9/11

Tuesday, September 11th, 2001. I was 10 years old in 4th grade at Jimtown Elementary School. I was in Mr. Miller's class working on a project that I don't remember, but I do remember that at around 9 AM, our Principal, Mr. Stout, came on to the loud speaker and called all the teachers and faculty members to the office. No one told the students that day about what was happening in New York. I see that they didn't want to frighten us, but I am somewhat embittered still.

I got off the bus at my house on CR 26 and walked in the door to find my mother with tear stains on her face and an abnormally worried look in her eyes. "Are you ok?" she asks. I am clueless. "Uhh, yeah. Can I have a snack?"

""Do you know about the attacks?"

"...uhm, what attacks? No I don't know about any attacks."

"Jess, there were two planes high-jacked and flown into the World Trade Center buildings in New York, and two others elsewhere."

I didn't quite grasp all that had happened. Maybe it was better that I didn't fully understand. You see, I kow more about Amillenialism and Postmillenialism and doctrines on the book of Revelation at that age than I kew about football or legos. I may have lost my mind in fear of the return of Christ. Yeah, fear. I didn't want to leave. I sometimes still don't. But that's another blog post.

Throughout that day we were, like every other capable American, glued to the TV. It was such a confusing and fearful day, and many more were to come. My dad came home later that night and proclaimed that "Gas was 5 dolla'gallon in Indi!" and I think we had visits from family, maybe not.

Days passed, then weeks, then months, a year, two years, etc. We are now two days from a decade passing since that interesting day. 10 years. I went from a weird little boy to an almost drinking adult in that time. Children of fallen heros and victims that were born on the day or near to it are the age that I was when the attacks happened. Mind blowing.

I am sitting here at my desk in Crowell Hall at Moody Bible Institute basically weeping at the pictures of all the destruction physically and emotionally. I don't know why this affects me so much. Maybe because heroism inspires me. Maybe i am just a sorry sobby sammy. Whatever it is, I am proud to be, not necessarily an american, but to be apart of a nation. A group of people that are communally affected by the same thing.

I wish I was more proud to be a Christ Follower. Our version of Spetember 11th happened when Christ was seemingly defeated by man at Golgotha. The discipes and everyone else who was in the community of believers was devestated, searching among the ruins for his clothes, hist likeness, anything that would bring him back to them. For three days that were at a worse place than those who have lost family and friends in 9/11. They lost GOD. Utter darkness was with them for that time.

Easter morning came, and we were refreshed. He has proven himself God and we are now rescued from that debris.

There is not a redeeming comparison for 9/11, unfortunately. I wish there was. Families of lost ones are still lost and in need of Easter. Everyone needs Easter. Pray for them.