Cross found at WTC rubble. Photo by bluepoetie. http://www.sxc.hu/profile/bluepoetie
“Pray for the U.S.! It’s under attack!”
“Yeah, right!” I dismissed the text message from a fellow missionary as a hoax until an alert scrolled across the bottom of the television screen.
The events that would become known as 9/11 were underway.
The Philippine networks transferred to CNN, and within minutes I saw the second plane hit the south tower. This was no 21st Century War-of-the-Worlds joke. The Twin Towers resembled lit cigarettes. Building fragments and bodies rained down like a ticker-tape parade. Then the burned-out shells collapsed like the walls of Jericho, belching plumes of smoke across lower Manhattan. People ran for their lives.
Eventually, the local networks returned to their regular programming. I missed the President visiting ground zero, heroic firefighters at work, the national memorial services, and stories of ordinary Americans dealing with the shifting ground of the new world order. A mental fog as thick and deadly as the one that swept the streets of New York settled upon me as I sat on the sidelines. I heard people were flocking to churches and wished I could join the national dialogue. I felt I was in the wrong place and wanted to be home.
I did the only thing I could do. I picked up my Bible turned to Psalm 46 and read, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea….” The psalmist later admonished, “Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”
The familiar psalm reminded me of God’s greater redemptive plan and challenged me to remain engaged, where He placed me.
Thinking back on 9/11, I could mourn the tragedy in my humanness, but my marching orders hadn’t changed. I was deployed where God wanted me. My allegiance isn’t to an earthly kingdom, whose time has been set before the creation of the world, but to my Lord and King. Whether home or abroad, I’m called to be an alien and stranger (1 Peter 2:9-12), serving the living God. I’ll never truly be home until I reach my heavenly home.
Someone said, “Home is where the heart is.” I asked myself after 9/11, “Dave, where is your heart?”
© 2011 David Harlen Brooks | All rights reserved.
Hi David,
Just read your letter and felt your angst, somewhat. I spent three hours last night viewing CBS and their “on the site filming” of the disaster. Wish I could forward it to you, it was all about one firehouse in NYC and the men who went into the WTC buildings. Anyway, thanks for sharing.
Blessings,
Dale
Here in the states, I had a similar thought process. I have the memory of letting out the dog, going and watching the news and seeing the second plane hit the tower and forgetting the dog (not loose, just on a leash) outside as I left for work. I listened to the radio at work and heard about the Pentagon. Everybody was numb in the office. I was thinking at one point, “we’re safe here in the middle of MO, nobody wants to kill us here”. I then realized, we were 40 miles from Whitman AF base, home of the B2 bombers–of COURSE they want to get here! Then I realized where my security should be. I was still shocked, but more at peace as I KNEW no matter what, I was truly safe in God’s will. But I won’t forget that nearly 11 years ago.
Hi Jenny,
Thank you for sharing that. Sometimes we forget that our security is in God. How great it is to rest in Him. Hope you all are doing well! God bless!