the Good Shepherd



Today is my dog's birthday. He's 12, doesn't eat much, barks at my other dog every single time she comes inside, and sleeps all the time. He always helped me study in high school- and by that, I mean he sat on my bed and dozed off to whatever One Direction or Hamilton or Worship music I was playing at the time while I tried desperately to stay on task.

He's the ultimate companion. Happy birthday Rocco! 

A lot of others I know celebrate birthdays today, too. My self-appointed "vice-princess" at Kanakuk, Ellie, turned nineteen today. She's pretty cool. Just like every day, it is a day where lives are beginning and being celebrated and we are reminded that there is so so much joy to be experienced in this world.

However, today also marks the seventeenth anniversary of one of the most horrific terror attacks the world has ever seen. For many people, it is a day of great mourning and internal reflection. Most adults can vividly remember exactly where they were, who they were with, and what they were doing at the exact moment the tragedy struck. It was a worldwide calamity and raised questions and desperation within the hearts of people all across the globe. 

I don't remember it. I was only about sixteen months old when it occurred. I wasn't sitting in class and watching it all unfold on the news; I didn't have to pull the car over as I heard the terrors come through the radio; I didn't pick up the phone to check in on my New York City-based family members. For some reason, I think I was bathing (?). I'm honestly not sure. 

Up until this summer, the most direct association I've ever had with it was in class every year when my teachers reflected on where they were: what class they were sitting in, where they were going, how scared they were.

Two months ago, though, I got the opportunity to go to New York on a mission trip. We taught ESL classes, worked in children's ministry, handed out flyers, and prayer walked all throughout the city. We were even blessed enough to have two days of touring. We went to Central Park, that trendy cookie dough place, the Stardust Diner, saw The Lion King on Broadway, went to the Met, and even went to the Yankee Stadium (we got in and ate dinner and then it started raining so the game got canceled- still a weirdly surreal experience).

My favorite thing we did was tour the 9/11 museum. I was one of the oldest students on the trip, so many of my friends with me were not even alive when it happened, but walking the halls with Sarabeth- it felt like we were there. Living and breathing this essential history that shaped our modern world. Almost every exhibit was powerfully moving, but my favorite of them all was rather unexpected.

It wasn't the exquisite the art installation that held 2,996 different shades of blue that represented the color of the sky to each victim, though the quote almost brought me to tears.


It wasn't the steel beams, bent and broken from the incredible impact of Flights 11 and 175.


It wasn't the breathtaking American flag, created with pictures of those who lost their lives that day, whether they were first responders or victims on the planes or inside the buildings.


It wasn't even the small painting dedicated to the first responders who gave their lives without thinking twice in order that they may save the lives of others. (This one truly made me cry, though- because there is humanity in times of inhumanity, always.)


My favorite part of the 9/11 museum was a mural, dedicated by Mrs. Orvin's South Carolina-based elementary art class. My favorite part of the 9/11 museum was a patriotic poster, outlined in unique hearts which were each painted by a different student. 

 (This is not my picture so let's hope I don't get sued.)

My favorite part of the 9/11 museum was written underneath one of the towers, in a misshapen heart due to the first responder who stands on the upper right corner of it.



My favorite part of the 9/11 museum was a note written by John, a "fouth" grader, who is much smarter than me, John was likely only nine or ten, but in his personal heart he wrote out Psalm 23. 

*fists up* "THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD- I shall not want..." 

My favorite part of the 9/11 museum was an overflow of John's heart, in his own assigned heart. I'm convinced he wrote Psalm 23 because he knew and profoundly understood that what people needed at the time (and every day before and day to come) was peace, comfort, and a little bit of confidence. John saw people floundering and knew that they needed a reminder that He can lead us by still waters even in our times of inner turmoil. He saw that they needed the comforting rod and staff of the ultimate Good Shepherd. He reminded survivors and those who watched from afar that living in fear was needless because God was by our side. He knew that we were hand-crafted, and personally loved and that we will dwell with the Lord forever. 



John is my hero because he reminded me of a creed to which I must constantly commit. He reminded me that the Lord is my Shepherd and that He is darn good at His job. He is faithful and true. Psalm 23 is perfect for a response to the terrors of 9/11, but it is also perfect for the days where we walk through campus and see not one familiar face the whole day, or when we have a ton of homework that will undoubtedly take us all night to complete. Our God is faithful, and He is good. He is by our side on our good days and our bad days. I think the placement of John's heart is poignant because when other forces cause us to crumble, the weight falls onto the shoulders of our Good Shepherd, and He will always carry us through it. 

I don't remember 9/11 and I wasn't directly affected by the calamity, but I can point you to one thousand examples of the faithfulness of my Good Shepherd in my own personal pain and struggles. 

So, thank you, John, for your critical reminder of our Good Shepherd in every aspect of our lives, and thank you, Good Shepherd, for never letting us walk alone and carrying us when we need you.

May we never forget the importance and weight of this day, and may we always remember the faithfulness and love of our Good Shepherd.

I love you all, but He loves you immeasurably more.

(Also, in case you were wondering, I did, in fact, listen to Alan Jackson's "Where were You when the World Stopped Turning" on loop the entire time I wrote this. Teared up a few times, too.)










Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

undignified

I've been trying to write this post for months. I don't know how to put it into words. Three months ago- on July 1- I was in charge of the scheduling at summer camp. By that, I mean that I put on a program for two of the cabins of the girls side. So basically, yeah, I was in charge of kamp for the night. After much deliberation, I decided on a pageant. I figured the girls would like it and it would be a fun way to see their personalities. I gave very little rules and the pageant itself had almost zero structure to it. I don't think I'll ever forget that night. I'll never forget the way they looked on in wonder at my haphazard stage. I'll never forget the way Maleficent's Cousin taught Brooke how to fly. I'll never forget that Dixie D'Amelio answered every single one of Brooke's questions perfectly.  I'll never forget how Ana had literal tears running down her face. I'll never forget how Chrystal the E-girl stayed in character the entirety...
Read more

light and momentary

  I have been blessed with a really, really good life on during my time on earth. I have two awesome parents and three really cool siblings. The Lord has given me great friends during all my stages of life. I grew up in a Christian home and had a really supportive community around me growing up. Then, I got to spend four years growing and being sharpened at the best university in Texas (hook 'em!), and now I have been given a gift of a year to study Scripture and learn to back up what I believe. In short, I am privileged and blessed.  That being said, I've had really hard seasons of life. We all lived through COVID. Before I was born, my grandfather passed away, so there's one grandparent that I simply never met. Since then, I've lost two other grandparents. I experienced the trivial trials of both high school and college that were acute at the time. And, I am epileptic so there are certain activities and normal parts of life that cause me more trepidation or anxiety th...
Read more

looking at Aslan

A couple weeks ago my phone went missing. I was without a phone for nine days, and the original one has still not been found. (Luckily, my parents had a spare that I am now using.) It was strange to be without it, but really, really nice, too. Keep track of your things, but remember that your phone was not created to be an extension of you. Nevertheless, over that week I had a lot of free time that would have otherwise been occupied by some mindless scrolling. So, I read a book. I walked down to the dock, started The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, and sat there without distraction until Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy tumbled back out of the wardrobe. And I met a character in a new way. I've read this book numerous times and seen the movie probably the same amount. Like many, I've always been partial to Lucy (and not just because we share a name). She is the original explorer of Narnia and a beautiful picture of childlike faith. She is fun, kind, and diligently loyal to the...
Read more