WARNING:For some of you this post might be a little to graphic, and painful to read.
"For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their tresspasses, neither will you Father forgive your trespasses" Matthew 6:14-15
I was at my real estate office on a Tuesday; and, like every other Tuesday, my co-workers were also arriving for our weekly meeting. We laugh over the coffee pot, who gets the chocolate filled donut, who took the blueberry muffin, teasing each other about getting (or not getting a listing).
We take our seats, a phone rings, a friend cries as she listens on the phone and yells turn on the radio. "A plane has just hit the twin towers". We quietly start questioning what happened when we hear, the pentagon has just had a plane flown into it. Shock. A plane has gone down in Pennsylvania. A second plane has been flown into the towers. Each of us knows at that point that this was not an accident. Fear. Numbness. Anxiety. We try to carry on but in the end we give up and go home. After: we hold a friends hand because her daughter was supposed to be on the train that pulls into the underground of the towers when the planes hit. A friend's husband works on the 3rd floor of one of the towers. My nephew (15 at the time) was in school just three blocks away. None of us knew where they were. No communication. We had to wait. And wait. And wait.
I went home and watched the TV for hours. Waiting for the call that our dear Kevin was safe. It did not come until 9 that night. He had walked with his friends across Manhattan to a friends house until it could be planned how to get him and a few friends out to their home in Staten Island. Numbness set in. So many lives changed in just a few minutes.
The next Saturday was Rosh Hashana. My husband was raised Jewish and still celebrates the holidays. We were on the highway passing the dump when we realized at the same time that all the white tents, all the people in clean suits, and the massive amount of ambulances, and hearses, and rescue trucks were all there for the same reason. They were sorting remains. The reality of what happened the Tuesday before started to become a reality. But, the real reality was when we drove over the last hill to our family's house - the towers were gone, the smoke was rising, there was a hole where one of my favorite sites was. And yes, there were smells. One's I never want to experience again. And I began to cry, and the crying and shaking wouldn't stop. My husband ended up getting his sister and she took me and my daughter around the corner to where there was a total view of the devastation. She said look and see. Look until you can hold it in your heart and remember that this is what hate is and we now have to learn how to deal with this awful thing that has happened to all of us. And I cried and lashed out at God telling him that whoever did this should never be forgiven and be damned for all eternity.
I know that to be forgiven by our Lord, one must believe in our Lord and Savior. I am not the judge of others. God is the judge. Because I can't forgive, does Christ not forgive us? Or do we ask him for mercy and forgiveness for our actions and thoughts and know that he is always with us? I choose the later.