It's September 11.
For years, September 11 had only one meaning for me: it was my father's birthday. He was a member of that "Greatest Generation,'' that grew up through the Great Depression and went off to free the world from Fascists and Nazis in that little event called "World War II."
Like you, I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news about the planes flying into the Twin Towers in New York.
I was dropping my kids off at school. We were probably listening to music on the way to school, because the first I heard about the attack was after I let them out. I immediately turned the radio to WJOX, our local sports talk station where I co-hosted an afternoon drive-time show. I remember that Matt Coulter and Scott Griffin where hosting the morning show, and the first thing I heard was Scott Griffin say something like, "The only thing I can compare this to is the Oklahoma City bombing." And I remember thinking, "Scott, you've gone way too far. I have no idea what the issue is, but there is nothing in sports that you can compare to Oklahoma City." I remember thinking, Scott is going to get hammered for that comparison.
It was several moments before I understood something very much like Oklahoma City had happened - even worse - and Scott was absolutely correct.
I got home to find my father standing, watching the television in our living room. My Dad lived with me from the time my mother passed away until he joined her. I went and stood next to him as we watched the live shots of the towers that, I don't believe, had collapsed yet. And we stood there, mesmerized and horrified. I remember thinking, "This must be what the country felt like hearing the news of Pearl Harbor."
Both of my parents were World War II veterans. My father was in the Coast Guard, which was drawn into the Navy when the war broke out. My mom was disowned by her father for joining the "WAVES" - Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service, which was the World War II women's branch of the United States Naval Reserve. My mom grew up on a farm in rural Georgia, and her father didn't think it was appropriate for a woman to be in the military. He was already unhappy that she'd left the farm to go work in the "big city" of Atlanta, and in his eyes this was apparently one more act of rebellion.
They met while both were stationed in Charleston, S.C. The way I remember the story, they met and married within two weeks (one of my siblings said they didn't think that was true, but it's the way I remember the story), and stayed married for the rest of their lives. My mother got pregnant in the first year of their marriage and had to leave the Navy. Sometime later she got a letter from her father, telling her how proud he was of her for going off to serve her country. You can imagine what that letter did for my mom.
It's been 16 years since that event we call "9-11." Who would have known that, 16 years later, we'd still be fighting that war on terror? Who would have known that our enemies would have changed into this group of radical Islamic terrorists, representing no traditional country or government, but rather existing through the support of a network that has kept them going through different organizational names? It was so much easier to fight a "country" with traditional territorial boundaries and a defined Army. The world has changed; this country has changed. America is now the target of choice for those who hold to grievances and hate what they define as the "American way of life."
Particularly now, in this divided country that we're uncomfortable living in but can't seem to figure out how to unite. Oh, we were united for a time after Sept. 11. We were proud to fly the flag, wave the colors, greet each other like long-lost cousins, applaud members of military, law enforcement, first responders. However, as that initial wave of unity crested and began to roll back out, we seem to drift apart faster than ever. Every issue is turned into a politically divisive issue by media on both sides (and there are sides to the media), and when a politician tries to "reach out" in a spirit of cooperation and perhaps even compromise, he often finds his attempts rejected and his motives villainized by the Left and the Right. The presence of such radical disunity after recognition of the increased terror threat in this country is disturbing, to say the least.
I think we'll all know if we lose this war. The problem is, I don't think we have any real idea of how to determine victory.
But here was one lesson, perhaps the greatest lesson, I learned from Sept. 11, 2001.
As I stood there, next to my father, watching what was going on in New York City and, later, the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. and that horrific but heroic action resulting in the crash of United Flight 93 in that field in Pennsylvania, I remember thinking, "I'm glad I live in Birmingham, Al. That would never happen here."
I'm not a believer in voices, but I would almost swear I heard a voice in my head say to me, "So! Your faith is in where you live, not in God!"
That was a sobering moment for me. Maybe it seems silly to you. But it's amazing how often little things, "silly" things, seemingly inconsequential things have had the greatest impact in my life.
But that moment it hit me what it means to trust God.
Was I trusting God AND my geographic location? Was I trusting God AND my nationality? Was I trusting God AND my occupation/income (such as it was)? Was I trusting God AND ... anything?
If there was an "AND" after my trusting God, then I wasn't really trusting God Alone, was I?
And that was wrong.
My brother the theologian tells the story of being in seminary, playing basketball late one night in the school gym. An old janitor came in to close up the gym, but decided to let the students finish the game. While they played, he sat in the stands, reading his Bible.
After they finished, the seminary students came over to thank the man for allowing them to finish, and asked what he was reading.
"The Book of Revelation," the man said.
"Revelation?" one of the students responded. "Do you understand it, with all the symbolism and dragons and strange creatures and illusions?"
"Yes,'' the old man said.
"Well, then, tell us what it means."
The old man said simply, "It means that in the end, Jesus wins."
That, I have to constantly remind myself, is where my nope lies. Not in where I live, where I work, my family, my nationality, my race.
My hope is built on "nothing less, than Jesus' blood and righteousness."
No comments:
Post a Comment