After a shower and breakfast, I walked back outside. Seated on the steps was fellow missionary, Brenda Fish, and we engaged in small talk about the beauty of the azure, September sky. As we looked toward the south and west, a cloud of smoke was forming. I pointed to it and Brenda returned, "I just heard a boom, not more than two-minutes ago, I wonder if the smoke has anything to do with it?"
All that happened in the next hours are not for this blog, but I remember them in great detail. Our walking north to Midtown as the chaos grew worse. Frantic calls to and from family and friends in Texas. And, finally, our decision to return to the place we were staying, below police lines, knowing that once we were there we could not leave - not till tomorrow, at least, and more than likely not for several days.
Watching TV this morning, I reflected over 'that day.' Like many of you I remembered not only where I was but how I felt. I remembered my fear and resolve, as well as conversations of Christ with those who'd not seemed interested just one day before. I remembered my sense of sadness over evil, and my encouragement in witnessing the enormous kindness of others. I remembered my sentiments regarding New York and her citizens, and how it was changed on that day forever. New York really is an American melting pot. A city holding an eternal optimism born by decades of immigrants and the hopeful moving in. Something understood only after standing in her midst with sleeves rolled up.
But this morning I had other thoughts. Thoughts beyond the present crisis with Syria, Al Qaeda, air travel security and despondency over how America has changed. I thought about the effects of time and how that event is now - unbelievably - 12 years in our past. I thought about how the once young children of the victims are now grown up - and, as I watched these young adults reading the names of father's, brother's, Mom's and Dad's, I realized both times power and its brevity.
We live life in moments but we remember life through relationship and events. Moments change with the current of our day, capricious and fast - not respecting of feelings or desire, but relationships give our moments their meaning and a signature.
As I drove across the US that September - through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas and home - I thought about all I had witnessed and what God had called me to do. Driving my rented car, I looked over the American landscape - observing her beauty in houses, barns, rivers and cities. I did not see as many people as I might have a week before - and things were eerily quiet. For though people were courteous and kind, they were subdued - thinking, no doubt, much of the same thoughts as me.
After two days of driving, I pulled my car in front our home and, stepping out, my emotions and thoughts came together as one. Across our front porch was a banner, drawn by the hands of my wife, daughter and son. It read simply, "Welcome home, Dad, we love you!" And standing on our front lawn, kissing my wife and holding our son and daughter in my arms, I was in my place. I knew who I was and what I was to do. So we went into the house and had dinner together as a family. I turned off the TV and turned my head and heart to God's Word to prepare for Sunday and my message. There I realized that my moments, like those who once were children and are today 9-11's grown-up, young adults on my TV, had come together.
I gave thanks to God that night, 12 years ago, and I did the same today.
'So teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.' Psalm 90:12
Amen, indeed!
Pastor Sam
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