The tvs were blaring and my professor looked frazzled. Students were murmuring and no one was really settling in as usual. I squinted but all I could make out was smoke billowing; she finally gathered us long enough to tell us to go home and watch tv -- journalism history was in the making. Not just journalism history, though it was. American history, family history (for those directly impacted), personal history, because we all remember where we were. I got back to my dorm and heeded instruction, turning on the tv in time to see the second tower struck. Horrified, and desperately dialing for home and comfort, I watched live coverage of men and women jumping from burning wreckage. (A few years later that was a hot topic of journalism ethics, and the same professor led us through heated discussions of whether the media should have aired those jumpers.)
In the years between then and now, the physical landscape of Manhattan has changed, and is a symbol of so much.
Seeing the physical hole in the middle of a city is painful, but is nothing compared to the pain of those families with much deeper craters in their hearts. (The above photo was taken around 2004 when we were there as students.) Even in the deep scars, though, there is redemption - as there always is with a Living God. Churches rose out of the ashes and I have heard firsthand the stories of salvation, of finding faith and Jesus when your backyard gets blown apart. Pray for those churches that were fruit of this tragedy, that God would make them hands of healing as the wound stings fresh with this anniversary. Praise Him for bringing beauty from ashes and freedom from fear. 
"Be still, and know that I am God.I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth!"
Psalm 46:10-11
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1 comments:
This is a great post.
You were a college freshman. I was a college senior. (thanks for making me feel old!! ha!)
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