I lay in the bed, reminding myself to breathe.
It was so quiet.
The train that wailed by our house day and night was conspicuously missing, its silence more of a bother than the noise it would typically bring. No planes flew over the neighborhood from the neighboring airport. All planes sat quiet, their engines cold and still. There was no traffic on the street outside the house. No cars on the busy road that framed our neighborhood.
Only quiet and stillness.
I rolled to my side, bringing my knees up as far as I could. I wrapped an arm tightly around my bulging belly, the baby kicking back in protest. As she rolled and kicked, I felt the nausea roll through me again. This time, though, it wasn't her flattening my stomach that made me feel queasy.
I thought back to the night before. To that morning. All was routine, normal, quiet. I had woken early, gotten ready for work, eating at the table watching the Today Show start. I remember Michael Jackson flying through the air toward a goal with a basketball in hand; a preview to what segments they would cover that day.
I headed out into the day, thoughts fixed on what needed to be done at work. Traffic. The baby that continued to kick until I felt that the inside of me must be black and blue.
Eight months pregnant. Nearing the start of my maternity leave. Constant lists running in my head.
Listening to NPR, the announcer casually mentioned that a small plane had flown into one of the World Trade Buildings.
I had long been fascinated with those buildings. I'd watch a particular documentary on the History Channel about them each time it came on. I knew they were built with this scenario in mind, able to withstand the impact of a small plane. I hoped in passing that all was well as I got to work and attacked the mound of work that awaited me.
My friend called, breathless and crying. I could barely understand her but she choked out a description what she was seeing on the television.
"Suzee, no. It was just a small plane. It's no big deal. You're wrong..."
My stomach started to roll and cold fear flowed down my body. I looked at the only other person at work with me so far, and her eyes were wide with fear. Almost immediately the phone lit up. We flew into action, frantically taking calls, making lists and trying to figure out what was going on outside of our four walls.
Corporate called.
"Go home," they said. "Go be with your families."
We finished up with what we had to do, and walked dazed to our cars. Once inside, each radio station was in a panic, voices filled with fear with each flip of the station dial.
I turned off the radio and pointed the car toward home. I was having trouble breathing.
What kind of world was I bringing a child into?
A scant nine months ago, I didn't even want kids, filled with fear that I didn't know how to be a good mother, and sure that the world would be just fine without any offspring of mine.
I didn't decide to get pregnant. It just happened. And now, this?
"Another reason I didn't want to have children..." I muttered aloud. "I didn't want to bring them into a world like this. A world where things like this could happen."
I got home, and sat, waiting on my husband to get home from work. Each television station was playing nonstop news coverage. The eyes of the reporters were wide and scared. Their voices shook, along with some of their hands. I felt my panic soaring higher and higher.
My phone rang. It was my granddad. Had I heard from my cousin? She lived in New York.
"No," I answered.
He sighed deeply. "How's Squirt?" His nickname for the baby.
I started to cry. He knew.
"It's okay," he said. "Call me if you hear from her, and I'll call you when we hear something."
I didn't want to talk to my grandmother. I didn't want to upset her with my tears. I knew she was already worried and upset.
I curled up on the sofa and found the only channel showing normal programing. The Cartoon Network. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw the plane crashing into the building.
My husband got home, and I followed him around the house. I was terrified of being alone. I don't remember much else about that day, but when I wearily climbed the stairs to bed, I asked him to come too. Since he is a night owl, we never go to bed at the time time. This night though, I didn't want to be alone. He flipped on the television and I lay beside him, curled into a ball, forcing myself to breathe in and out the light of the television.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The silence only amplified the panic and fear that I felt. We weren't safe. Nothing was safe. I felt raw, exposed and vulnerable.
I was a believer then, but not walking with Christ. I don't remember finding my Bible. I don't remember wanting to go to church. I don't remember finding solace in Him.
I mourn a lot about that day. I mourn the lives that were lost. I mourn the innocence that we as a nation lost. I think about the families still. I think about the police men and fire fighters and the first responders. I think about the people on the planes, in the Pentagon. I think about the people that jumped from the buildings. I think about those faces on the posters that papered the city. I think about the people who were so radical about their faith that they gave their lives without a single thought of sparing it.
I mourn so much about that day.
I mourn that I was so far from Christ. I mourn that as I watched the buildings fall over and over again that I didn't cry out to him to forgive me of my sins and wash me clean. I'm sad that staring such evil in the face didn't bring me to my knees. I'm mourn the ten years prior to that day and the time even after where I lived in flagrant rebellion of a Holy God. I mourn that disaster of epic proportions didn't send me running back to the God of the universe, begging Him to receive and restore me.
That wouldn't come until later, in the wake of a much small disaster that impacted only me and a handful of others close to me.
There is a lot to mourn today, ten years later. I today mourn the evil that was caused when we first sinned against God and introduced the sin that would eventually lead to that fateful day. I mourn the years that I lost that should have been spent in devotion to Him. I think about the families who live each day with their losses as we as individuals and as a nation moved on. And because it's what I do, I feel guilty that I could turn off the television and move on with my life. Go on to have that baby girl. And more. Live in a lot of ways as though it never happened.
I think a lot more about sin these days, and the people who don't know Him. Or are willing to attack in the name of a god who would sanction such action. I stay thankful that He snatched me from my blatantly sinful life and graced me with a passion for Him. I don't look at the images from ten years ago and feel anger or despair. I see sin. The same sin I engaged in for so long. My sin didn't kill nearly 3,000 people, but it was just as destructive, even if there was little evidence of it.
I'm not equating my life with the horrific destruction so many endured that day and still to this day endure. Those first responders are dealing with not only the emotional and physical scars, they now have debilitating health issues. Those that haven't died already. The families still don't have their loved ones. Or closure. The live in the midst of a world that moved on, for the most part, except for one day a year where we remember.
So I want to do more. I want to continue to remember. I want to continue to pray. I want to see that image of the buildings falling as the visual of what sin. looks. like. When I dabble in it. Dance close to it. Taunt it with my actions. With my rebellion.
I want to remember the pain and destruction not only to pray for those still living in the wake of that day without the comfort of ten years removed, but also to stay aware of and mindful to the true nature of sin and it's ability to destroy.
And not to make this all about me, but I'm thankful for this place where I can nail a reminder to myself. Sin and evil destroy. And they caused Jesus to offer Himself as a sacrifice to provide us a way to escape their eternal damnation. And one day, He'll come back in part to end sin and evil forever. I am thankful for that day too.
These are ways that I remember this holiday each year. I watch the first two links below:
(link)
(like)
Then, just this year, some pastors I respect and pray for traveled to the Middle East, and this is a word from them.
(link)
(i didn't want to read this again and again. so i'm sure there are errors, but please forgive those. i just wanted to get it out and let it be...)
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