9/11: A Tenth Anniversary Reflection

            Have you ever been told to seal your windows with plastic and duct tape because a bomb might go off and radiation could leak into your house?  Have you ever stood by the bedside of a loved one and wondered if anthrax was going to kill them?  Have you ever calculated wind speed and wondered if a dirty bomb could kill you?  Have you held the love of your life, when he came home from two weeks of serving only God knows where, as his body was wracked with sobs of grief?  I have and if you have, then you must live in Washington D.C.

            This tenth anniversary of 9/11 has been so much harder for me than any of the other anniversaries.  Ten years later I am still haunted by the phone call that changed my life forever.  The last several days I have been trying to figure out why I have such an overwhelming amount of grief.  Perhaps it is all the natural disasters we have experienced in the last three weeks: earthquakes, hurricane Irene, flooding from tropical storm Lee.  Perhaps it has been my husband on travel and gone just like those two weeks following 9/11.  Or perhaps it is because I am finally grieving the loss of a life I never lived; a life feeling safe and secure.

            Everyone has a 9/11 story.  It was like Pearl Harbor, a day that lives in infamy.  For me it was a Tuesday of the second week of teaching my brand new group of all day Kindergarteners at a private school in Great Falls, VA.  I was still a blushing bride, having only just been married that July 14, and was giving my students a reading test.  One of the parent volunteers rushed into my room and, looking panic stricken, told me to go to the office as my husband was on the phone.  Trying not to panic myself, I flew to the office only just glancing at the TV being viewed by staff in the room I passed through.  My new husband told me to drop everything and come meet him at home right away, he had to leave.  Terrorists had struck the twin towers and the Pentagon.

            God only knows how I made it safely to our apartment in Falls Church.  I raced over the hills of Great Falls with tears streaming down my face, singing to a Point of Grace album, praying for the safety of my dad, who was working at the Pentagon, and my sister and family all working in D.C.  I remember wondering if all hell was breaking loose and America was in a war of which we had not been notified.  Mostly, I was terrified that my husband had to leave and could tell me nothing more.

            Thankfully I got home in time to help my husband pack a small bag of toiletries.  He informed me that I could not come with him, but he would be home in a day or two.  We decided I should stay with my parents since they lived farther outside the city, so if there were more attacks I would be farther from D.C.  I remember little of the rest of that day except crying in my husbands arms, wishing he could stay, but telling him I was glad he was one of the ones the government called in a time of need.  He got in his Camry and was gone.

            There is something horrifying about not knowing where your husband is and not knowing how long he will be gone.  His original prediction of a day or two passed.  I got the occasional e-mail telling me he did not know when he would be able to come home.  My family all went back to work, and I went back to the classroom and an empty apartment.  The silence of the days just after 9/11, when the planes were grounded, seemed as fragile as my heart.

            When my husband was finally able to come home I remember us both just crying our eyes out.  Mine were tears of relief; his seemed more to be tears of grief.  He just kept saying, “It was awful, so awful.”  He has never shared more.  Perhaps he will never be able to share more, as there are laws he has to keep.  What we do both share is a loss of safety.  America always had bad guys, but this was different.  We learned this even more in the months and years ahead.

            The past ten years have been rocky.  Just when a feeling of safety would start to hover, another alert would go out to the D.C. area.  “Don’t open suspicious packages.”  “Be prepared for nuclear bombs.”  “Keep iodide pills on hand.”  “You may want to seal the window cracks with duct tape, there is a dirty bomb threat.”  The reality sunk in personally as we had a family member sickened by anthrax.  My husband began keeping an overnight bag and scooter at work; prepared to walk out of town like so many others did on 9/11.  We put off having children, since we were not sure what the future held, and we never turned off our cell phones, always keeping them charged “just in case.”

            Evil men never seemed far away as we survived one incident after another.  The D.C. sniper had my husband working overtime, and me wondering if it was safe to get groceries.  This year, as the anniversary approached, we had an earthquake that was so loud that I thought we were finally being attacked by another set of incoming planes.  The fear boils below the surface, unnoticed until we have a threat or a natural disaster.

            Personally, I struggle emotionally and spiritually over the reality of no longer “feeling” safe.  I try to convince myself that it is just a feeling, not a reality.  Just when I start to believe my mantra, the 9/11 anniversaries come around to remind me that there is nothing the government, my veteran father and grandfather, nor my amazing husband can do to keep me safe.  Only in the hands of God am I safe.  That safety is not for my physical here and now life, rather, it is one of reassured eternal life.  Jesus told us, “do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matthew 10:28, ESV).

            Jesus knows my fear and my pain.  God came to earth, took on human flesh, and experienced those emotions himself as Jesus.  God cannot have a relationship with me, a sinner full of fear, without a sacrifice.  Jesus was the perfect sacrifice, bridging the gap, so that I can have a relationship with God.  “In God we trust” is not just a saying on a coin.  It is stepping out in faith and believing that though I do not deserve to have a relationship with God, he has offered it as a free gift.  All I have to do is receive it; to trust him.  Do you trust him?

Weeping Forward

Very rarely am I found in a puddle of tears on the floor. It happened yesterday. My son, whom I love more than I can say, had just told me the reason he would not use the toilet was because he just did not want to. He was honest, so I must be.

His words sliced like a knife. First, I was angry and yelling at him about how he needs to do the right thing anyway. Then he began to cry, which made me madder until something inside broke and I held him close and began weeping. Crying out to God, shaking my fist at my creator, groaning from the depths of my soul asking, "Why is this so hard? Why can't my son be just as wonderful for me as he is for everyone else? Why am I the one he always dumps on?" I wish I could tell you a booming voice from heaven gave a wonderful soothing answer, but I can't because God doesn't talk that way to me.

He did talk to me today though through the study I'm leading on the book of Ruth. The words "sow while you weep and keep moving forward" jumped out of Kelly Minter's study.

If you have never read the book of Ruth you are missing out on one of the best love stories of the Bible. It's a short book, so click here to read this wonderful love story of how God brings a foreigner into His land and blesses her because she loved Him.

Ruth follows her mother-in-law (Naomi, an Israeli) to Israel despite Naomi's pleading with her to stay in Moab to find a new husband (Ruth's husband, Naomi's son, is dead). Ruth is weeping yet follows Naomi because she has come to love God and wants to be with His people and Naomi. Kelly Minter refers to this as weeping forward. Doing what God wants us to do even though what we really might want to do is sit down and have a pity party. Everyone would have forgiven Ruth if she just sat down and wept bitterly for days or weeks. Her husband was dead and he did not leave her with any children to look after her. She wanted to go with Naomi who was making it quite clear Ruth should not come with her. Ruth felt utterly alone.

But, there was God. He had not left her.

I admit it, I've been having a pity party: "Oh, woe is me I have a severely ADHD child and NOTHING helps him to do the right thing at home. Oh, I am a terrible mother because my 6 year old is still wetting himself. Oh, boo-hoo-hoo." It's been a long and hard one.

On the way home from study tonight that still small voice inside me said, "You need to move forward and sow those seeds in your son. Weep forward." We looked at some verses in Psalm 126 together tonight and it wasn't until I was going home that I realized I need to stop my boo-hooing and realize I am missing the blessing. There is a promise in God's word:

⁵Those who sow in tears
shall reap with shouts of joy!
⁶He who goes out weeping,
bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy,
bringing his sheaves with him.

So, it's time to obey God. I need to keep sowing the seeds in my son even if I am weeping the whole way. It's time to allow God to pull me out of the water, stop taking my son's actions personally, and know that ultimately my son has to answer to God for his actions just like I am held accountable for mine.

Now the question is no longer will my son obey mommy but will mommy obey God?

MRI Nightmare

Sometimes life throws us curve balls when we turn our head to look at the umpire and we get hit in the back of the head. That happened to me this week. Our son needed an MRI to check for a condition called tethered chord. Since coming home M. has been a toe walker and has struggled with potty training. At 6 he still needs to be told to use the bathroom during the day or he wets himself. Previous doctors have told us this was a behavioral issue, saying his ADHD is so severe he is not in touch with his bodily needs (this would go along with the fact that he is "never" hungry). His pediatrician changed her mind at his yearly appointment and decided there must be something medically wrong and so sent us for an MRI.

Having had an MRI myself I figured it would be no problem. M. is not claustrophobic, but I did not account for the fact that he would have to be still for an hour. When the radiologist called to ask if my son could stay still for an hour, I laughed. What 6 year old could stay still in one place for an hour, especially one with severe ADHD? They said no problem they could give him some mild anesthesia. Just bring him in with an empty tummy.

MRI day came and M. only had his medicine with a sip of water before heading out to the hospital. Nothing prepared me for what happened there. He had been "under" before when he had his ear tubes in and out and that was a breeze. Just breath in the medicine and drift off to sleep.

Not this time.

He fought the anesthesiologist, crying and kicking his legs. They finally had me leave (I guess my anxiety was showing) and I spent the next hour reading my Bible and praying my son would be okay. When they brought me back to the recovery area he was throwing up in his sleep and again kicking his legs. He spent the next 20 minutes vacillating between throwing a fit (screaming, kicking his legs, crying) and sleeping!

The nurse assured me he was fine to go home and was trying to usher us out. I told her he really should go to the potty first and I had to argue with her to let me take him. I was uncomfortable taking him home (as I was on this adventure solo) but had no choice. He finally calmed down by the time he was going to the car. He only threw up once on

the way home but spent the rest of the day with a sick tummy. Needless to say, after the much needed bubble bath, we spent the rest of the day watching movies. I was just as spent emotionally as he was physically and SO thankful it was all over.

The good news is the MRI was clear.

Water Walking

As I write these words I am all snuggled up in my hubby’s warm bathrobe listening to a storm come across campus. It is symbolic of this time in my life: the storm rages around me as I am walking on the water having answered Jesus’ call to ‘come’.

It never ceases to amaze me that every time I doubt my decision to leave my Ur and answer the call to ministry God whispers, “Why do you doubt?” just as lovingly as he did to Peter. He did this again today as I was walking around campus trying to stretch my tired body after sitting in classes for almost 7 hours today. As I came around toward the lake (the campus is on Lake Michigan) I was noticing how socked in with fog it was becoming. I began to think about a book my friend and I are teaching from this summer by John Ortberg, If You Want To Walk on Water You Have to Get Out of the Boat.

It hit me that the fear I’ve been experiencing the last few days was nothing compared to what the disciples must have felt in that boat on the Sea of Galilee. As I looked over the lake I could barely see anything for all the fog. I was putting myself in that boat with the disciples and asking God to help me to be brave enough to walk on the water. As I turned to head back to my dorm, what should I see but a statue of Peter getting out of that boat! I could hardly believe my eyes! There’s nothing like God turning up in the middle of a

storm and saying, “Ye of little faith, why do you doubt?”

Now that fog has turned into a full storm, with a tornado watch to boot, but I am resting in the knowledge that God is here with me. See, this journey is one I am making all on my own this week. No hubby walking right beside me reassuring me that everything will be just fine and I have everything it takes to succeed (though he did that amazingly over the phone). No friend sharing the adventure of my rolling into campus so late the security guard had to find an RA who checked me into a room that was already occupied so he had to find a RD so I could finally put my head down well after midnight my time. No sister with whom I can roll me eyes with when someone says how wonderful the food in the caf is and I am eating the same exact thing (french fries with cheese sauce since they don’t know the meaning of wheat free) at dinner as I did lunch. For the first time since my single days (which is almost 10 years ago!) I am making this journey just God and me.

Yep, I am out of the boat!