Wednesday, September 11, 2013

September 11, 2001

It was Spiritual Life Emphasis week at my private, Christian high school. I was one month shy of my seventeenth birthday. We sat in the chapel listening to a speaker. As he finished, the principal of the school got up on the platform unexpectedly and shared that one of the towers of the World Trade Center had been hit by an airplane. She explained that they were not yet sure if this was just a tragic accident or if it was an intentional attack, but it seemed increasingly likely that this was intentional.

I walked to my next class, senior honors English. It was eerily quiet. Everyone was silently digesting what had happened wondering what was to come. I arrived at class and sat at my desk. My teacher turned on his radio in the classroom and we listened in shock as it was reported that a plane had hit the second tower, as first one tower collapsed and then the second. The rest of the day was spent in classes watching or listening to coverage of the events of the day. At lunch we quickly ate our food and then gathered in a common area to continue watch the news.

As the day progressed, I listened as my classmates processed what all this meant, as some tried to contact family members who were airline pilots, as they talked of retaliation, of "killing all the Muslims." After three years of feeling alone in my desire to embrace the pacifism of the tradition in which many of us had grown up, I was devastated by what I heard.

I was disillusioned with the world, with the attitudes of people, with the lack of love and understanding in the world in which I was rapidly nearing adulthood. In my adolescent mind, I could not see a way through this tragedy. I knew that the world as I'd always known it had changed forever, and I was terrified of what that would mean. Hope seemed far away.

As soon as school dismissed for the day, I got in my car and drove to the elementary school where my mother was a teacher. I sat in her office and told her that I couldn't imagine what was to come in our world. I couldn't imagine ever wanting to bring a child into the mess that our world was rapidly becoming. She reminded me that I born during a time of world conflict at the tail end of the Cold War era. My name, she said, was a reminder of the hope that we have in Jesus no matter what the world around us looks like.

That night I purchased a necklace. The pendant was a dime sized dove with an olive branch in its mouth. I put it on and didn't take it off for years. Sometime during my senior year of college I realized that the promise, peace, and hope that that necklace represented for me were deeply embedded in my heart, mind and soul. It no longer felt necessary to wear the outward symbol. I still occasionally wear the necklace, but I no longer need the constant reminder.

September 11, 2013

Twelve years have passed since the destruction of the World Trade Centers. Today, I sat in a rocking chair in my living room holding my son who is eleven months old today. As I rocked him to sleep we listened to Adele sing "Make You Feel My Love," and I was struck by how much has happened in the last 12 years. The world around me is still violent and messy. It feels as though we continue to be on edge of self-destruction, as though we're one moment, one decision away from our own end.

In the last 12 years, I have learned and continue to learn many things, but by far the most important thing I continue to learn each day is what it means to live in the present reality of the kingdom of heaven. As I sat rocking my son, I was overwhelmed with the realization that each new generation must learn this lesson for the time in which they live and the realities they encounter. For my parents, my name was a reminder of this lesson. It was a reminder and a challenge to raise children that live as members first of the kingdom of heaven and second as members of this world, who speak the good news of God's kingdom on earth to the rulers of this world.

Just as my parents did for me, N's name was chosen because of what it means and represents. His first name means "victory of the people." This was significant for me because in some ways he feels like our own personal victory, but it's also significant because true victory of the people can only come through our faith in the God of miracles. His middle name is given to him in honor of his great-grandfather who was part of the Nazi resistance in the Netherlands during World War II to remind N (and us, too) of just how important it is to choose the kingdom of heaven no matter how great the personal risk.

Today, on the 12th anniversary of a horrible day in the history of my country, I recommit myself to the love and kingdom of Jesus. I commit myself to raising my son to know the God of love and peace, to introducing him to Jesus who showed that love and sacrifice of self are more powerful than hate and revenge, to modeling for him what it means to be a citizen of the kingdom of heaven. I commit myself to love him with all that I have and all that I am and to give him the space to grow into the person God calls him to be, to choose for himself the kingdom to which he will belong, to giving him the tools to make that decision, and to allow him the free will that God gives to all of humanity. I commit myself to continue to fall and make mistakes so that I can grow, and I commit myself to allowing my son to do the same.

I can't make promises about making the world a better place or raising a child who will do that. I can hope and dream that my life and his will in some small way contribute to a better future, but I realize I cannot control the world around me. All I can do is continue to pray as Jesus taught me, "Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." May this be the prayer of many hearts today, not just mine alone.

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