Good morning, my friend!
As I write this to you, it is September 11. It’s been 22 years since that horrible day when our country was attacked. I’m sure you can recall precisely where you were when you heard the news.
I was in my music “classroom” at the preschool where I worked. It was a makeshift classroom, as I pulled movable walls together to section off one portion of the large fellowship hall at the church. It was the first day of school for me that year. I was very excited to see the returning kids and the new little faces that would nervously walk into my room and find a mat to sit on.
I think I had the “purple room” kids at the time. They were the “big kids” of the school. They would be four years old and attend preschool five days a week. Probably no tears from these little grown-ups.
We were singing our fun songs when I could see some of the teachers scuttling back and forth outside my “doorway.” Something was definitely happening, and it didn’t feel good. One of them was crying. I had no other option but to keep on singing.
I think it was when the purple room was done with music and the teacher’s assistant came to collect them that I asked her what was going on. She told me two planes had flown into the Twin Towers in New York City.
What? Why?
My brain couldn’t make sense of it. Did they get lost? Two of them? Could they not see where they were going? I just couldn’t fathom why that would happen. I think I asked my friend why that would happen. She started to cry and said, “They suspect terrorists.”
I still couldn’t wrap my brain around what was happening. And I had no time to process this information because as quickly as the purple room kids left, in walked another classroom of kids with another dazed, tearful teacher in tow. All I could do was push all I’d just heard to the back of my brain and sing another round of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” I don’t like the word “surreal” because it gets used so often, but that moment was absolutely surreal to me.
I finished off my morning, having seen seven classrooms of kids and having sung “The Wheels on the Bus” as many times. It was noon, and my work day was done for that day. I still didn’t know much about what happened as I had no time between classes to talk to other staff. As I cleaned up my area and headed home, the administrative assistant told me to “stay safe.”
Getting into my car for the quick drive home, I immediately turned on my radio, and of course, there was news coverage about the attack. And when I got home, I turned on the TV to see the atrocity of what was going on. The word I keep coming up with is “mind-boggling.” It was mind-boggling to me that this could be real and really happening. In America!
I think the schools might have sent out a notice that if anyone wanted to come get their children early that day, they were welcome to do so, but they would carry on as scheduled for those who wanted them to remain at school. My daughter was a freshman in high school, and it was my turn to pick her and a couple of neighbor kids up at the end of the day. As they got into the car, they asked me if I’d heard what was happening and said they’d been watching in their classrooms all day.
The following evening, I had a rehearsal for the praise band at my church. I played the piano. We would be practicing the music for the upcoming Sunday service. I recall our music director being stranded in another state. He had gone on vacation and couldn’t return as air travel was shut down. He would have prepared a list of songs we were to sing, and we would have followed his lead, all pulling the music from our various notebooks.
We all showed up that night, all but our leader. We’d have to decide together what music to sing. I strongly felt we should sing “Shout to the Lord.” Yeah, I liked that song, but something or Someone told me we needed to sing that one. As I pulled the cover off the piano that evening, my friend John, who played guitar in that group, came bursting in the doors saying, “We need to sing ‘Shout to the Lord’ this week!” We did—and boy, could you feel the power of it!
In the days and weeks following September 11, I noticed something different about how people responded to one another. And it was the tiniest, most mundane thing—a man running across the street in front of my car. Someone darting out, trying to cross the road so I needed to hit the brakes, would typically get my dander up. I’d likely yell, “Watch where you’re going!” or perhaps I might even suggest that he was a jerk. (One of my favorite accusations.) But for some reason, just after September 11, 2001, I didn’t have that reaction. I slowed down, let him run across, and didn’t even have an ill thought about him. I remember actually being jarred that I felt that way! Wait, that guy didn’t make me mad? What’s happening to me?
Didn’t we all seem to have more patience and compassion for each other then? I think we’d all been hurt so severely, and we knew everyone was feeling like that.
Sadly, I don’t think we feel like that about each other anymore.
I know traveling has become much more of a hassle because of that day twenty-two years ago. I will always thank the TSA reps at an airport, though, even if I get randomly selected for this, that, or another thing and have to let them go through my bag or run a wand over my hands. Even if they aren’t particularly friendly to me, I’ll still tell them, “Thank you.”
“Patti, where is the encouragement today? This is just a depressing letter about 9/11!”
Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a wet blanket. I just wanted to remember that day and mostly remember to keep that feeling of “loving my fellow human being” on into the future. I’m sending you a virtual hug through this email!
I hope you were able to pause a moment to remember as well.
Written with love – – – – Patti XOXO 
“Tower of refuge and strengthLet every breath, all that I amNever cease to worship You.”
(From “Shout to the Lord” by Darlene Zschech)
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