On the 'Where Were You?' Moments

Dear One,

It's the 10th anniversary of 9/11/2001 today.  For you, this is an event with no personal memories.  All that you learn about what happened that day will be through history books, video or audio clips, or the stories of friends and family who experienced that time first-hand.  I hope you will ask for those stories, that you will seek out information and understanding about this event and how it shaped the world and culture that is all you've ever known.  The world was a different place before that morning.

Through the eyes of hindsight, you may wonder why events leading up to that terrible day went unheeded.  We've all asked that question, I think.  Whatever the answer, it doesn't change what happened.  Focus instead on the heroism, selflessness and resilience (all good words for you to look up) that are part of every 9/11 story you will hear.

Look for God in what you hear too.  Look for him in the 70 plus people saved from the 88th & 89th floors of the WTC North Tower by two men who themselves didn't make it out of the building before it fell.  Look for Him among the small group of firefighters who stopped--knowing the North Tower would collapse any moment--to help a woman whose slow descent down the stairs miraculously (another wonderful word) allowed them to survive in a tiny section of stairwell when the building came down.  Look for Him in the impossibly brave actions of common people on a plane who knew they were going to die, but refused to be used as a missile to kill others.

I wish the story of my experience that day was remarkable in some way.  But it isn't.  However, on the chance you might find it illuminating, I will share it here with you.  I was just beginning my 2nd year at the University of Maine at Farmington, a small school in a small town in the mountains of western Maine.  Penniless college students, my roommate & I didn't have money for cable TV, so I didn't know anything about the attacks until I went to a Health lecture class at 12:30 pm that afternoon. It was a Tuesday and I walked through the Student Center on campus, thinking nothing of all the young men crowded around the big screen TV.  They were often gathered there to watch ESPN highlights of the previous night's Patriots' game.  But when I got to the large lecture hall where my class was held, students were all clustered in seats, talking with wide eyes.  Some were tearing up.  I looked at them quizzically but no one explained, so I got out my text and notes and prepared for the lecture.

Then the professor, a small, dark-haired woman with a clipped southern accent, came out and began speaking.  Instead of a lecture, she made several sweeping but ambiguous (definitely look this one up!) references to "what happened today" and "today's events".  I waited for her to explain what she was talking about but she never got specific.  Students asked her questions that seemed very strange to me.  What will happen now?  How are they handling this?  Are they sure there aren't any more?  The professor tried to answer these and other questions that made no sense to me.  She was obviously trying to keep people calm.  I wondered if something had happened on campus.  I asked aloud, to no in particular, what they were talking about.  But no one near me answered.

Finally, I raised my hand.  The professor called on me and I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're talking about.  What happened?"

She looked at me strangely and said, "Two planes flew into the World Trade Center this morning."

I thought at first this was some kind of military fighter accident or air show disaster.  But students began taking about commercial passenger jets and something else happening at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.  After that, I sat there, feeling nothing.  I couldn't get my head around that.  It seemed completely surreal, like fiction or some sort of bizarre dream you want to shake off upon awakening.

The professor dismissed us early and I walked back through the Student Center, noticing this time the crowd staring intently at the big screen TV, watching repeated images of the Twin Towers being hit, collapsing and of the Pentagon on fire.  A young couple, whose names I knew, stood there silently.  She was weeping, holding her little toy dog in a pink harness close to her chest.

After that, I went home to change.  I was scheduled to work in the school cafeteria that night.  As I came into work, I was immediately overwhelmed by the tension in the air.  It was nearly impossible to concentrate on feeding the 2,500 students expected for dinner.  Afternoon classes had been canceled and many students had opted to go home for the night, so the actual count was much less.  The Sun Journal, one of the local newspapers, put out a late edition on the attacks and a stack of them were dropped off at the Student Center.  I went out and got a few, passing them out to co-workers and fellow students working that night.  I couldn't believe the photos I saw in the paper and kept sneaking into a side room off the serving line to peek at the stories.

Someone said there was a girl from Massachusetts on campus whose father was rumored to be a commercial airline pilot on one of the planes that hit the towers.  I don't know if that was true.  A fellow student working with me was just out of the army and had friends stationed at the Pentagon.  He was angry and worried, not knowing what may have happened to them.  I got out of work as soon as possible, not staying to eat with the others. Instead, I went home and called my Mom.  We talked for a long time about what happened and what it all meant.  I felt very alone being so far from home.  Later, we found out that one of the terrorists had entered the country through our lovely, quiet Portland Jetport.  He then flew on to New York.

I was supposed to fly home to Illinois two days after Sept. 11th for a wedding.  I made repeated calls to the airline to see if my flight was canceled.  On the morning I was supposed to leave, my flight from Portland to Dulles, in Washington was scheduled to fly, but my connection to Chicago was canceled as no flights were going into O'hare Intl Airport.  Chicago remained closed for several days.  I missed the wedding but was relieved to not have to fly.  That is my story.

I hope, dear one, that this account helps you understand what it felt like for the rest of the country who could do little but sit and watch what was unfolding in New York, Washington & Pennsylvania.  Ask your Mom and Dad about their experiences too.  Learn as much as you can about that time.  Seek to understand the context of what was going on in those days.  The love and courage and sacrifice you will find there are sacred things.  Pray about them and ask God to show you wisdom and guide you in the way you live, knowing these things.

There will be 'Where Were You?' events in your life too.  When they happen, make sure that you pass along the lessons you learn from them.  Share your experience with others, however painful.  Help them understand how that moment in history has defined your life and theirs.  Show them the fingerprints of God that you find there.

Much love,
Aunt Green                           

On Finding Your Passion

Dear Baby Girl,

Had a chance this weekend to practice my passion.  You should know, sweet little one, that having a passion--an art, sport, hobby or activity you love to do more than just about anything else--is one of the best blessings God can give.  It energizes you, gets you focused and offers a vehicle through which you can use the wonderful skills God has given you to bless others.  If yours turn out to be a creative passion (like mine), you'll find endless hours of fulfillment in doing it.  Of course, the more you do it and the better you get, the more you want to do it.

We are each gifted differently with specific talents and aptitudes (another word to look up). I can't wait to see what yours are.  I grew up writing.  As you can see, I still enjoy it.  Have a degree in it.  But when I first picked up a camera, I finally discovered what would fill the visual longing I had to share the beauty I see all around me every day.  Photography is my favorite way to show what I love most about God's creation and the people & places I encounter.  I could spend all day at it--from shooting to the selection of photos to edit and all of the minute details involved in cropping and editing an image until it reflects exactly what I saw through the lens.  I want to do it justice--to capture the wonder, awe and humbling sensations we feel whenever deeply contemplating God's handiwork.

When you find your passion, you won't need anybody to explain.  You'll just know.  Your thoughts will drift to it often and put a smile on your face.  It will be hard to put down and you'll long to get back to it.  You might praise God for this thing you enjoy so much and pray for Him to show you how to use it to touch other lives.  Whatever it is, give it your best.  Enjoy it fully and allow it to give you a personal sense of satisfaction, so you can go about all the other things in life with a balanced sense of who you are.  Never underestimate a passion as just something frivolous (another good word).  Sometimes in life you need a diversion, something that brings you joy 'just because'.  God has a plan for your life, dear one.  That includes your passion.  So be open to unexpected possibilities.  Passions are wonderful things.  Let them shine and bring joy wherever you can.

Much Love,
Aunt Green