I stood atop the roof of my school building today, the building in which I teach freedom and love, and I watched as the horizon was smudged with the thick, black smoke of terror and hatred. The hallways echoed with tragedy and children looked out the window at nothing, perhaps visualizing a scenario, almost unthinkable to the innocent, in which the innocent die. And while they imagined hell, it was swallowing up Manhatten not thirty miles away.
I never dreamed there would come a day when I would have to comfort a child facing the harrowing thought that mom may not be coming home. Everyone expects the teacher to have things under control; everyone knows the teacher has all the answers. No one ever suspects that tears are hiding just behind the corners of my eyes.
When the first plane crashed, I was shocked. When the second plane crashed, I stood in disbelief. After recieving word that the Pentagon had been hit, I began to be afraid. But as I watched each tower fall in flaming ruin, my heart fell with almost as much devestation. What shook me was the loss of stability. The building was damaged, and what a grievous thought; but when the mighty had fallen, when the Twin Towers had disappeared forever, all sense of security and safety was stolen from me. I became vulnerable.
Vulnerability can mean one of two things. I can stand alone, open to attack and almost certain destruction; or I can look for an embrace in the Arms of One who can protect me. I am afraid, and I don’t want to be in the valley of the shadow of death alone.
Father, protect me. Protect us as a nation.
