don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I’m pretty sure it was in the single digits. What sticks out in my mind is the wind that hit me when I stepped outside, the whole tower bending in the breeze (but, they told me, it’s supposed to do that), and the exhilaration of being on the top of this immense finger of concrete, the symbol of years of progress. From the top I continued my game of counting the taxicabs moving around like minuscule yellow ants. I promised myself I would be back on top again someday.

When I heard the news about the World Trade Center buildings, I was at a camp near La Grande, Oregon, on a Walla Walla College student leadership retreat. We had been participating in team-building initiative games, so when Dean Jonny Halversen told me, I thought he was just commencing another initiative. I mean, it’s the World Trade Center, after all. It can’t fall down, right?

Over the next few days it was all anyone could talk about—speculation, rescue efforts, identities. The unthinkable had happened.

It’s a pity that it takes a tragedy such as this to flip on the nation’s “patriotic” switch. An even bigger  pity is that it takes a tragedy such as this to turn a nation to prayer.

The stories started emerging: The heroism of firefighters. The last acts of hostages diverting an airplane from its target. Blood banks across the nation being filled to capacity. These are the stories that make me proud of my fellow Americans—stories of action, of superhuman effort to save the lives of strangers, of people who do more than attach a flag to their pickup or a ribbon to their lapel.

I’ll never get to follow through on my promise to make it to the top again. So maybe I need to make a new promise. You can join me. Let’s promise that we won’t take life for granted and that we will honor those who died. Let’s promise to be patriotic for the right reasons. And finally, let’s promise to trust in God now and in the future, too.

by amanda sauder, union college

oday I woke up. I took a shower and I got dressed. I dried my hair and I turned on the radio. I checked my e-mail. And I realized how in one week’s time skylines have shifted; thousands of lives have been lost, millions more changed; a world economy is threatened; and war against an unnamed opponent looms above the smoking heaps of rubble. In one instant the world has changed. And so have I.

In my all-time favorite best-selling book Tuesdays With Morrie, written by Mitch Albom, the author’s dying college professor, Morrie Schwartz, explains that when you are faced with death, your life becomes more meaningful. “Everybody knows they’re going to die,” he says, “but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently.” When we realize how final and unforeseen death is, our priorities change and we learn to appreciate the truly important things right now. We see that material possessions, selfish ambitions, and the petty gossip of the world disappear; but relationships, laughter, and unselfish acts of love will always remain—even if a hundred towers fall (see 1 Cor. 13:8, 13). Morrie sums it up: “Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”

Solomon also talks about life’s priorities throughout Ecclesiastes. “So enjoy life with your family and friends,” he writes. “Eat with them and be happy. God designed it that way. Dress in clean clothes so that you look nice. . . . Enjoy life with your wife whom you love and with your children, family and friends as long as you live. . . . Whatever you do, do your best and enjoy it. Once you die, there’s no activity, thought, knowledge, or wisdom in the grave where you’ll eventually go” (Eccl. 9:7-10, Clear Word).

How have the events of September 11, 2001, changed me?  Among other things, they have forced me to sit down, stare into the dark reality of death, and evaluate my priorities.

After today I will:

Call home. Eat egg salad sandwiches in the park. Read good books. Pray through a good day, not just before a test or a meal. Say hi to people I don’t know. Forgive people and allow myself to be forgiven. Not feel guilty if I make a mistake. Not go to bed early if I need to e-mail a friend. Watch football (and not gloat too much when the Dallas Cowboys beat the Washington Redskins). Sing—loudly. Fly a kite. Take a nap. Hold hands. Study to learn, not to pass. Hug my dog even if he drools on my new shirt. Take a little time every day to eat chocolate. Tell my family I love them—a lot. Show my friends I appreciate them—a lot. Realize that I need God—a lot. Buy flowers. Exercise and be thankful for health and muscles and energy. Laugh. Cry.

After today I will live my life with passion and fervor and flare. I will throw my whole self into everything I do and everyone I love. I will pray for strength and courage and grace to do the things I must do and peace to accept the things I can’t.

After today I will live!

by marcella colburn, southern adventist university, currently a student missionary in denmark

ou will hear about wars and stories of wars that are coming, but don’t be afraid. These things must happen before the end comes” (Matt. 24:6, NCV).

Racing into the apartment, my girls at Vejlefjordskolen asked to turn on the TV. The next six hours were a blur as I sat stunned by the passing events. Secret plots, lost lives, a grieving world. Some seeking revenge, others peace. Is it a Hollywood movie?  How could this be real?

In the past several weeks the eyes of the world have been opened to the magnitude of evil in this world. No place is safe from destruction. War seems inevitable. The end, near.

In the book Studying Together Mark Finley, noting that “God has given every Christian a measure of faith” (Rom. 12:3), says that “even a little faith links us with God’s marvelous working power (Luke 17:5, 6),” (pp. 106, 111). Finley continues: “Since He is in control of all circumstances affecting you, you can face them confidently in Him (Ps. 46:1, 2; 91:1-5).”

This year I am one of more than 100 students from Southern Adventist University keeping the faith, preaching the gospel to the whole world. What better time than now? As a student missionary in Denmark I feel safe and secluded from the rest of the world. Yet as I stood outside the American Embassy in Copenhagen just days after the horror of September 11, I was touched by the powerful support that the Danish people proclaimed in silence, flowers, and tears.

People are ready for a solution to the troubles of this world. According to statistics from the General Conference of the Seventh-day Adventist Church there were 2,811 Adventists in Denmark in 1999. The population of Denmark has reached more than 5 million. The time is now. No matter where you are, the time to share the gospel is now.

“But those people who keep their faith until the end will be saved. The Good News about God’s kingdom will be preached in all the world, to every nation. Then the end will come” (Matt. 24:13, 14, NCV).

by ben yancer, union college

’ve heard it countless times since September 11, 2001. I’ve seen it on TV. I’ve read it in the newspapers. Confused people questioning God in the midst of this tragedy, not understanding why it happened, and, more often than not, believing that He was the cause of it. The events of that day have left citizens across the nation taking a closer look at what they believe and why. A reexamination of their lives in an attempt to control their undeniable fear of what may be coming next for the United States.

Yet while the rest of our country is desperately searching for answers, I find myself without any new questions. Though the news from New York City, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania shocked me, my faith was not shaken. God did not cause this horror. He didn’t stop it, but He’s still in control. There-fore, nothing has really changed for me. I’m not asking God why this has happened. I’m not doubting what I believe. My God does not change, and so nothing on this earth can change my faith in Him. I can continue living my life with the same faith and joy as always, regardless of everything else.

Our country is now entering times such as I’ve never experienced before, but still I do not fear. I know that’s easy to say without any action to back it up, but it’s the honest truth. It surprised even me at first. As I think of these events, I feel pain, sorrow, horror, anger . . . but there’s no fear. Even when my mind tries to fathom the unimaginable events that will still occur before the Lord returns, I know that God will be there in the middle of it all. We have nothing to fear.

by brian bell, a canadian studying at walla walla college

am awestruck by the global effects of one day of terror on American soil.

Two airplanes smash/slam into the World Trade Center: Thailand’s stock market ceases trading.

An American Airlines plane hits the Pentagon: Gas masks sell out in Toronto, Canada.

A fourth plane disintegrates in the countryside of Pennsylvania: Matches in soccer-crazed Europe dissolve.

These peculiar results of such a terrible tragedy remind me of the utterly interdependent and interconnected world I live in.

I am a student at Walla Walla College, but Canada is my home. I’m not American, yet in my closely knit global community, big Uncle Sam down the street just had his home firebombed. Naturally we all feel the effects. Such is our world. An Everest conqueror can call honey at home on the satellite phone, e-mail Uncle Tom on a Palm Pilot, instant-messenger buddies on his laptop, and watch the coverage of the ascent on CNN.com, all from the summit. No one is an island.

I drove home the day after the disaster. For the entire 14-hour trip (nine of which was north of the border), there was nonstop empathetic radio coverage of the terror attacks. On TV I watched 80,000 Canadians meet in mourning and prayer at our nation’s capital. You should have heard them sing the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

As I reflect on the terrible tragedy of September 11 I am dumbfounded by the effects of one day of hate and pain. But it reminds me of a more critical day of anguish.

The day my Jesus was whipped till His blood ran in rivers. The day my Lord had a crown of thorns smashed into His skull. The day my Savior’s shoulders bore a heavy wooden cross, but sagged under the weight of the world’s sins. Two airplanes hit the World Trade Center: My earthly life changed forever. My God’s head hit His human chest: My eternal life was guaranteed forever.

I’ve been blessed to personally see the effects of Christ’s sacrifice in almost 20 countries in my global neighborhood. I’ve seen His peace in the eyes of survivors of India’s worst earthquake. I’ve seen His joy in the smiles of Thai hill tribe people who just received their first water pump. I’ve seen His love in the dancing eyes of a fourth-grade Micronesian girl.

I’ve seen my Savior’s love affect the world everywhere. And I’m seeing that love in the aftermath of September 11.

Two planes smash into the World Trade Center: A Nova Scotian police officer and his search dog rescue a woman from the rubble.

An American Airlines plane hits the Pentagon: The exiled Dalai Lama donates $30,000.

A fourth plane disintegrates in the countryside of Pennsylvania: Yasir Arafat donates blood in the Gaza Strip.

One day of evil and death tarred our souls. But acts of love the world over are soothing our hearts. One day of pain and anguish claimed the life of our Savior. But I pray that through His followers the message of joy from that sacrifice will soon resound around the world.

by randall dexter, an american studying at canadian university college

brilliant, fiery ball of light enveloped the screen like a flower briefly blooming and then fading. Operation Desert Storm was well under way. I was 9 years old, up far past my bedtime, and transfixed by the visions of tanks and fighter jets on the television.

For several weeks the entire country was abuzz as news of victory after victory filtered through the media. People stood outside their homes, banging pots and waving flags as American troops occupied Iraqi buildings. A German neighbor was the most ecstatic: he proudly displayed his yellow ribbons, a sign of support for the American troops, and told everyone that his son was servicing tanks for NATO. To him and many others, it was a holy war. It was a strike at the shadowy figure of Iraqi aggression, a defense of freedom for Americans and their allies.

All this I could little comprehend, yet I was swept away by the overwhelming tide of national fervor, and I celebrated, proud to stand in the street and bang my mother’s pan lids. My nation had won, and her children were coming home.

* * * * *

Today I witnessed another kind of war. A pair of terrorist-controlled planes smashed into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, scattering burned metal and smoldering glass as the massive buildings collapsed in on themselves. Thousands of people were trapped inside, more carnage than the North American continent has seen in more than a century.

Grieving families weep in front of the camera. World leaders rush to the podium to call for unity in striking down those who would engage in such an attack. Firefighters and volunteer rescue workers struggle to free possible survivors from the rubble. News anchors and experts field guesses on everything from the prospects of war to the identities of those involved.              

More images cross the screen: images from other lands, countries in the Middle East. People banging pots in the street, throwing candy to passing strangers, toasting victory, and rejoicing at what they see as the first blow against the great “Satans of the West.” It is jihad, a holy war. They are disorganized, unaffiliated directly with any nation, and yet I can’t help thinking back to an earlier time, another kind of war. Once bloated with victory, today America mourns as others celebrate.

Who mourned, I wonder, while as a youth I celebrated? Whose mothers and fathers wept while I rejoiced as American bombs destroyed enemy fortifications? Who watched television screens in disbelief and horror as American troops captured lands and buildings from the enemy? Did the Iraqis curse the Americans and their NATO allies as they buried their dead children, siblings, parents? 

Perhaps we’ve seen this new face of war before.

by rob york, southern adventist university

or many Christians the tragic events of September 11, 2001, have served as a reminder that the end-times we have waited for could be closer than we realize. Many Christians may have seen this as a reason to rejoice. They may see this as a sign that, despite the loss of life, our troubles may soon end.

I only wish I could’ve felt that way. But on September 11 I was not ready for the world to end. I’m 22—I feel as if there is much in this world left for me to accomplish and as if the end of the world would cheat me. Why can’t Jesus wait until my life is over? I asked myself. There’s so much I’ll never do if He comes now. And it’s true that if He returned tomorrow, I’d never reach my potential here on earth.

There are a lot of other things I will never do if Jesus returns tomorrow. I’ll never get sick again, become sad or angry, and I’ll never mourn over the loss of another loved one. Unfortun-ately I, like so many other people, tend to define satisfaction by the hardships

I have to overcome.

Matthew 6:20, 21 says, “Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (NIV).

The events of September 11 showed me that even though I have been a practicing Christian who has tried to do his best, my heart still has not been in the right place. With all that I could accomplish here on earth, I can accomplish infinitely more if I have all eternity ahead and the great Teacher beside me. No one in heaven will feel cheated by what they’ve missed here.

Life has gone on since September 11, and it’s still hard to say what those events really mean in the grand scheme of things. I do believe in the second coming of Jesus, but I don’t know when it will be. I don’t know if it will be in my lifetime.

But I know I’ll be better off if it is.

by petra hernandez, walla walla college

terrorist act completely, irreconcilably changed the lives of the families of more than 6,000 people and has vastly affected the rest of Americans and the whole world.

But how does it affect me? I still went to work Tuesday evening. I do not have relatives living in the East. Besides my feeling that instant American patriotism to fight back and keep our country as a dominating world leader, my life itself seems vastly unaffected.

The tone is somber at work on Tuesday evening, and the few customers at the restaurant are crowded around a TV screen ingesting only the news and beer. Some coworkers talk about fighting back, while others express fear. I get off work early because there is nothing to do, but instead of going home to watch the gruesome images again, I drive to my Tuesday night Bible study. Though we gather around a fire outside, forcing ourselves to sing songs, the mood is not joyful. We share our anger and sorrow. But then we do something that a lot of people around the world did not. We pull out our Bibles and share God’s promises. I am amazed at how I can feel both scared and reassured all at once.

I am still dealing with the fear and anger I feel from the event, and I don’t know what will happen. The United States may have to fight back. I may have friends who will be involved in the fighting. But what has now become blatantly obvious is that I need to trust God. I need to work toward the future but live right now. I must let the important people in my life know that I love them. And I need, in my own way, to let others in on the reassurance I felt that Tuesday night under the stars.

by lisa kapiniak, canadian university college

he new school year was going better than I had hoped possible. I was filled with energy, enthusiasm, and excitement that I had never before experienced. God was so evident in my life, and I wondered why I had ever doubted Him before.

And then it happened. Order and routine were destroyed by chaos and hate. I felt annoyed and frustrated that my perfect world was being so rudely shaken. I tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, but it was a futile effort. I knew better than to blame God for this unpredictable tragedy; yet I wanted to yell and scream at Him for the disorder that had erupted in my secure world. I wondered if He really was in control.

But the hours, days, and weeks that followed proved that God was still in control. Incredible things were happening on our campus. Students, faculty, and staff came together to help sustain each other through the shock of what was continuously replaying on TV screens. People who had never met each other were hugging, crying, and praying together. Everywhere there was an enormous spirit of love and unity as together we grieved. Words of encouragement infiltrated conversations throughout every building on campus. God was definitely present.

A week later life was starting to gain order and meaning, but there was still a sense of restlessness. Although Canadian University College, set in rural Canada, is far from the disaster in New York, still students wanted to make a difference. They planned a benefit concert with all proceeds going to the Red Cross. The response was amazing as students planned, advertised, and practiced to make it a success.

Yes, September 11 was a horrific tragedy, and questions still plague the minds of many. My heart goes out to all who have lost loved ones. But I have seen the incredible power of God as He has shown Himself through the people who have surged forward together in faith, hope, and love.

by chelsey ham, walla walla college

nnocuous little numbers, really. Until that date, most of their significance was derived from people born on the eleventh of September in any year prior to this. That would make it a day of celebration for them. But now, the sight of 09.11.01 elicits memories for every single American-and many, many people across the world-of where they were and what they were doing, and thoughts of how their world has changed since 09.11.01.

On a transatlantic flight from London to America just four days before the attacks, I flew over NYC and saw Manhattan and the skyline for the first time in my life, from 35,000 feet. But this morning in particular, jet-lag still robbing me of a good night's sleep, I was grateful to be waking up late my first morning in my new apartment. I lounged around as my roommate prepared for work, both of us blissfully unaware thanks to the fact that our phone service had not yet been connected.

Finally I turned the radio on. I remember the first thought that flashed through my mind: Sounds like they're airing Orson Wells' "War of the Worlds." I thought NPR was having a special, except I wasn't tuned to NPR.

Of course I figured out what was going on; of course I ran to the nearest friend with a working television; of course I sat there, stunned, and watched, horrified, as they replayed the events: the fireball, the almighty crumble and, since then, the tears. I don't remember the course of my reactions. I know it wasn't the same as my friends watching it alongside me. Some of us were cynics, some were scared, one was harshly sarcastic, and I remember feeling very unstable because the world I and my generation have grown up in has completely disintegrated.

The instability is something I think many of us felt. Despite our vastly different, partisan minds, most of America turned to our president to Take Care Of This And Do It Well.

But President Bush can't fix this mess. America uniting, becoming one, won't fix everything that went wrong 09.11.01. God is the only one who can once-and-for-all make things better, and the only way He can do it is to come. This is the overwhelming feeling I recognized; this is the way my sheltered little west-coast world was blown apart on my 09.11.01, and the way that I realized just how much we all need to go home.

by lauren bongard, union college

am embarrassed to be an American. Embarrassed to liken myself to the masses screaming for justice, demanding retaliation, crying out for the ruin of millions of other lives. Those who watch the television, see the destruction and the grief and the horror-and become angry. And those who ignore all of the injustices that our government has created, all of the people who have lost their lives because of the greed of our nation. Those who lose sight of the horrors faced every day by the dying millions in other countries.

Though I was saddened by the events on September 11, I was even more saddened by what I heard all around me--on the television, on the radio, in the halls. People screaming for the demolition of the entire Middle East, the threats of revenge, the view that this was a completely unprovoked act and that we need to retaliate and "make them pay."

But what those people don't realize is that this isn't the answer. To kill a thousand more innocent people isn't to make this right-it is to create martyrs. And it furthers the work of the perpetrators. Instead of concentrating on fixing the problem so that it never happens again, we exacerbate the problem by proving we are what they have been told-monsters.

To be consumed with such a hate for a group we have never met, to misunderstand their actions and disregard their motives is wrong. It is un-Christian. I do not think that killing thousands of people is the answer, but we must understand their motives, their reasons for committing such an act. How many of the perpetrators have watched a loved one die by violence? How many have grown up being fed negative information about the United States? And, though I feel for those who lost a loved one in this incident, I also feel for those who are hardened enough to have made this happen.

Perhaps it is time that someone retaliated. Maybe this devastating event will open our eyes to the truth-America the Beautiful has become America the Bully before our very eyes, and we have been blind to it all along. Perhaps it is high time that someone spoke up in a way that made us take notice. There is a chance that we will see our wrongs in all of this, and become better for the tragedy. And that is what being a Christian is all about-taking notice and taking the initiative to help and understand others. To take the worst of situations and create a canvas that Christ can use to make a masterpiece.

by jay cameron, canadian university college

here are no words to describe what happened to all of us that day, no words to express our sorrow or horror, our pain or our trepidation as we look at the world around us with new eyes. Language ultimately breaks down in surrender because there are some things that words just cannot express. To truly feel the shock and desolation of spirit in each and every one of us would necessitate a look into the naked soul. That is why ultimately our grief has become a matter between God and us.

What I will remember forever from September 11, are the shocked and lonely eyes of the people on this campus. I will remember forever their silent horror as they watched CNN in huddled groups, speechless. I will remember the hugs and the anger and the outrage for the rest of my life. And I will remember their tears. They cried for the people who lost their lives, and wept for the families left alive who wished it had been them instead. They cried for themselves and the murder of innocent naiveté on that cold and heartless morning. I will remember that they cried for the world and the homicidal ugliness that brother does to brother. As a human race, the cold echoes of our cries reverberate throughout history. We have cried for a long time.

And I am tired of tears and their sting. I have cried enough, I just want to go home. Two thousand years ago, Jesus promised to come back soon to save us from this sick, twisted world and its depraved master. He's not late either, for He is good and true, and after all, 2000 years is soon to One who has and is Eternity. Today though, we are not looking at millennium, we are waiting on mere moments in the scale of earth's history. We are waiting on heartbeats. And we know that these last palpitations of this world's diseased heart are going to be the worst in history.

Jesus is coming again, He is coming again. You can feel it. And we long for His return with all that we are. We are tired of sorrow and death, and the ocean of pain that this world wades through every day. We long for a place where there will be no more death, and no more tears, forever. This world is hell, it really is. And the only way to get through it is one day at a time, with our hands in Christ's hands. One day soon, really and truly soon, He is going to come back and end the sick malignancy growing in this dark corner of the universe. I hope He comes soon, because I just want to go home.

by melissa brownfield, walla walla college

was in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, vacationing on September 11. I woke up to see the news splattered across all of the mostly American television stations. My first reaction, like most Americans, was one of shock. It looked something from a movie. The estimated deaths the TV announcer gave was 50,000 - a number too large for me to grasp.

I missed out on the huge response of patriotism during the first week and a half following the attacks. My mom remarked on the incredible difference between the displaying of the flags in people's cars, homes, and businesses, and the burning of flags when she was my age. Since I have gotten back, I have been amazed at the children's lemonade stands raising money for the Red Cross, the student marches around town showing their support, and the ever-present American flag everywhere I look.

The comment from one of the bystanders at the towers that stuck in my mind was from a woman: "When the buildings collapsed I just saw people." Now when I see replays of the collapse, or pictures of the buildings, I see the people that died, and the families and friends they represent.

I've realized that now I must focus on the living people. My patriotism can get in the way of seeing things from other people's perspectives. In my grief over my fellow Americans' loss of parents, children, and friends, I can stop asking questions about what caused the attack. I know I don't even begin to understand foreign policy, but I understand that my country can make mistakes just like every other country. In an e-mail to a theology professor on my campus from a friend of his in the Middle East, I found that though most people there don't agree with the method by which the people behind the attack expressed their feelings, the sentiment behind it is shared by many. I can't pretend to understand the tragedies and losses they have experienced in their countries, and how they must feel.

Racial and religious prejudice has always been a negligible problem for me. As a person of mixed descent, I can mingle with most cultures in the United States and feel accepted. Growing up in Adventist schools and churches I was protected from religious prejudice. Like the average American, I am not familiar with what it is like to have people misunderstand my culture, my religion, and my intentions on a daily basis.

Maybe the most important thing I have learned so far from this tragedy is that I can never truly know another person's heart. Because of this, I must seek first to understand rather than to be understood, and not rush to hasty judgements. Proverbs tells us that we can never fully share another person's joy or sorrow. I must be a thinking, responsible citizen of my country, and a forgiving, understanding daughter of my King. If Jesus could forgive those who killed Him, and go beyond that to desire their good, I can do the same for those who killed my fellow countrymen and women.

by laura rumsey, union college

wo flowers stand, beautiful, bright,
Pointing to the sky.
But plucked from earth by callused hand
They die.

Two towers stand, majestic, strong,
Reaching for the sky.
They dissipate to ash and sand.
We die.

It's not about revenge or hate
Or seeking to kill more.
It's not about our therapy
When more pain is in store.

It's not about our country pride
Or seeing justice done.
It's not about the love of war
When battles can't be won.

It's about the flowers, beautiful, bright
Pointing to the sky.
It's about the Hand that put them there
Who never meant for them to die.

The injury our stripes have seen
Is painful and we mourn;
The injuries our earth has seen
Are fatal . . .

And a Savior was born.
-Written September 14, 2001