Where were you?
It is one of the legacies of September 11, 2001, and a question to which every adult American knows the answer.
Where were you when the world stopped turning?
It was a day that forever changed our way of life, our way of thinking. A deep gash in the flesh of freedom.
I was a junior in college. On campus for an 8:00-9:30 AM class. All was normal, normal enough that I really don't remember the day before 9:30. Walking across campus to my 9:40 class, two things struck me.
First, what a beautiful day it was. Clear blue sky, no humidity, bright sunshine, hint of a cool breeze. I love days like this, and remember closing my eyes and breathing it in, as I so often do.
Then, opening my eyes, it occurred to me that the people I saw weren't stopping to chat with one another. No one was sitting on a bench, or on the grass. Everyone was walking. Fast. I checked my watch...9:33. We weren't late.
Hmm.
As soon as I sat down in the room, a girl with whom I shared several classes leaned over and asked if I had heard what happened.
"No, what's wrong?"
"A plane hit the World Trade Center."
Another student immediately chimed in: "Two planes. Both towers."
Hold the phone. One plane would surely have been an accident. But two?
Around 9:35, my professor walked in, acknowledged what had happened, but said we would continue with class as usual.
I heard nothing he said over the next fifteen minutes, instead straining to hear reports from the television that came on in the lecture hall next door, and watching other professors from the building lead their classes through the door.
Suddenly, my professor's wife entered the room and very audibly whispered, "Another plane has hit the Pentagon."
"Let's go," was the word from my professor, and the entire class scurried to the lecture hall.
And there we sat. Probably a hundred of us, side by side. White knuckles clutching the desks, wide eyes glued to a 36" tube TV tethered to a black rolling cart. Silent witnesses to the rewriting of history.
It was a blur. Black smoke against clear blue sky. Suits and ties and stiletto heels in a panicked shuffle away from the destruction. Jeans and I♥NY tees, necks craned and fingers pointed upward. Black and yellow jumpsuits and helmets sprinting toward uncertainty.
Madness. Desperation. Bravery. Innocence lost. And we watched.
It was following the order to ground all aircraft that our tensions eased a bit. The reporter said something about incoming international flights being diverted to Canada because they couldn't land in the US. Not sure why that struck us as funny, but it did, and we all chuckled.
This was not to last.
There was a subtle shift on the stationary camera directed at the towers. Gray smoke billowed out all sides. And suddenly one tower was gone.
My God.
Almost in unison, we gasped, hands clasping our mouths. This isn't happening.
We stayed there, transfixed on what our eyes never should have seen, until almost lunchtime. Another plane crash. Another fallen tower. We watched. And waited. For what, no one knew.
A professor I didn't know stood up and said, "I don't know this officially, but I'm telling you there will be no more classes today. Let's get out of here. And hey, go call your families."
During my junior and senior years of college, I lived with my grandparents just a short distance from campus. I went there, to my home away from home, despite knowing my grandparents were hours away staying with my great-uncle, because I knew I needed to get away from the news and the images.
Then proceeded to spend the rest of the day sitting at their kitchen table, watching news reports on an old 11" TV. Fearing, grieving, crying, praying.
One thing you must understand is that much of my life has been lived in a self-constructed bubble. I don't watch the news, y'all. My mushy heart cannot handle hurt, and that's all the news ever is.
But I was just drawn to this. Pure evil. Death and destruction. To this day, the images of people jumping from above the flames haunts me. Because the only thing my eyes had ever seen before to remotely compare to this was in movies. It could never be real.
Perhaps that is why I couldn't tear my eyes away that day, or many days following. In my naevity I was waiting for the end of the movie. An explanation. A resolution. Anything to build back my bubble.
Everyone has a story, probably a lot like mine. Well, not everyone. Brandon pointed out to me that the kids in his classes were six years old when this happened. Trey and Aden were not alive. This blows my mind.
I hope one day the boys will ask me about 9/11. I am compelled to pass on to them my connection to history.
But to someone who has never been there, what do you say? How do you convey the emotion, the fear, the anger, the sheer horror of what happened on that day? The day our security was shattered. The day our invincibility came crumbling down, crushed beneath tons of twisted steel.
The day the terrorists brought a country to its knees.
The day we realized, as a nation, that our hope is in the Lord. Out of the darkest tragedy most of us had ever known, came the indescribable beauty of collective prayer. And humility. And hope.
Will you share your story? This weekend, we all remember. We reflect. We mourn loss immeasurable. But we also rejoice in the hope and peace, the healing, the immeasurable blessing that is ours because of Jesus Christ.
If God is for us, who can be against us?
Romans 8:31
In the words of President George W. Bush:
"Eventually, September the 11th will be a day on the calendar;
it’ll be like Pearl Harbor Day.
For those of us who lived through it,
it’ll be a day that we’ll never forget."
Where were you when the world stopped turning?
It was a day that forever changed our way of life, our way of thinking. A deep gash in the flesh of freedom.
I was a junior in college. On campus for an 8:00-9:30 AM class. All was normal, normal enough that I really don't remember the day before 9:30. Walking across campus to my 9:40 class, two things struck me.
First, what a beautiful day it was. Clear blue sky, no humidity, bright sunshine, hint of a cool breeze. I love days like this, and remember closing my eyes and breathing it in, as I so often do.
Then, opening my eyes, it occurred to me that the people I saw weren't stopping to chat with one another. No one was sitting on a bench, or on the grass. Everyone was walking. Fast. I checked my watch...9:33. We weren't late.
Hmm.
As soon as I sat down in the room, a girl with whom I shared several classes leaned over and asked if I had heard what happened.
"No, what's wrong?"
"A plane hit the World Trade Center."
Another student immediately chimed in: "Two planes. Both towers."
Hold the phone. One plane would surely have been an accident. But two?
Around 9:35, my professor walked in, acknowledged what had happened, but said we would continue with class as usual.
I heard nothing he said over the next fifteen minutes, instead straining to hear reports from the television that came on in the lecture hall next door, and watching other professors from the building lead their classes through the door.
Suddenly, my professor's wife entered the room and very audibly whispered, "Another plane has hit the Pentagon."
"Let's go," was the word from my professor, and the entire class scurried to the lecture hall.
And there we sat. Probably a hundred of us, side by side. White knuckles clutching the desks, wide eyes glued to a 36" tube TV tethered to a black rolling cart. Silent witnesses to the rewriting of history.
It was a blur. Black smoke against clear blue sky. Suits and ties and stiletto heels in a panicked shuffle away from the destruction. Jeans and I♥NY tees, necks craned and fingers pointed upward. Black and yellow jumpsuits and helmets sprinting toward uncertainty.
Madness. Desperation. Bravery. Innocence lost. And we watched.
It was following the order to ground all aircraft that our tensions eased a bit. The reporter said something about incoming international flights being diverted to Canada because they couldn't land in the US. Not sure why that struck us as funny, but it did, and we all chuckled.
This was not to last.
There was a subtle shift on the stationary camera directed at the towers. Gray smoke billowed out all sides. And suddenly one tower was gone.
My God.
Almost in unison, we gasped, hands clasping our mouths. This isn't happening.
We stayed there, transfixed on what our eyes never should have seen, until almost lunchtime. Another plane crash. Another fallen tower. We watched. And waited. For what, no one knew.
A professor I didn't know stood up and said, "I don't know this officially, but I'm telling you there will be no more classes today. Let's get out of here. And hey, go call your families."
During my junior and senior years of college, I lived with my grandparents just a short distance from campus. I went there, to my home away from home, despite knowing my grandparents were hours away staying with my great-uncle, because I knew I needed to get away from the news and the images.
Then proceeded to spend the rest of the day sitting at their kitchen table, watching news reports on an old 11" TV. Fearing, grieving, crying, praying.
One thing you must understand is that much of my life has been lived in a self-constructed bubble. I don't watch the news, y'all. My mushy heart cannot handle hurt, and that's all the news ever is.
But I was just drawn to this. Pure evil. Death and destruction. To this day, the images of people jumping from above the flames haunts me. Because the only thing my eyes had ever seen before to remotely compare to this was in movies. It could never be real.
Perhaps that is why I couldn't tear my eyes away that day, or many days following. In my naevity I was waiting for the end of the movie. An explanation. A resolution. Anything to build back my bubble.
Everyone has a story, probably a lot like mine. Well, not everyone. Brandon pointed out to me that the kids in his classes were six years old when this happened. Trey and Aden were not alive. This blows my mind.
I hope one day the boys will ask me about 9/11. I am compelled to pass on to them my connection to history.
But to someone who has never been there, what do you say? How do you convey the emotion, the fear, the anger, the sheer horror of what happened on that day? The day our security was shattered. The day our invincibility came crumbling down, crushed beneath tons of twisted steel.
The day the terrorists brought a country to its knees.
The day we realized, as a nation, that our hope is in the Lord. Out of the darkest tragedy most of us had ever known, came the indescribable beauty of collective prayer. And humility. And hope.
Will you share your story? This weekend, we all remember. We reflect. We mourn loss immeasurable. But we also rejoice in the hope and peace, the healing, the immeasurable blessing that is ours because of Jesus Christ.
If God is for us, who can be against us?
Romans 8:31
In the words of President George W. Bush:
it’ll be like Pearl Harbor Day.
For those of us who lived through it,
it’ll be a day that we’ll never forget."
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