I will always remember exactly where I was when I found out that the twin towers had been hit. I remember the exact layout of my living room in our little house in Winchester, KY on that September morning eight years ago. EIGHT years ago. How is it possible that it's been eight years since that horrible thing that changed not only the physical landscape of our nation, but the emotional, and dare I say the spiritual. How is it possible that time has continued to move forward eight years. On that morning, I couldn't see past my fear, my dread of what was to come for my children, or my intense grief for those who had lost husbands and wives, sisters and brothers, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends...for those of us who lost all trust in our world. I learned that day what it was like to mourn for people I had never met. I shed tears that day for all the souls lost from the earth and all the spirits that were broken.
I remember getting in my car with D.K. and driving over to Prophet's school, simply because I needed to be where he was. I remember walking into the church and there being two other mom's that needed the same thing with their little ones. I remember the teacher looking at the tears in my eyes with question and having to ask if she knew. I remember saying, "You have no idea, you haven't seen it yet, " through my tears. I remember standing in the hallway outside the chapel while our little ones finished their chapel time that morning and the questioning looks us moms got from our little ones' eyes as they walked past us to go back to their classroom.
I remember the hours and hours of coverage. I remember all the channels either going off the air, doing tributes, or following the news stories. I remember the depression that took over for many of us as reality set in that our perfect little corner of the world had actually been invaded by this heinous person. I remember the anger, the disbelief, and then the urge to make it all right again.
I remember going into church the very next Sunday morning, getting up on stage, and singing "God Is In Control" through my tears, in front of a crowd full of people looking at me through their own. I remember not being sure I actually believed that He was in control. I remember that being the start of my questioning God...that was the time when my unquestioned belief that God would always make things right quivered and has never completely returned. I remember that being the time when I realized that prayer doesn't always make things happen the way we want them to. I remember that being the time when reality hit that we aren't God's little puppets on strings and no matter what someone prays for us to do or not do, it's ultimately up to us to do or not do it....which is what happened on this day eight years ago.
A man decided of his own free will that he didn't like us, so he made the decision to change our country forever. God does not control us. He doesn't "sit up there" and zap us down here to make us stop doing things that are bad for us or those around us, or to make us do the right thing. He created each of us with our own free will. Our right to choose is our God given right. What we choose to do with that free-will is our own choice. A choice that should not be taken away by anyone, and unfortunately more often than we want to admit, our choices, like his that day eight years ago, make other people's lives change forever.
So whats the point of God then? He's my Father. He's my Creator. He's the source of my strength. He's the Shelter I seek. He's the only One who knows all there is to know about me. He's the One Who Loves Me Most in this world....and because I believe all of those things, He deserves my worship. He deserves to have my love. Because I love my god, I try to live for Him. I try to be His hands and feet while I'm on this earth. I try to take care of the hurt and pain I see around me. Because He's my Creator, my Father, my Source of Strength, my Shelter, the One Who Knows Me and Loves me the Most...because He is all those things to me, I have the strength to get through a day like 9/11 was eight years ago and arrive at today a more confident woman, a strong mother, a loving wife, a good friend, and a humble servant of God.
That day changed me in so many ways. I am not the same person I was when I woke-up that morning eight years ago. Thankfully, my Father held on to me tight through all of my questioning. He never let go, and never will.