May We Never Forget. . .

The date 9/11 still is chilling, isn't it? I doubt it will ever be just another day to us. Even just mentioning that date when jotting it down in a planner or finalizing plans with someone stops us cold for a second. Three years later we still grow quiet when we see the image of the World Trade Centers on an old movie or TV show. My sister recently visited Ground Zero on a trip to New York and remarked how silent it is when you pass by. Just this morning I watched a DVD that documents that horrible day and I was still sobered and silent by those images that horrified us that Tuesday morning. This entry is going to run very long because I want to make sure that I never forget that day. I have two journals by my side. One has an entry in it from three days after the attacks, the first day that I was able to compose myself enough to write about what had happened. The other has an entry from last year on September 11, 2003 and the lessons I had learned two years later. And if I have the time I want to compose my thoughts from three years down the road.

First, from 9/14/2001. . .

Now that I've had some time to sit and collect my thoughts, I think I can write about the horrible things that happened this week. Probably the best way to do it is just to tell things from my perspective.

Sept 11 actually started out as a good morning, not much different than any other Tuesday. I woke up on time, did my devotions, and actually headed out the door at 8:25, which is earlier than I planned. It was a warm, sunny day and I decided to drive to school with the sunroof open. I stopped at Tim Horton's on my way to school and picked up some coffee and a muffin like I did every morning, and then--caffeine in hand--I hit the road.

There wasn't much traffic on the freeway, although it was the usual Detroit stop-and-go. But, oddly, even that didn't really bother me. I switched on the radio and listened to Drew and Mike harass some old nut who thought he was something special because he took all these commercial flights to get around the world in something like 61 hours. I even got a good laugh as I looked up the electronic billboard on I-75 to see the caption Drew and Mike had about the guy. "Conceited Plane Dork."

It was the last time I'd laugh for a very long time that day.

After the guy hung up, Drew & Mike realized their phone lines were lighting up, with callers telling them the same thing: turn on the TV, a plane's hit the World Trade Center in New York. So tehy obliged, and I listened to them talk about what they were looking at: one of the world's tallest buildings had smoke pouring from it and a large hole in the side from where the plane had hit. To listen to them, it just seemed to be the most bizarre thing.

"How in the heck does a pilot miss the World Trade Center?" I asked in half-shock/half-amazement. But I wasn't going to be given the answer.

"Oh my Gosh!!" I suddenly heard the radio announcers exclaim. "Did you see that?!" It seemed that as they were watching, a second jet slammed into the second tower, erupting in a huge fireball.

My stomach sank at that. One plane hits the World Trade Center, it's a tragic accident. TWO planes hit, 20 minutes apart, and you know it was deliberate. I switched over to news radio and tried to see what else was going on. But it was mass confusion.

I considered not going to class. As a journalist I wanted--needed--to get to a TV or stay by a radio. But I had an obligation. Plus, I figured, the planes had crashed. I could get back out to my car after school and catch up on the news when I got back.

So I went to class and spent two hours listening about Civil War and Reconstruction. I took notes about America's history, and all the while my teacher, my class, and myself were unaware that history was being written outside.

I got out of class and that was when I first knew something was wrong. EVERYONE was on a celll phone. A girl pulled me aside. She didn't know me, but she said it was important.

"Have you heard what's going on with our country?" She asked. "Two planes blew up the World Trade Center, a bomb went off in the Senate, and they crashed another plane into the White House."

I dismissed it and started walking to my car. Then I turned on my cell phone. I had a voice mail, which was weird, because everyone knew I was in school. It was my mom. I was to call as soon asa I got it. I called and asked mom what happened.

"Don't you know?" she asked.

"Well, I was listening to the radio and heard that two planes crashed into the World Trade Center."

"Chris," she said," There IS no World Trade Center anymore. They collapsed after the plane hit. Anotehr plane crashed into the Pentagon. And another crashed in Pennsylvania, but they think it was headed for another target. They think another country or some terrorists are attacking us and trying to start a war. They say it's like Pearl Harbor."

It wasn't one thing in those words that scared me. It was every statement, each one making my stomach turn. The Twin Towers had collapsed; the two buildings that symbolized New York, capitalism, America. Gone. Destroyed. All those people trapped inside.

All these plane crashes. The Pentagon was hit? But wasn't that supposed to be our symbol of strenght? Weren't they our military? Weren't they the guys who were supposed to stop things like this from happening? And how did they hijack four planes? this wasn't just one nut trying to make a point. This was a strategic attack; someone had been smart enough to know what planes to take, when to taken them, hw to take them, and exactly where to hit us the hardest.

But it wasn't like Pearl Harbor, because--in some odd way--Pearl Harbor was almost justifiable. It was a military base. They were soldiers. They were military men who knew the risks. These were civillians who were at work, flying home, sightseeing. In war you don't kill innocent people. There are rules. Only madmen break them.

This was America. This wasn't supposed to happen here.

"I heard they were evacuating a lot of buildings in Detroit," my mom said. "Just to be safe. Are you still down there?"

I was, I told her, but I'd be fine. I hung up and headed out to my car, turned on newsradio and started heading to my internship.

It was confusion all over the country. Air traffic was shut down all over the United States. . . it would be two days before anyone anywhere in America was able to fly. Schools were closed or on lock down. Big businesses were evacuating. The border between Detroit and Canada was stop and go. And there were rumors everywhere: one plane was surrounded in Alaska, there was another heading for the White House, Camp David was under attack. People were panicking.

And panic is contagious. I drove to my internship, trembling as I listened to the radio. I was afraid of every car that got a little too close, every intersection that seemed a little too prominent. I jumped at every noise and tried to tell myself that none of thsi was happening. By the time I got to work, I was shaking violently. I thought I was going to throw up.

Over the past few days I've seen some of the most shocking, horrible images ever. The second plane slamming into the twoer. People jumping 110 stories to their death. The twin towers collapsing into a massive tomb of rubble. I heard the figures of a death toll expected to be around 5,000. I listened to the tales of hijacked passengers ordered to call home and tell their loved ones they were going to die. I heard a wife's answering machine message to her husband, telling him she was stuck in the World Trade Center and she just wanted to say how much she loved him.

Every time I hear or see those reminders, I feel a rush of emotion. I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm angry. Our entire nation feels vulnerable for the first time. And the future is uncertain. What happens next? Do we go to war? Whaat if it happenes again? Will we EVER be the same?

And where is God?

I know that's a horrible thing to ask, but it's the question that's been in my mind. War is bad enough. But why would God let some evil pepole highjack four planes filled with men, women, and children? Why would God let 3,000 innocent people die without even knowing why? Why would a loving God allow any of this to happen? Why would He allow a nation like ours to live in fear? Why does He let the evil triumph? Is He even there?

We say it's all part of His plan. But isn't there an easier way to carry out His plan? It just seems like only a sick God would have a will that works this way. .Can I even believe that a God who would do this is loving? Can I even believe there is a God?

These are questions I've been asking all week. And, to be honest, I'm having a hard time coming up with answers.

I know there's a God. I've come to terms for that. And I know He loves me. He settled that on the cross.

But why would Tuesday happen? I don't know. We can say it's all part of God's plan. . . and I KNOW it is. . . But it still feels like a bit of a cop out. I can say anything and say it's a part of God's plan, can't I? I just have a hard time saying that. I don't like that it's part of God's will. And, to be honest, there's a big part of me that's angry with God for letting this happen.

But the truth is, it is part of God's plan, whether I like it or not, whether it makes sense or not, whether it hurts or not. And it might all make sense one day. We might see a giant revival, where thousands see His power.

But we might not.

Why did God let this happen? I don't know. But I don't think cluing us in as to the "why's" of His way is God's big priority. Maybe we have to come to the conclusion that His will is so much bigger than a person, a city, even a nation. Maybe we have to accept it.

After all: God is God, and I am not.

I know that was long, but coming out of that week was a big ordeal. This is from 9/11/2003, written two years after the tragedy:

The old saying is that time heals all wounds. In a sense that's true. Given time, we get back into the swing of things. A broken arm mends and can get back into old activities just like new. AFter bed rest and recuperation a sick mperson can return to life as normal.

But I'm finding that not all wounds heal completely. Bumped just right, that familiar pain can shoot right up the arm. By not adhering to the medications, sickness can invade once again. And some wounds, especially the emotional ones, don't completely mend. Oh, they heal enough for us to return to normal life. We laugh, we love, we live. But sometimes life takes the occassion to pull at thse wounds, peel back the scabs. And the pain floods back, the tears well up, and we wonder if we'll ever be completely healed.

Two years ago, we were wounded. As a nation, we felt our security get battered. Our courage was hit. Our hearts were pierced. And for a time, we wondered if life would ever be the same again. Was it okay to laugh? How long should we cry?

Time passed. Slowly life went back to resemble something normal. And although our day-to-day life went on, we could still feel the fear and heartache every now and then as a tragedy, still fresh in our minds, was analyzed and replayed on TV. Soon, a year came and again we mourned. We cried, but we hoped those tears would bring closure. One year and life was still the same. Wasn't that progress?

And here we are again. Another yeaar has passed and life is starting to look more like it did before 9/11/2001. We can criticize the president again. We don't feel guilty debating something as frivolous as movies. Our TVs are filled with the inane wedding preperations of Ben and Jen (ed. not: now it's Brittney and Kevin.)

And yet here we are again. September 11. And we are not at the point where this can be just a regular day on the calendar. Driving to work the radio was replaying transcripts and descriptions of the attacks. The news replayed the horrifying images of planes slamming into the twin towers. My own mind retreated back to the fear and confusion that reigned over the nation that horrible morning and my heart broke again with the sorrow of the week after. And I wondered, "When will we be whole?"

Anyone who ever exercized can sympathize with the phrase, "the pain means it's working." As our muscles grow and stretch and develop, there's pain associated with it. After an accident it's better that the victim feels pain than to be numb because it meanas the body's doing it's job right.

Is it the same with grief? I think it is. The tears tell us we haven't lost our ability to mourn, feel, and care. The tears tell us we're working okay.

I dread the day when Sept. 11 becomes just another day. When we look at it simply through a history book and don't allow ourselves to weep for the lost. My stomach turnes at the idea that one day this horrible even could be seen as entertainment and spectacle on the big screen.

When will be whole? Well,, we know it won't happen until our Savior comes and wipes every tear from our eyes. But I think while we're down here, it's important to remember that wholeness doesn't mean a refusal to grieve. The ability to weep, laugh, and care is what makes us human.

Before we know it, another year will have passed and September 11, 2004 will be here. We should consider it a blessing on that on that day we can still be brought to tears by the memories of tragedy. And when we lose that ability to mourn and grieve is when we'll realize something's missing.

So now it's 9/11/04. And I feel we've lost the impact of that day. Sept. 11 is something we use as a political ploy. Bush uses it to remind voters of his triumphs as President. Kerry uses it to show why we need change. Michael Moore uses it to sell movie tickets. We use a day of death and tragedy to point fingers and allow people to be afraid and submissive to our government. We've used it to call attention to people of other nationalities and used it as an excuse to launch a war on Iraq.

But we cann't forget the sorrow of 9/11/01. We can't forget the lives that were lost, the nation that was crippled (but healed), and the lessons we learned.

Never forget.

C-Dubbs