September 11th

I was living in the Spanish House

of BYU's Foreign Language Student Housing.

From my top bunk perch,

I could hear English on the television in the living room

(which was not allowed unless you had ear phones on: Spanish only!)

I put my pillow over my head; I am never very good at jumping out of bed in the morning hours. But then I realized that I shouldn't be hearing English from the TV, and I climbed out of bed and walked, pajama-clad into the living room.

What I found there shocked me & will stay imprinted in my memory forever (like every other American who was paying attention that day)

All of my roommates were sitting, staring at the screen.

There were towers, smoke, and scenes of chaos.

What. Just. Happened.

That was also the day of my Grandma J's funeral.

My parents were in town from 2,000 miles away

and most of my extended family had come together to grief & celebrate her life of giving.

I was grateful for the miracle of being together

on such a mind-numbing day.

We were amazed at the tiniest details of which tender mercies were graciously given (like my cousin's husband who was home safe with their kids instead of working near the Towers)

And now we knew why my tender-hearted grandmother--a woman who lived a beautiful life of faith & consistent service to others-- had passed away on the day that she did.

Heaven needed an extra angel on the welcome home committee.

September 11th.

The memories for everyone have different details...

but the emotion felt binds us together.

Forever.