My 9/11 Story

Its weird.  For the first several years after 9/11, I didn't think much of it.  We'd all been through something horrific, but the best thing I could do was move on.

Then, in 2005, I watched the movie "Pearl Harbor".  I was alone and it was during the day.  The scene when the planes start attacking...the scene where a woman is putting clothes out on a clothesline on a gorgeous summer day, when suddenly a plane flies over head...

Well, something snapped.

It so perfectly captured the shock of that day.  I am emotional but try very hard not to be over-dramatic.  Yet, I found myself huddled in my closet, sobbing, and praying that God would get Bin Ladin.

9/11 is a mixed bag of emotions for me.  I was there.  But I wasn't in New York. I was in D.C.. But I wasn't IN the Pentagon.  But I was close by.  I was horrified, but not as horrified as the acquaintances and friends who had to recover the bodies.

I don't want this day to define me, but I am someone that needs to experience emotions in order to release them.

I want people who weren't there, or who may be too young, to know what it was like, but I feel like my experience was so periferal.

Do you see my quandary?

I wasn't going to write on this today because I had done it last year.  Then, I looked back and realized that I hadn't started blogging until 9/15.

Crap.

Here we go.  I'll never do this again, so enjoy.

9/11 in the D.C. Metro Area was a beautiful day.  Sunny, clear skies, maybe 78 degrees.  I was feeling really good that day.  I'd just moved into an apartment on Army Navy Drive just a stone's throw (or, an unathletic girl's jog) from the Pentagon.  It was called Army Navy Drive because our street emptied onto the Army/Navy sides of the Pentagon.  My roomates and I felt so cool.

It was the perfect apartment, because it only took me about 5 minutes to get to work on Columbia Pike, which is a main artery into the Pentagon.  The Pentagon, my home, and my work formed a lovely little triangle.

To live and work so close to the heart of America's power...lucky me!

I got to work and turned on the radio.  I was annoyed.  The DJs were going on and on about some plane hitting a building so I turned it off and made some calls.  I then went to the break room to make some oatmeal.  Our break room had floor-to-ceiling walls facing the Pentagon, which was nestled down a hill from us.  We could just seen a thin line of the rooftop, as if it was hiding from us.

The news was on in the break room.  People were talking casually as Matt Lauer and his airplane expert tried to make sense of this huge airplane that had hit the World Trade Center.  

That moment.

When time stood still and it was as if America beat with one heart.

When we all watched the second plane hit.

Everything changed.

Such collective terror.

And then, terror upon terror for us in our little break room when someone yelled, "Oh my gosh! The Pentagon is on fire!"

We turned around, and there was a black column of smoke, it seemed to be a quarter mile wide, billowing up into the atmosphere.  I shudder when I realize that, if our eyes had not been glued to the TV opposite the windows...we would've actually seen the plane hit. 

Our building then shook.  And, with that shake, everyone woke up.  People started running around, grabbing coats and purses, muttering "I'm outta here." to their bosses and just leaving.  I guess, when the plane hit, it did not explode on impact.  Our building shook with the explosion several minutes later.

My boss wasn't going to let me leave, but I insisted.

I have to be honest...I was scared...and I knew that, unlike most people at my work, I was driving closer to the Pentagon to reach home...but somewhere in the back of my psyche, I knew this was my chance to live history.  It wasn't my first thought, like a young reporter eager to get the scoop, it was an impression that I didn't recognize until later.

Out I go...into a new and terrifying world.  The streets were jammed with cars.  People are running, helter skelter.

Rumors flying that "they"...whoever the heck "they" were...had hit the State Building and the Capitol...which is where my roomates worked.

I worried for my uncle who works for DTRA and was often in meetings at the Pentagon.

Cell phones were dead.  Phone lines were tied up.  I can't remember, now, if it was from heavy use or if the gov't cut all signal.

I got to my apartments, but it was not safe.

Please remember...no one knew what was happening.  No one knew that they'd "only" hit 3 targets, and that was it.  All we knew was that there was smoke and ash and the smell of char and that America was under attack.

Air Force jets were flying very low over our apartments.  This sent us into another terror.  If you've ever heard a jet fly overheard (which was a common event in D.C.), it is already an overwhelming sound.  But now, planes were weapons.

I was 22 years old.  I didn't know where to go.  Its a strange thing...experiencing and observing at the same time.  I felt as if I was in a movie. People are running around screaming, planes are booming over head, and always that black column of smoke.  I, for some reason, ran to the rental office and asked if there was a tornado shelter or a place to go.  The employees were running to taxis.

They looked at me and said, "I don't know, its not our job now.  We've been told to get out of here, its too dangerous."

And off they went.

I sat in my apartment.  Well, really, I paced in my apartment.  I knew my family was beside themselves in Michigan but could get no word to them.  I honest to goodness thought at least 2 of my roomates were dead.

Pacing was driving me insane.

Then I looked out my window.  Thousands of men and women in suits and military uniform were flooding down Army Navy.  Right past my window.  Like a big morbid parade.

It was hot outside.  And everyone looked shell-shocked.

I grabbed all the snacks and water that I could and ran downstairs.

Going against the current of military personel, I started walking up Army Navy, handing out snacks and water.  I asked why they were all being evacuated this way.

"The government has shut down all highways as a security measure...I have to walk 18 miles home."

Do you know how many people work in the pentagon?  All walking home.

Amazingly, I recognized a man from my church.  I brought him up to my apartment and, miraculously, he was able to get through on my phone to his wife and kids to say he was safe.

Another moment of comfort...seeing residents of Army Navy Drive lining the streets handing out water just like me.  We were all in this together.

Slowly, roomates trickled in.  I can't remember, but I guess they got home through the subway and side roads.

I remember Shawn and Linsday walking in wearing basketball shorts, T-shirts, and their high heels.  They had quite a story.

The adrenaline wore off, and we were just girls trying to deal with our day.  We huddled together and prayed. 

Did you know that the Pentagon, when it was built, was made into a Pentagon shape because, if it had been a high rise, it would've been susceptible to attack?

Did you know that, in the years leading up to 9/11, the Department of Defense had started to re-inforce the Pentagon's structure to make it stronger.

They also decided to make it fire proof.

By 2001, it was incomplete, but the sides hit by the plane were finished.

Did you know that only a relatively small portion of the Pentagon was damaged.  My friend was in  an inner room on the side the plane hit.   The floor rose up and everyone slid down toward the window, but there was no fire.  They got out and evacuated with everyone to the middle of the Pentagon nicknamed, ironically, "Ground Zero".  Shaken, bloody, my friend looked around.  Many employees from the other side of the building had no idea what was going on or why they were evacuated.

Many people died at the Pentagon.  But if God, in His Sovereignty, had not been with the construction of that building, or whispered into the ears of Generals when and where to start the re-inforcing of the Pentagon, the flames would've torn through that building.  It would've been a World Trade Center.

Did you know that the Pentagon smoldered for weeks? My roomates and I would sometimes walk or drive to the hill beyond our home just to watch.  There was always a group of people there.

I had to drive by it every day on my way to my new job...much further away from the city.  I saw the huge iconic flag being placed over the side and the entire re-building process.

My roomates and I were zombies the evening of the attack.  9/12 was almost worse than 9/11.  You get up and you must go to work.  You must choose clothes.  You must talk to people.  I hated that day.

After about a week of doing nothing but watching the news, we woke up.  We truly did move on.  I still shed a little tear every morning as I drove past the Pentagon, but my soul recovered.

I met my husband just a week or two later.  We are one of those cheesy "Post-9/11" couples.  The events shook my husband up and realized he needed to get serious and find meaningful relationships.

Some things still make me cry.  When I think of the principal of my brother's high school calling him out of class, and my brother crying as the man told him I was safe...I cry.

When I think of the ladies from my home church in Michigan, on vacation at a lake house, stopping to get on their knees and pray for me, I cry.

Its the love that makes me cry...not the evil.

I don't hate this day.  I just don't know what to do with it.  I didn't escape from the Pentagon as the flames licked at my heels.  But I helped a man tell his kids he was okay.  No one I knew died.  But I thought they had for several hours.  I was never in any real danger.  But that's the jerky thing about Terror.  Its the unknown.  Its why this isn't just my story.  Its the people who were at Disney World that day, wondering if they were a target.  The folks in Detroit realizing that the car industry was an American symbol.  Its the story of those poor people in Pennsylvania who I don't feel get nearly enough air time.  Its all of us, thinking our soil and that great fortress we call the Pentagon were impenetrable.

I don't hate this day.  And, if I was going to live through 9/11, I am well aware that, as small as my piece of the puzzle may be, at least I got to be there.  Is that sick?  That I feel honored to have been there?  I'm not happy I was there...but very honored.

Now I really do want to move on.  I want to, next year, be in a grocery store and think, "Huh.  Its the 14th today!  I didn't even realize 9/11 came and went!"

That would be victory.

A Dad Story

I could share for pages and pages about the awesomeness of my Dad.  My Dad cries over Baseball, America, Jesus, and his grand kids.  I was beyond irritated with his strict rules but knew, deep down, that he was an excellent father and that the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him. 

But, instead of picking apart what makes him a good Dad, I thought I would share a story.  Its the defining story for me.  It will always be The Story of My Dad.

I can't remember the year, but I was having a rough time in high school.  We moved to a small town half way through my freshman year.  The kids were nice, but they had all known each other since Kindergarten and I could not break in.  I had made friends with some kids that weren't "bad", but were bringing me down and causing me a great deal of drama and heartache.  I walked away suddenly from my group of friends and found myself with no one to say "Hi" to in the halls.  No one to giggle with in class.  And, worse of all for any student, no one to sit with at lunch.  There were nice kids all around me, but I became crippled by fear and insecurity.

Every lunch, I would sneak into the library, wedge myself between a window and some bookshelves so that no one would KNOW I was eating in the library, and wallow in my misery.

On top of this, I had just spoken out against a teacher that I dearly respected but was teaching some things that greatly insulted my faith.  I'm a public school girl.  I can handle Evolution and existential discussions in English Class.  But this particular set of lectures was too much.

So, I was The Girl Who Stormed Out Of English Class on top of everything else.

One morning, I remember getting ready in the bathroom.  I remember it was still dark outside and very early in the morning.  I remember looking in the mirror and thinking, "God, I can not do this again.  I can not get up and face another day at this school."  I was sick in my stomach.  Filled with dread.  Trying so hard to be strong but ready to lay down my sword and crawl back into bed.

I trudged downstairs.  I remember being in the kitchen, in total darkness.  I heard something.  It was a low, soft sound.  It was someone muttering.

I followed the sound through the parlor and to the door of my Dad's study.  He had a glass door.  As I peaked in, I could see my Dad, literally on his knees, his arms resting on the seat of his desk chair, praying.  Praying very intensely.  All I could hear were low muttering sounds and then, every so often the name, "Sara".

I turned away from that glass door a changed girl.  I was strong again.  I could handle whatever came my way.  I suddenly remembered a lesson from my mother, that I don't need to worry about making friends, but about being a friend.  I charged that day at high school armed and dangerous.  Equipped with courage and confidence.  I had a new outlook, and a spring in my step.

Because My Dad was praying for me.

New and Improved

I have not posted since February 1st!!!!

I had a mental block, its true.  I admit it.  But, part of the reason was that I wanted Yankee Peach to just be fun.  I wanted it to reach a broad audience.  What I am getting at here is that I did not want it to be a "Christian Blog".  That lasted for a while, but guess what...Jesus is 100% of my life, so stifling that side of me was getting very difficult and caused some mental constipation. 

I just said constipation.

But, its okay.  Its still me!  As long as there is evil in the world, there will be handsome dictators to crush on.

For every post about what God is teaching me, there will be one about my hatred for the carpool line.

Can the two co-exist.  Absolutely.

Am I a hypocrite for loving Jesus and hating the carpool?  I don't think so.  I'm human.  Jesus would love the carpool line, I'm sure, but his 12 disciples would grumble about it for ever and cause Jesus to give a lecture about "the first being last" in His kingdom.  I'm a disciple.  I'm not Jesus. 

But I am desperately trying to be more like Him.  Starting with my new rule for myself.

BIBLE BEFORE BREAKFAST

I stink...STINK...at having "quiet time", as Christians call it.  I want to do stuff!  I don't want to sit and read and meditate and pray.  But I have wilted down to a much lesser version of myself because of it. 

Eating is my favorite thing.  Today, I putzed around for an entire hour, starving to death, before finally reading the Bible.  How much do I hate reading the Bible that I would allow myself to starve AND decide that 7am is the perfect time to clean the kitchen????  I'm terrible.

I won't always do this, I don't think, but I need the accountability.  So, here is my take on Psalm 1, which I read this morning:

"My delight is in Your word
Not in praises of man
Not in the efforts I make

My mind is filled up with Your law
Not with the pleasures of the world
Not with my selfish desires

Holy Spirit.  Remind Me.
Let Your word be the fuel for change
Holy Spirit.  Refresh me.
Bring my roots deeper.
Make the water abundant

My leaves have withered
I've basked too long in the lust of this world
My soul is thirsty
I've forsaken the food of Your word.

May the fruit the Spirit will bring,
May it be pleasing to You
May the world admire the Cultivator of the fruit
Not the tree from whence it came.

Know my ways.
Tend me.
Water the soil, Pat the dirt
Prune the worthless, Increase the fruit.

Give me Strength
Make me useful
Increase Your harvest.
Amen.

Peril

I have alot of stories.  This has led to my belief that my life is secretly being taped for a sitcom, Truman Show-style.  I keep saying this, but I PROMISE I will post on that theory soon!

Meanwhile, I was listening to an interview the other day, and the host asked the guest, "Have you ever been in real danger?  Like, where you honestly thought you would die?"

It reminded me of a time when I actually did have a moment when I literally thought I was going to die.  Labor Day Weekend, 1997, camping with some friends.

I felt soooo cool because I had just finished my Freshman year of college, and my camping buddies were all "older kids".  You know, like, Juniors.


This one girl, we'll call her Karen, says that there are alot of cool caves near by that we can explore.  I've been to Mammoth caves and a couple other places like that, so I was all in.


We drive and drive.   We check in at this little shack in the middle of the woods.


"Karen," I ask, "why do we need to check in?"


"Oh, well, that way, if we are not back by the time the state park closes, they know to send a search and rescue party."


This should've been my first clue that this was NOT Mammoth Caves, there were NO tour guides, and probably NO flashing lights that were perfectly timed to patriotic music shining on the stalactites.


We find  a hill.  Around back of this hill in the woods, is a massive opening.  It was spectacular!   A real cave, like in the movies, where people hide when its raining!  There were tons of other folks exploring it, as well.  This wasn't so bad!


Clue Number Two...if your life is secretly being taped for a sitcom and you think "This isn't so bad", its time to run away.


Then, Karen points me toward a wall of the cave.


"This is where we go in!" she says.


In?  Weren't we "in" already?  Oh no.  There was an opening...a crack...about two feet tall from the floor of the cave.  THAT was our way IN.


We had on normal clothes.  We had 3 flashlights between the two of us.  No extra batteries.


In we went!


At first everything was okay.  Once we army crawled in, we could stand up and walk.  And, how nice, there were arrows spray painted on the sides of the cave to point you toward some supposedly amazing cavern deep in the bowels of this thing.  Supposedly, I say, because we never got there.  dun dun duuuunnnnn.


Slowly, the walking became hunching over.  The hunching became crawling.  At this point, my pants were getting torn and I was pretty sure my knees were bleeding.  We had been in this cave a long time and I felt like the walls were closing in.


"That's strange," said Karen, "I'm not seeing the painted arrows anymore...huh..."


Within 2 minutes of Karen's discovery, my flashlight goes dead.  5 minutes after that, one of hers goes dead.  10 minutes after that, its apparent the last flashlight is not long for this world.  I begin to plead that we go back.  The only problem is that we didn't know where "back" was!

We had no choice but to keep going and hope we run into some other spelunkers.

It was a weird feeling.  My nerves were on over-drive.  I knew full well that I might not survive this.  I had super human senses at that point, as my survival instincts took over.  But, instead of absolutely panicking, I just got very very VERY concentrated.  I don't remember crying, I don't even remember thinking, "We're gonna die!", I just remember being singularly focused on surviving.

At this point, crawling was impossible.  The ceiling was so low that we could only roll.  Bats were fluttering right past my face.  We rolled and rolled.  Our single, pencil-sized flashlight, trying to stay alive with all its little heart.

Then, panic actually set in.

"KAREN!" I yelled, "WHAT IS THAT?!?"

Way ahead in the darkness, a green, glowing thing was coming toward us.  It looked like it was floating, and its movements were completely sporadic...except for the fact that it was steadily approaching.

Karen didn't know what it was either.  It was completely, deadly quiet.  Oppressively quiet.  And in that heavy silence, this floating, glowing green thing kept coming.  We couldn't roll away from it, we had to just sit there and wait for it.

I'll never forget the first sound I heard.

It was a panting sound.  And...I thought it might be coming from the Green Thing. 

The dark was so...dark...that you couldn't see until something was right up in your face.

Here we were, completely panicked, watching the Green Thing slowly come to kill us, when all of a sudden, a dog appears, out of nowhere, just 12 inches from my face!  A DOG!!!  And it had a green glow stick attached to its collar!!!

We could not have been more grateful or thrilled if the Coast Guard had arrived!!!  We cried, we laughed, we talked to the dog like it was Lassie.

"Please! Bring us back to your owners!"  "Go find your owners puppy, go!!!"

And it did!  Those poor people got quite a scare.  They were on a trail in the cave...a well lit, 8 foot tall trail, laughing and chatting...when we suddenly come rolling out of a crack in the earth, dirty, sweaty, crying, and bloody.  A-PAR-RENT-LY...Karen had pushed me into the wrong CRACK to start our journey!!!   We were essentially spelunking blind in there!

We breathed the fresh air, got instructions on how to get back, and walked out of that stinking cave new women.  Women who loved the sun, noticed the leaves on the trees, never realized how pretty birds sounded when they chirped.

Our quick jaunt into the cave was not actually quick.  We got back to Karen's car only to realize that we had been lost in there for over 6 hours.

I came away from that experience feeling grateful to be alive and with a new-found phobia of small enclosed spaces.  Thanks, Karen.

But, it makes for a great story!  And a killer season finale on whatever channel  is airing my life.