it’s been awhile since blogging, I know, but the tenth anniversary of 9/11 has me in a reflective mood. I’m thinking about where I was that day, what it felt like. I think I’ve told that story before, but what the hey-it’s a good story, and if you’ve already heard me tell it, feel free to ignore me.
In those days, my job in medical records had me running paper charts to various sections of the hospital as patients arrived. I had just run some charts up to ER, and Iwas returning to the basement file room when I heard someone talking about the situation. The rest of the day I listened to coverage of the events on a little radio down there, occasionally checking out television footage after a chart run. It was horrifying, of course- so much so it numbed the brain and froze the heart. I worked through a temp agency back then, not yet full time. That afternoon when my shift was over, I had to drive down to the main offices of that agency a half hour away from the Kansas City northland where I live and work in order to get my paycheck, which hadn’t been available the previous weekend due to an administrative snafu. I was literally without money until that paycheck was delivered, and desperately low on gas. As I rolled down south, I heard pervasive reports of gas stations price gouging, of massive amounts of people coming to get gas, as radio personalities pleaded with people to only fill up if necessary, to not give into the urge to panic. With an eye on the gas gauge and a heart full of fear, I kept driving, listening to the radio all the while.
Eventually I got to the offices- only to find that the only person capable of delivering the paycheck wasn’t there. I went back to my car defeated, desperate, despairing. I sat there awhile. I thought about my recent struggles, faith/trust battles that had me running away from God, that were drastically hurting my relationship with the woman who would someday be my wife. The previous night we’d eaten together at the Corner Cafe in Riverside, a wonderful meal that felt redemption and renewal, like nothing bad would ever happen again. I thought about that bitterly as I sat in the car, listening to the world falling apart in NYC, looking at a gas gauge that sat just shy of empty. But instead of running, for the first time in months, I decided to trust. I told God, that if he split the red sea, that if he bring himself back from death, he could get me from that parking lot to the Liberty Quik trip, a half hour away, on a virtually empty tank. And that said, I put the car in drive and headed north.
You can call it lame excuse for a miracle if you want-you can dismiss it as a coincidence. All I know is that while my car was hacking and stalling on the outskirts of Liberty, it didn’t completely die until I literally crossed the threshold of the very gas station I had set as my destination. And for someone who’d been massively screwing up, whose head and heart was an absolute wreck due to the tragedies of that day, it felt very much like a miracle.
my then girlfriend/future wife was kind enough to stop and loan me a few bucks for gas, but that meant waiting in the Quik Trip until she arrived. While everyone buzzed through the gas station, i was given the amazing gift of stillness. I sat on the trunk of my car and watched the constant movement, still afraid, still heartbroken, but buoyed by hope. Across the street, there was a single tree, and someone was sitting underneath it. i often wonder about that guy. Did he know what happened? Is that why he was sitting out there, alone, trying to collect his thoughts? I kinda wish I’d gone over there to ask now. at the time, he felt like a kindred spirit, someone else who’d been given a chance to sit still while the world went crazy around us.
I’m still grateful for the gifts God gave me that day. it didn’t make it easier to deal with, per se, but it made it bearable. even a decade later, I can cast my mind back to that day and remember something other than the terror and the sadness and the debris. it’s hard to trust someone you can’t touch and see, particularly on days like that. but it’s not impossible. and i’m grateful for that most of all.
3 Comments
I like this style of reflective writing, John. Thanks for sharing it.
What a day. You even had to swallow your pride enough to ask me for money. Remember, I’d spent the day with the child, new to being an early childhood teacher, and so scared about what would happen to them and how I could possibly keep them safe. It really rocked the preschoolers’ worlds for weeks afterward. I wonder how my 5th (?)-grade teacher felt when she had to calm us all after we’d just watched the Challenger explode.
oops–obviously I meant, “with the children.”