i remember

On this day, September 11, 2001, I sat dumbstruck and scared on my bed watching as the Pentagon was attacked by the third hijacked jet that morning. My friend, Barb Taylor, had called after the second plane flew into the World Trade Center. Fresh out of the shower, I sat wet and wrapped in a towel as my world changed forever. My 10 year old was at school. My 1 year old slept soundly in his crib. The towers representative of the greatest economy in the world crumbled before my eyes like a child s sand castle.

I remember spending much of that day in front of the tv crying. Today I flipped on the Today show and repeated history. The images, the stories, the names, oh the names, and the memorial unveiled - all called me to grieve. I don t even know anyone who was in New York or near it that day but because of my identity as an American, I grieve.

Last night as Matt and I went to bed, we talked of the past ten years. He asked me why I was so interested in the coverage of 9/11/11. I said I feel like I was changed that day. He said he didn t think much had changed for people on a day to day basis. Joe Blow walking the street has not changed that much. We debated this for a few minutes. I love Matt s honesty.

This morning at Ground Zero several soldiers in dress uniforms unfurled a US flag. They handled it with white gloves as if it was sacred because it is. The flag - red, dazzling white and blue - displayed rips, holes and tears. Not a stain anywhere but plenty of wear and tear, this Old Glory flew atop the wreckage of 2001.

When I think about the past ten years, I can tell you that I am not the same person today that I was then. A few months after 9/11, on June 2, 2002, we checked our worldly possessions in 16 or so trunks and boarded an airplane. We left this country to live in Honduras. Anyone will tell you that air travel has drastically changed. The crew of 50 or so people who saw us off on our journey that morning were unable to go to the gate with us like in times past. We waved goodbye and headed down the terminal hallway. We took off shoes and were sidelined because of carrying nail clippers in a carry on bag. We thought we would be arrested. I could see the headlines: Missionaries Detained due to Weapons of Minimal Destruction: Nail Clippers.

Nobody complained about the tight security then. It was all just too fresh. Now I complain often. Who gets all that wonderful stuff confiscated from carry ons? We recently handed over Tuscany honey and olive oil from France in a container shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Three homeland security agents surrounded Matt until he handed them the Eiffel Tower emptied of it s precious oil.

But have we really changed? Air travel, yes. Has my heart changed?

A brave Marine shared in our church today about her experience serving our country. She said that at boot camp you are stripped of your identity. You begin to think about your fellow soldier differently. You begin to act as one unit.

Suffering has changed me. So much was stripped away. The fruit of that suffering is a love for God s Kingdom and a desire to see His name exalted over mine.

A flag flies over me. A banner of love declares me spotless. Ragged. Torn. Weary. But not stained, I want to wear the identity of Christ s Beloved Bride. I want to remember that I live my life for one purpose: My King s Will.

Today, I will remember. Thank you to those who fight now for my freedom. Thank you to those who fought in the past. The men of World War II fought evil on both sides of us. And beat it. Thank you to those who have fought in the other not-so-glamorous wars. Thank you to the men I know personally: Ted Leichner, Omar Hamada and Rob Tomsett. Thank you John Cunningham. Thanks to my deceased grandfather and father-in-law who fought in WWII. I honor your service. I remember.