Nine years ago, my husband and I and our three children were living in an apartment outside of D.C. My husband was in law school and at class for the day at Catholic University. I happened to turn on the television at about nine o’clock that morning. What I saw was the beginning of what would be the most horrific day for our nation in my lifetime.
Panic gripped me when I realized that I could not reach my husband on his cell phone. The systems were overwhelmed with the amount of calls and shut down. My anxiety further increased when I heard that the Pentagon had been hit. All I could do was to wait and pray.
When my husband walked through the door, I was so relieved to see him and have him with us. The television remained on as we continued on with the activities of the day. Images of the planes impacting the two towers became burned into our memories from the constant replays.
For the next week, an eerie silence descended upon us. We took our children to the playground that was a part of our apartment complex. There were no planes overhead. The sky stood completely still, and I imagined that God was closer than ever to all of us in the quiet of our sorrow.
For nine years, we have remembered, rebuilt, and re-envisioned ourselves as a people and a nation, but have we stopped to take a look at God’s hope that daily surrounds us? This morning, a beautiful boy was born to my sister and her husband, their sixth. I cannot think of a better way to commemorate the tragedy of 9/11 than to recognize the hope of life that God brings into the world.