I was driving to church for a MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) steering team meeting. I was greeted by the nursery workers with the news that a plane had struck one of the towers in New York. As Coordinator, I had a decision to make. I decided we would pray for our nation and then leave things in God's hands. After all, we had come together to get some work done and there was nothing else immediate we could do for these emergencies. Somewhere in the middle of the meeting, we got news about another plane.
I really didn't understand what was going on. We left the church and headed home to watch the news where, over and over again we were bombarded with images of fire and buildings falling. Unsure of where other targets might be, we hunkered down and fed on the disaster. We prayed. I felt a sense of urgency in my spirit. What if this is "the end times?" Or the beginning of the end?
We weren't all ready. My son was only 2 1/2 years old, but I shared with him with good news of Jesus and asked him if he was ready to ask Jesus to live in his heart. He happily agreed. I don't feel too bad about using a bit of fear to lead him, because we are all driven by a measure of fear -- the end is real, the devil is real, hell is real. And he has never regretted, nor changed his decision of that day.
Every year we celebrate our spiritual birthdays. Elijah is turning ten today on 9/11. We will never forget.