September 11. We will never forget–nor should we try. So many innocent people lost their lives on that terrible day, and they deserve to be remembered, in solemn respect, on this anniversary and always. That said, I, for one, will not be watching the endless loops of the Attacks on any of the visual media. Those images are burned into my mind, and need no reenforcement. For the rest of my life, I will hold a sacred space in my heart for all the victims, their families and friends, and the heroic first-responders who perished trying to save as many people as they could. I will remember, with reverence, those who survived, and helped others to do the same. They carry burdens the rest of us can’t begin to imagine or understand, and yet we must try.
For me, one of the toughest aspects of such a horrific event is–forgiveness. Can I forgive the terrorists, as I truly believe my Lord Jesus Christ would have me do? Can I ask myself the obvious question–“What have we done to make those people hate us so much?”–and live with the answers?
I think it would be glib to offer my personal forgiveness–after all, I didn’t lose a loved one that day. Yes, I lost fellow Americans, and believe me, I grieve that loss. But what of those who lost a father, a mother, a brother or sister, a husband or wife, a daughter or a son, to mention just a few of the possibilities. It seems presumptious to me to forgive on their behalf–which leaves me in a quandry. In the end, all I can think of to do is turn this over to God, and ask Him to handle it.
So, today, I will simply remember. I will pray for those who died and for those who survived. I will offer what prayers I can for the perpetrators–though I can’t promise I’ll be sincere. That’s the part I’m leaving up to God.