remembering

When my children came running to me this morning and asked why there were flags in so many of the front lawns of our neighborhood I began remembering. . .

Our little home on a quaint tree-lined street in a neighborhood full of houses built in the early 1940's.

Just finishing my little newborn Cameron's early morning feeding when my sister called with a shaky voice.

Watching the second plane fly through in real time and knowing at that horrible moment that it was not an accident.

Kneeling with Jimmy and little Ashlyn and praying for those inside the buildings and the rescue workers and for our safety as a country.

Walking into the beautiful autumn sunshine in the backyard to hang some laundry on the clothes line. How could it be possible that it was such a peaceful beautiful morning here and a morning of such horror and destruction there?

Sitting on the front porch as twilight fell and watching the candles glowing in the front yards and windows of each house, up and down the street.

The night's eerie quiet without any traffic in the sky.

Marquees of each church, store and school filling with messages of prayer and love over the next days.

It is interesting to me that despite the heartache tragedy brings, it seems to speak to the human soul and awaken within it a desire to be closer to one another. Above all, this is what I want to remember.