I don't remember much about that day 10 years ago. I woke up for seminary and got ready in a quick manner only to find my ride sitting on her bed staring with disbelief at our TV. My mom didn't take me to church that morning. We sat and watched as they replayed the first plane hit, stunned. We finally gathered ourselves together and albeit late, made it to my school. I was not the only student late that morning. I rushed off to my FFA Ag. class. We all sat silent as the teacher tried to get the TV in our old building to work. He gave up and took us to the library where we sat with all the other vocational students and watched on.
I remember thinking if I knew anyone who could possibly be directly affected. I couldn't. I saw other students crying and didn't understand why. We lived thousands of miles away in a truckstop town. We had little to no tie to New York.
I didn't realized that I was directly affected. It wasn't until I saw the dirty faces of the survivors and heard thier stories that I realized how I was linked to them.
We are all children of our Heavenly Father. Those were real people, not faceless extras in a movie. All of those people had lives and families, JUST LIKE ME.
It was a day that will live in infamy only if we let it. We can let it be a day of love and compassion for our fellow human beings. Remember that everyone has a story and love them because of it.
1 comment:
So true abut people having families and real lives. I try to remember that when I am driving in traffic and someone upsets me by their terrible driving skills... everyone has a story. Thanks for the great story.
Post a Comment