I was surrounded by moms “just like me,” moms whose hearts had been shattered and whose lives had been forever changed by the death of a child, and I was browsing at the book table, when one of the books particularly caught my eye. It wasn’t the title, as much as it was the sub-title, “Life Lessons from a Ground Zero Chaplain,” that caused me to pick up the book and turn its pages as my emotions grew and the memories gripped me, all over again. September 11, 2001, I was sitting in the family room of my brother’s home, my brother who had died from cancer just the week before. I had arrived prior to his death hoping to be of help to his pregnant wife as she tried to maintain her work schedule. For several days, family had gathered, small grandchildren wondering when “Pop-pop” would be able to play again, Mom, who was losing her second son, brothers, sisters, cousins. The younger of the two older daughters had been adjusting her schedule at Morgan Stanley, one of the largest firms in the Twin Towers. Death came on Thursday, and the weekend and Monday found all of us grieving the life that ended too soon. My son had flown in from California to attend the funeral with me, and Monday afternoon, he joined some of his cousins for a trip into Manhattan and stood with them in front of the Towers, thoroughly engrossed with their stature amidst a city of contrasts and diversity.
On the morning of the eleventh, emotionally drained, we attempted relaxing in front of the TV. Any calm we had hoped for was stolen by the horrendous reality that began to unfold on the screen in front of us. The newspaper headlines were to read, “Terror Beyond Belief.” Shock. Fear. Trauma. Confusion and chaos. Thousands upon thousands struggled to cope with the unimaginable. And a family chose to grieve for countless and unknown faces while their own sorrow beckoned from an eerie silence. The memories flooded my awareness as I turned pages, and I set the book down, unwilling to choose reopening a reality I was still too close to.
But I am not the only one with memories. Mike MacIntosh remembers too. He was a Ground Zero chaplain. In the book I had picked up, Mike had chosen to reopen the reality of his own memories to offer the hope and encouragement of a compassionate God to multitudes gripped by their own Ground Zero. He understands that our world can collapse, that the blackness of tragedy can descend, that hope can be snuffed out. But he relived the ugliness, the rubble, the smells, the faces, the pain of tragedy, to offer his God to others. The God of peace. Of strength. Of healing. The God who moves us forward.
Sometimes our own Ground Zero begins to recede from the reality of our lives. Time has passed and the demands and expectations of daily living allow us to close off the memories. Tragedy though places our feet on a journey, and that journey continues for a lifetime. And, sometimes, we need to willingly choose to allow God to continue the healing He has already begun. For some, Ground Zero is still clouding our lives with its ashes and its still present reality creates a war zone of existence. For all of us, God longs to give us a reality that pulsates with His perspective, with expectancy, with faith, and with an identity wrapped up in the compassionate God who longs to walk our journey with us.
(Related Bible reading: Isaiah 40:28-31)
On the morning of the eleventh, emotionally drained, we attempted relaxing in front of the TV. Any calm we had hoped for was stolen by the horrendous reality that began to unfold on the screen in front of us. The newspaper headlines were to read, “Terror Beyond Belief.” Shock. Fear. Trauma. Confusion and chaos. Thousands upon thousands struggled to cope with the unimaginable. And a family chose to grieve for countless and unknown faces while their own sorrow beckoned from an eerie silence. The memories flooded my awareness as I turned pages, and I set the book down, unwilling to choose reopening a reality I was still too close to.
But I am not the only one with memories. Mike MacIntosh remembers too. He was a Ground Zero chaplain. In the book I had picked up, Mike had chosen to reopen the reality of his own memories to offer the hope and encouragement of a compassionate God to multitudes gripped by their own Ground Zero. He understands that our world can collapse, that the blackness of tragedy can descend, that hope can be snuffed out. But he relived the ugliness, the rubble, the smells, the faces, the pain of tragedy, to offer his God to others. The God of peace. Of strength. Of healing. The God who moves us forward.
Sometimes our own Ground Zero begins to recede from the reality of our lives. Time has passed and the demands and expectations of daily living allow us to close off the memories. Tragedy though places our feet on a journey, and that journey continues for a lifetime. And, sometimes, we need to willingly choose to allow God to continue the healing He has already begun. For some, Ground Zero is still clouding our lives with its ashes and its still present reality creates a war zone of existence. For all of us, God longs to give us a reality that pulsates with His perspective, with expectancy, with faith, and with an identity wrapped up in the compassionate God who longs to walk our journey with us.
(Related Bible reading: Isaiah 40:28-31)
