Our country (and the world) is full of 9/11 memories today. I wrote a short blog about what our little corner of the world was like on that day. Strangely, the views at my blog have been high recently because of the picture of the New York City skyline with the World Trade Center towers that I posted with my Little Wife story on June 19th. It’s a beautiful picture — strange that so many people might meet Little Wife because of it.
I love that picture of New York. The towers look so elegant and strong. The Brooklyn Bridge is in the foreground and the river. It’s the skyline that I like to remember – I hate the images of the towers with flames and smoke, and especially the picture of the one plane banking to turn right into the south tower.
I imagine the hysteria in those planes — the crying and screaming is so real in my ears. I think I would have blacked out in terror of what was happening…
So maybe someone will find a smile on their face today because of Little Wife and her silly adventure in NYC long ago before the towers were attacked by hideous cowardly men who couldn’t control their hatred of ordinary Americans. What kind of monsters would commit such hateful evil acts of violence against innocent civilian people?
Did their consciences keep them awake the night before their vicious hijacking or were they sleepless with anger and hatred of Americans? Did they pace the floor with anxiety or were they on their knees begging Allah for guidance? Or mercy? How did their love for their God become such a bloodthirsty hatred of people?
Here is what is very sad — those terrorists were all little boys once upon a time on their momma’s laps. Surely they knew love at some place in their childhoods. They would have been hugged and cherished and tickled and kissed and snuggled and passed around as babies. Muslim fathers and mothers adore their children, of course. They would have been prayed for — prayers that they would grow up to be good and lead happy lives. These little boys probably played soccer and ate cookies and milk after school and had dreams of growing up and falling in love. Maybe they had dreams to be firemen, policemen, businessmen, teachers and store owners.
I’m sure they were normal little guys once upon a time. And then somehow something inside of them died or got badly broken. They lost their love and their dreams and their ideals. They became vulnerable to the lies of a madman and could not turn away in time.
Did they have second thoughts when the towers loomed closer and closer? Was there a tiny voice of reason in their steel hard hearts? Did any of them hear their momma’s whisper, “I love you, my dear child”?
I wonder if one of them wiped away one small tear as they realized they were victims of terror also. My heart breaks.
Even as we remember the day ten years ago when we were ruthlessly attacked by terrorists, the news headlines shout that 77 American soldiers have been wounded in a suicide bombing in Afghanistan. My God, my Father when will it end?
“He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples.
They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation will not take up sword against nation,
nor will they train for war anymore.” Isaiah 2:4