I am amazed by the flight of time.

As a child, summers felt like an eternity and being at school what just about the longest chunk of time ever.  Grown-ups would tell me that when I became an adult time would go by faster.  I wasn’t quite sure I believed them.

Ten years ago, I stepped into the shower as I was preparing to get ready to head to the campus of Union University for a Tuesday class that I had.  It was my final semester, I was living off-campus, and things were good.  Being the cheesy person that I am, we had a shower radio.  I turned on the radio to listen to my normal shower favorite.  They were talking about a plane hitting a building in New York City.  That just sounded absurd to me, and I immediately thought of a small plane.  A tiny plane.  Then the DJs spoke in distinctly shocked voices, telling us that another plane had hit the other World Trade Tower.  The getting ready process is a blur.  Probably the quickest I have ever gotten ready to go to school.  I called my mother in Norfolk, because my father was still working at the time at the world’s largest naval base.  Then news came about the Pentagon…a field in Pennsylvania.  My father’s base was on lock-down: no one in and no one out.  I rushed to campus and was surprised at how many people had heard nothing about it.  Within 30 minutes we were converging into the University Chapel – praying for safety, praying for lives to be saved, praying to wake up from this nightmare.

Those grown-ups were right.  When you become an adult, time flies.  It slips through your fingers like hourglass sand, but unlike the sand found in an hourglass, it cannot be picked up and held again.  You can’t go back and hold that same sand in your hand again.  Life becomes a daily picking up of new sand.  I look into my hands and cannot comprehend that ten years have come and gone.  Am I sure it wasn’t just a couple of years ago that I heard that harrowing news coming out of the shower radio as I was facing a new day? Ten years?  Really?

So many people think that time heals all wounds.  That is balderdash.  I only know of one way to real healing – the kind of healing that really does take place and can last, even if a scar remains.  Healing is HIM.  Jesus said that He is the way, the truth, and the life.  The things that wound our hearts…that wound our spirits…can only be cured by Jesus.  We can try to drown those spirit wounds.  We can attempt to philosophize them into wholeness again.  We can cling to another person to fill the void and hope that they will be the one who will stitch our hearts back together again.  Those things never work, ya’ know.  Only Jesus can heal a wounded spirit.  Only Jesus can truly heal a broken heart.  Jesus is the only One Who loves us enough to really fix us.

Any pain felt in my heart of hearts…any anger that rolled through my mind…after September 11, 2001, Jesus has completely healed.  But I know there are so very many who have lived wounded, defeated lives for ten years because of what happened on the morning of that day.  Truth is, if you are wounded and defeated you’re not really living.  The call from Jesus is, “Come to Me.  Let Me take on your wounds.  Hand over your anger, prejudice, and bigotry to Me.  Now that this is done…rest…and live.


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