I was sitting at my desk listening to the radio when I heard a familiar DJ say “we’re looking a live shot of New York, it appears the World Trade Center is on fire.” I called my sister in Michigan and before I could even tell her to put on the news to see what was happening, the radio announcers moved from local to Katie Couric and Matt Lauer on NBC. They, too, seemed puzzled by what was going on. As the nation watched, slowly turning their attention to the events transpiring, we heard and saw and felt the second plane hit the towers. Within the hour, another highjacked plane went down in my state, Pennsylvania. My phone rang, my sister begged me to go to the bank, take out my money and get in my car with my son and leave. “Leave now,“she said. “It is not safe to be near Philly. Get out”. “They” won’t come to Michigan. Even as I recall her voice, I cry. She was so scared for me. Today I watch for the second week in a row news about Hurricane Katrina. I hear stories of police forces being shot at by vandals. I hear about suicides and families who don’t know where their children are. I see rescues of babies and children without parents. I see the images of homes underwater. Survivors with nothing but what they had with them. This is America. This is my home. Refugees are what you see when you fall asleep with the TV on and wake up to see advertisements touting “for pennies a day…” They are not people in my country. They are not people who live 30 minutes from my brother. They cannot be. It cannot be the Trade Center that was struck – it couldn’t be intentional – someone is mistaken. But they aren’t. And it was. And it’s reality. I have sent money but it felt so empty. I have helped gather clothes, toys, books to send. I don’t even begin to feel like I have helped. How can I sit in my beautiful home and see plants, animals and my child, not to mention all my belongings, every memento from my childhood and his intact; how I can sit here and feel peace, feel as if I deserve to have this more than those on the Gulf Shores. I do not know how to help. It seems I only know how to sit and mourn and cry and feel completely overwhelmed with complete devastation happening here at home. Just a few days ago, I overheard someone tell a joke about New Orleans. I was stunned. Infuriated, I commented, how insensitive that was. The man seemed to act as if the Hurricane did not effect him at all, and besides, it’s over now. Flipping the radio last week all I heard were voices of locals complaining about the rising gas prices. “How can we be paying $.30 more today than yesterday?” I could not believe how small the world seemed to get, and how remarkably selfish people seemed to be. People don’t have water to drink for days on end and we are upset over the price of gas? Our nation rallied behind the effect of 9-11. We donated, hung out our flags and sought to hold accountable those who led the attack. The Gulf Shores need us even more. The rescue workers themselves do not have homes to return to at the end of an 18 hour day. They have nothing. Their own families have been transported to another state for safety. Thousands of people are still in their homes, too frightened or stubborn to leave. Their lives are in danger. And the hundreds of thousands that have temporarily relocated need permanent homes, permanent jobs, new lives with nothing to start from. I do not know where to begin. All I know is that I know someone who does. And I have to turn things over to Him now, turn these peoples’ lives over to Him, to put this crisis in His hands and allow him to work through the devastation and into the heart of this nation. If ever, we as a nation needed to realize and respect these words, it is now, for we truly are, One Nation, Under God. God Bless America.
I was sitting at my desk listening to the radio when I heard a familiar DJ say “we’re looking a live shot of New York, it appears the World Trade Center is on fire.” I called my sister in Michigan and before I could even tell her to put on the news to see what was happening, the radio announcers moved from local to Katie Couric and Matt Lauer on NBC. They, too, seemed puzzled by what was going on. As the nation watched, slowly turning their attention to the events transpiring, we heard and saw and felt the second plane hit the towers. Within the hour, another highjacked plane went down in my state, Pennsylvania. My phone rang, my sister begged me to go to the bank, take out my money and get in my car with my son and leave. “Leave now,“she said. “It is not safe to be near Philly. Get out”. “They” won’t come to Michigan. Even as I recall her voice, I cry. She was so scared for me. Today I watch for the second week in a row news about Hurricane Katrina. I hear stories of police forces being shot at by vandals. I hear about suicides and families who don’t know where their children are. I see rescues of babies and children without parents. I see the images of homes underwater. Survivors with nothing but what they had with them. This is America. This is my home. Refugees are what you see when you fall asleep with the TV on and wake up to see advertisements touting “for pennies a day…” They are not people in my country. They are not people who live 30 minutes from my brother. They cannot be. It cannot be the Trade Center that was struck – it couldn’t be intentional – someone is mistaken. But they aren’t. And it was. And it’s reality. I have sent money but it felt so empty. I have helped gather clothes, toys, books to send. I don’t even begin to feel like I have helped. How can I sit in my beautiful home and see plants, animals and my child, not to mention all my belongings, every memento from my childhood and his intact; how I can sit here and feel peace, feel as if I deserve to have this more than those on the Gulf Shores. I do not know how to help. It seems I only know how to sit and mourn and cry and feel completely overwhelmed with complete devastation happening here at home. Just a few days ago, I overheard someone tell a joke about New Orleans. I was stunned. Infuriated, I commented, how insensitive that was. The man seemed to act as if the Hurricane did not effect him at all, and besides, it’s over now. Flipping the radio last week all I heard were voices of locals complaining about the rising gas prices. “How can we be paying $.30 more today than yesterday?” I could not believe how small the world seemed to get, and how remarkably selfish people seemed to be. People don’t have water to drink for days on end and we are upset over the price of gas? Our nation rallied behind the effect of 9-11. We donated, hung out our flags and sought to hold accountable those who led the attack. The Gulf Shores need us even more. The rescue workers themselves do not have homes to return to at the end of an 18 hour day. They have nothing. Their own families have been transported to another state for safety. Thousands of people are still in their homes, too frightened or stubborn to leave. Their lives are in danger. And the hundreds of thousands that have temporarily relocated need permanent homes, permanent jobs, new lives with nothing to start from. I do not know where to begin. All I know is that I know someone who does. And I have to turn things over to Him now, turn these peoples’ lives over to Him, to put this crisis in His hands and allow him to work through the devastation and into the heart of this nation. If ever, we as a nation needed to realize and respect these words, it is now, for we truly are, One Nation, Under God. God Bless America.
Comments