Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?

I heard a version of this on the radio on Friday morning, and it reminded me rather forcefully of 9/11.  To be honest, some years I hardly notice as it passes.  When it comes to 9/11, sometimes I feel a little Toby Keith, and more often I feel a little Alan Jackson.  But on this, the 10th anniversary, this is the song that really made me stop, think, remember, and resolve.

My story is not that different that any others' outside the east coast. My husband called and told me to turn on the TV. Someone had crashed a plane into the World Trade Center. I am ashamed to admit I had no idea what the WTC was. Worse still, I wasn't sure I cared. Try to remember that I am of the generation that grew up watching contras and guerillas and hostages on the evening news every night. I was in college at OU when the OKC bombing occurred.  As I told my son, when I was growing up, someone was always fighting. I guess that is, unfortunately, the way of the world.

I did, however, turn on the TV.  And then I sat and cried as the second plane flew into the other tower.  You could see people on the top floors.  You could see people jumping from those skyscrapers.  And in watching that, you knew they were parts of families, somebody's precious loved ones.

My girls, ages 4 & 2, played outside in the backyard under an eerily silent sky.  My infant son wobbled at that back door then started screaming when the local air force base scrambled their fighter jets screaming into the air.  They wanted to know why Mommy was crying.  How could I possibly explain to their pure little hearts of the evil out there?

There is one haunting image from that day which has stayed with me all these years.  The TV camera crews were filming at a NYC hospital where all hands were on deck, prepared to triage the expected wounded and dying.  But no one came.  That, in and of itself, was the heart-stopping moment for me.  That is what has forever imprinted that day on my memory, just as JFK's assassination did for the generation before mine, and Pearl Harbor the generation before that.

Two years ago, I got to visit NYC for the first (and only) time. I fell in love!  Of course we visited Ground Zero.  They had recently begun construction for the memorial.  My brother, who had been the year before, was right.  It was emotional.  I felt the presence of those innocent lives.  I felt the heartbreak and the hurt.

But I also felt the hope and the resiliency,  And there in NYC, I could also feel the united strength of those who survive, who care, and who look to the day when tragedies like this one don't happen anymore.  It wasn't something I was feeling very often back home in the midwest.

Isn't it curious how out of the chaos and devastation those terrorists hoped to cause, they instead created a reverent, holy place?  The cost was too high, and yet, the consequence is not what they intended, I think.

In Time Magazine's memorial edition this week, Tom Brokaw says:

There was, at the moment of the attacks and in the days afterward, a kind of joining of hearts and minds and will in America, to get through this together. Somehow that’s begun to fray, and I think that’s sad. I don’t think it’s a worthy tribute to the people who died, and it ought not to be our legacy. We have to find a way to rekindle that flame.

I heard something remarkably similar in the words of Thomas S. Monson, president of my church, in the Washington Post online a few days later (it's an awesome article--you should go read it):

 There was, as many have noted, a remarkable surge of faith following the tragedy. People across the United States rediscovered the need for God and turned to Him for solace and understanding. Comfortable times were shattered. We felt the great unsteadiness of life and reached for the great steadiness of our Father in Heaven. And, as ever, we found it. Americans of all faiths came together in a remarkable way.

Sadly, it seems that much of that renewal of faith has waned in the years that have followed. Healing has come with time, but so has indifference. We forget how vulnerable and sorrowful we felt. Our sorrow moved us to remember the deep purposes of our lives. The darkness of our despair brought us a moment of enlightenment. But we are forgetful. When the depth of grief has passed, its lessons often pass from our minds and hearts as well.

These are the reasons the YouTube clip matters to me.  We have to remember--even if it means refreshing our memory from time to time.  But we also have to look to the here and now so that we can make tomorrow better.