9/11

A plane roared upon takeoff from LaGuardia Airport this morning, and then another, and another. I listen, appreciating the ordinary. A truck rumbles. Its brakes squeak as it stops to pick up the building’s trash. Normal day, I love you.

In our room, lit by a couple small lamps, we read the Word. Coffee mugs sit empty beside us. We’re 24 years older than that first 9/11. Our hair is grayer; our hearts softer, and we’re still here where we were then. Laurence will go to his place of employment at Elmhurst Hospital. I’ll take the elevator to the laundry room. Lunch will be in our tiny kitchen. Supper too.

God has been good to us. We love Him more than ever before, and we find ourselves longing for that other Shore. We’re here though, walking the streets of Queens, worshipping at Sugar Hill Mennonite in Harlem, riding buses and trains, and flying from LGA.

I smile to think how on that 9/11, I did not know if we would still be alive at Christmas, but we’re still here. I cut out a newspaper clipping back then that said, “We look for a city . . .” Today, we continue to “look for a city whose builder and maker is God.”

I hear cheerful singing from the bathroom, “Watch and pray . . .” God who cared for us then is caring for us now. Keep the faith.

Berniece