Where were you on 9/11? It’s a question asked of countless individuals, families, and members of our armed forces and service groups across our nation. That day ushered a sleeping, naive nation into modern-day terrorism, anger, devastation, and hate. The old adage, “wish for the best but prepare for the worst,” has become a part of who we are as individuals and as a nation. As the strongest nation in the world, we are no longer just the protector of freedom; we have become a victim of the world’s anger.
Where was I? I was teaching a sixth grade keyboard music class in my home town when a colleague knocked on my door. She called me out into the hallway and said, “Don’t turn your television on. The twin towers were attacked in New York City by airliners this morning. Officials say the planes came from the Boston airport.” I let out a cry, and she tried to console me. All I could think of was my brother, who flew in and out of that airport many times a year for his overseas jobs. It would be three days before I would hear his voice over the telephone. But as I clutched at the cross around my neck and walked back into my classroom, I wondered how many of my students would be affected by this cowardly act of terrorism.
Throughout the day, many people were crying, parents came to pick up their children, and the quiet anguish of our school building left all of us on edge and not knowing how our nation would respond. In the stairwells of the twin towers were thousands of people who called home for the last time, who prayed to God for their salvation, who died horrible deaths, and who vanished into a dust-filled New York City air.
Later that evening, a unity prayer service was held at my church. It was announced that three families from my home town were affected that day: one family lost a wife and mother, one family lost a husband and father, and one family lost both parents. All three families had a loved one in the stairwells of those buildings, and I had a child from each of those families in my own classroom.
9/11 was my generations’ “day of infamy,” just as December 7, 1941, was my mother’s generations’ day of unimaginable destruction. And just as the “Greatest Generation” mourned their losses and took up arms to fight fascism, we, too, stood tall to fight this modern-day scourge of terrorism. I will never forget how President Bush tried to bring peace to our grieving nation by addressing us that night with prayers. It was our time to fight our own Cain and Abel story, our time to fight the David and Goliath battle. It was time to place God back in our hearts as a nation and put our faith in a higher power.
Our nation continues to fight for the freedoms of all nations, but we now have to fight our own battles with cynicism, corruption, divisiveness, racism, and negativity. Only by believing in God as a nation can we overcome the obstacles placed in front of us by 9/11. On that fateful day, America rallied together to help one another because we all have our own stairwells to climb, our own devastating days, and our own pains in need of comforts.
I used the 9/11 day in my book, The River Flows On, to help others see that we can survive any devastating disaster by having faith in God, by serving our communities, and by loving one another. My stairwell experience was surviving a mid-section car collision. I felt Jesus Christ pull me out of the car and walk me to safety. We all have stairwell experiences; how we survive those times determines how strong we will be now and in the future. My strength comes from God. Where does yours?
Anna Hartt
