, not to harbor uncertainties about actions that played out into events difficult for even mature adults to understand.

Besides … the memories of that life have become faded. It’s become harder to recall. And the fact remains that I do not miss their father anymore.

What I miss are snapshots of time … snippets of happiness and laughter that are emblazoned upon my mind.

What I miss is not having achieved what I wanted ... for myself and for my children and for my children's children. The legacy of togetherness. The celebration of something golden in the distant future with my children and my grandchildren all around.

What I miss are the possibilities … the hope of what it could have been.

No one plans to fail, but failing to plan often leads to failure. Life somehow happens and our best intentions are swept away. I never thought the ending would turn out as it did, and sometimes the regrets are so strong that I fear I cannot stand against the rushing tide.

I've learned in the past four years that when the waves of pain and regret hit hard, to simply pause and thank God for His mercy in my life, for forgiveness He so graciously spreads all over me, for second chances to try again. And the longer I stand in acceptance of Christ’s forgiveness and mercy, neither of which I deserve, the stronger I become, the easier it is to stand tall, the less overwhelming the pain becomes.

In the beginning of the end, someone I love very much told me that soon it wouldn’t consume my thoughts every hour of the day. She said that there would come a night when I would crawl into bed, realizing that the brokenness of my marriage had not been my main thought that day. She said that eventually I would realize that I hadn’t even thought of it at all for several days or weeks in a row. I could only nod my head in response, so deep in my grief that I could not begin to imagine that would ever be true for me.

I realized just over an hour ago that day has arrived … tiptoeing in without any fanfare, so quietly that I never even noticed. The end has been completed and the next chapter of my life is being written, with new hopes and new dreams for a very different future than one I had previously imagined.

And yet, even as I embrace my present life and anticipate my future, my past can never truly be erased. There are certainly many regrets, but I do not regret the life I’ve lived.

Because of seventeen years ago tomorrow, I have three children.

Because of seventeen years ago tomorrow, I have friends all over the United States.

Because of seventeen years ago tomorrow, I have fourteen years worth of life experiences to my credit.

Because of seventeen years ago tomorrow, I am who I am today … a better woman in the end for having walked that road.

And I am grateful for seventeen years ago tomorrow and what that has meant to me.


She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. Proverbs 31:25