As we approach the fifth anniversary of 9/11, I thought it might be interesting to share where we all were when it happened, any particular insights you had on the day and the days following, and how it impacted your faith.
I've been watching some of the programming leading up to Monday, and I have to say I'm not really over it yet.
My 9/11/01 was spent at work, about five miles from O'Hare in Park Ridge, IL. People kept arriving throughout the morning with new updates, and one person brought a small b/w TV. As the towers fell, Chicago was evacuated, and I listened to Metra trains speed past the back of the building for hours ... they were all express trains, including the one I was supposed to take home. As train after train went by, I was astonished by the silence. Before, jets would fly over the office every 45 seconds and shake my desk. Now, it was just the click of fingers on the keyboard and a droning newscaster in the background.
The sky was empty for so long. It was strange to hear the Kennedy Expressway in the morning instead of the airport. The first time I saw a plane again (which I believe was a military supply plane a week later) I panicked. I think I ducked behind the building.
I know it sounds trite, but that was also about the time we started back to church. My stale, ambivalent and lethargic faith was sparked by a need to be with God again. I had desired that the revival sparked in me would be equalled by many in our nation, but that sometimes seems to have been a fleeting hope.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Thanks Matt for thinking of sharing our stories of that fateful day. Here follows a brief presentation of what I remember.
I was 8 months pregnant (Mabel was born one month later to the day) and enjoying a morning nap. Matt was a work. Charlie the dog and Hannah the cat were also napping. The the phone started ringing.
We had a tiny apartment in which you could talk to each other from any room. I had the volume on the answering machine turned down a bit so all I knew was that my mom was calling. Then the phone rang again and then again and I heard my cousin say "when you get home TURN ON THE TELEVISION!" I stumbled out of bed after the third phone call.
I turned on the television and could not understand what was going on. We only had four channels and as I was dialing the phone to call my cousin I kept saying "Where is Dan Rather? This isn't making any sense."
In the next few hours I watched the towers fall, talked on the phone and prayed and prayed. I remember thinking maybe it was all a joke. A sick joke. I also remember praying that we wouldn't react with anger. I also remember being happy to see George W's face and hear him speak. He stumbled over all his words and I just thought that maybe he was a real person too.
The following days found me camped out in front of the tv watching all the footage. I remember being frightened and nervous each day Matt left for work. I was so glad when the weekend came and the networks went back to regular programming and Matt was home.
I am still not sure how much that event changed me. I feel its affects in so many different ways. The first time flying being one fearful experience just 6 months later.
What I do know is that for a few days after 9/11 I really talked to my friends and family. I was honest and loving and involved.
On Sept. 10th the TV station I worked for in Colorado Springs had my going away party. I was supposed to take it easy on the 11th, 12th and 13th - packing my office, finishing some odds and ends - all in preparation for my transfer to the Marketing and Promotions manager job at KWWL in Waterloo, Iowa.
Steve drove me to work the morning of 9/11, and we talked all the way, so we didn't know about the attacks until I got to work. By the time I got there the towers had both been hit - but had not yet fallen (we lived in Mountain Time).
Initially I was shocked and angry and I wanted to do something, but I worked for a FOX affiliate without a news department, so we just sat there - watching and praying as everything unfolded.
The military planes at the 3 airbases around the Springs scrambled, there were lots of jets flying around.
I called my parents in Iowa and we both tried to reach my sister, an Army officer who lived less than a mile from the Pentagon.
Later that afternoon I spoke with my new boss, he wanted me in Iowa right away, but my Colorado boss wouldn't let me leave (I was not happy to say the least). I spent the rest of the days at the station packing my stuff and on the phone with Iowa - trying to figure out a way to help the station long distance.
Friday I stayed at home and watched the memorial services as I packed my clothes and car (a week early) so that I could be in Iowa bright and early Monday morning to start my new job.
Once in Iowa I hit the ground running, setting up community events which included signing red, white and blue bunting that ended up at the Pentagon and in Afghanistan.
My sister was not at work that day, but still suffers from PTSD, she lost several friends and many collegues in the attack on the Pentagon. Her career changed dramatically and since 9/11/01 she has been activily fighting the war on terror.
Selfishly, I remember being so thankful that my family was moving to Iowa, away from Cheyanne Mountain, and to a place where there was abundant water (the Colorado Springs area is served by water that is piped over 90 miles from Breckenridge)
The impact on my faith is the realization that we can not separate ourselves from what is unfolding around us. And perhaps more importantly, the church must be ready to respond to the 'events' that surround us.
I serve in anticipation that there will be other 'events' that will need interpretation...so while on one hand a semi-helpless feeling remains, on the other hand I know that the love of our Triune God is the only balm that will truly heal our broken world.
Thanks for asking!
I was living in Romania at the time - without a television set. I was close to the family upstairs from me and after eating dinner with them, I returned to my flat. A few moments later, I heard a loud knocking. The lady from upstairs told me that I needed to go upstairs immediately to watch the news. I went and sat in shock. After 15 minutes, I went back downstairs and within moments, she returned in a panic, knocking loudly, ushering me to return. I ran upstairs and found that the second tower had been hit, planes were missing and the entire saga was playing out live.
I do remember Romanians visiting me at my home saying, "I'm sorry" as if the deaths were of my own family. I also remember one person saying, "The American dream is our dream, too. When they hurt you, they hurt us." Although they were so kind to reach out to me, I was more touched by the beauty of their hearts than affected by their sympathy. Maybe I shouldn't have felt this way, but I felt somewhat alone, away from Americans and American life, unable to feel the dangerous sense of being under attack, not able to bond with other Americans around this event. I could only sit and watch, stunned and numb, trying to make sense of my distant American identity and the Romanians' struggle to hold onto their American dreams.
Post a Comment