Two September Tuesdays

Well, the 9-11 10th Anniversary is less than one week away, and it's been on my mind a lot.

There was the shocking footage, the unfathomable chaos, and devastating stories. There weren't words adequate to describe America in those days, and the struggle for every individual American to decide what he or she felt towards that day in September was, for a time, a comforting commonality sweeping across the nation.

Like Diana's death, that day caught my young mind completely off guard (the nature of the event itself, of course, being unlike Diana's death in the scope of destruction). My historical curiosity piqued. Then a 7th grader, it was an exercise in removing myself from my own situation and learning the hurts, pains, hearts of other people. I wasn't simply removing myself from my own circumstance to attempt to fathom others' life at the time-- for the first time, I detached myself from the time period, as well. Many others did this, too, by considering what they would tell a future generation, making a point to remember details for posterity's sake. The absence of adequate words in the moment drew the attention of thousands to the future, when perhaps distance and time would afford us the perspective and absolution we desperately wished for as immediately as the first plane hit.

This mental distance from my own time and space offered the first real invitation I responded to with any amount of fervor to assess my life more objectively.

Enter Lisa Beamer.

The mention of her name elicits eye rolls from my family and friends because, it's true, I dove into learning her story and testimony in the year following 9-11. A lot of other people I don't know roll their eyes at the mention of her name for a completely different reason, believing hers to be a story of conservative propaganda, of taking advantage of an opportunity to profit from tragedy, of stealing the spotlight.

These accusations prompted Lisa to step out of the public eye once she'd gotten her story out there. For one, she had children to mother and a life with which to move forward. But also, she felt from the very start that she would only ever have but a moment in the scheme of things to speak up, believing God journeyed with her up until September 10th for such a time as September 11th. That time would inevitably pass, and her sensitivity to letting the Lord decide when to pull the plug kept her from being swallowed by the media attention or feeling compelled to give explanation for her life choices for years following her husbands death.

She never defended herself against personal attacks, because she was secure enough in knowing her heart, her intentions and her God.

She was an ordinary 32-year-old woman through which God had something to teach an ordinary 12-year-old girl.

Could he have chosen a different route for delivering the message? Sure. Lisa Beamer is no saint and, quite contrary to the belief of the eye-rolling folks who lived life around that 12 year old, I do not worship her.

There is an amount of patriotism that did get projected onto Todd and Lisa's story, which by consequence of my deep interest in her message, became a part of my persona. But truthfully, I didn't have a total devotion to all things America, or a love inherent for all things American. I had desperately begun an inquiry into what it meant to be American, and what it was about America that made it so.

More importantly, I began wondering what it truly meant to be in relationship with Christ. (And that quest will always be paramount to my interest in and love for America). In the aftermath of a day as humanizing, equalizing in terms of pointing to human fragility, what difference did it make to be Christian? We were all hurting, struggling, coming up with ways to emerge as unscathed as possible, and Christianity felt like just one of many ways that people were coping. What made it the best route? Why did I choose it for myself?

Across the country in a suburban home, a pregnant, grieving widow wrestled the same questions. No, her answers were not perfect, but she had the courage to deliver them as honestly as she knew how when the questions I posed privately to myself were asked of her very publicly by famous interviewers.

Her battle in the days following the attacks boiled down to one question-- do I believe God, or don't I?

As I began watching the specials on 9-11, I felt transported back to the time I stepped back from my own little life to answer that "simple" question, in light of recently learning how disappointing life could truly be. I looked on that time with great sentiment, like "oh yes, those were good months when my faith began becoming my own. It sure was good that Lisa spoke up back then."

I thought to do a simple google search to see if she, in all the 10 year anniversary hype, had any recent news coverage. I really had low hopes, as she's been retired from any public role for 8 years now.

Turns out, though, she felt compelled to speak to the Class of 2011. (read: me)

She felt compelled to speak in terms of the Rich Young Ruler.

10 years later, she still feels compelled to speak to dreamers who feel boxed in by ordinary.

And once again, God used Lisa Beamer to get a message across: He sees me. He knows my questions. He's not a God of good feeling sentiments. On the other end of the spectrum, He's not a God of rules and regulations.

The opportunities I yearn for, in which the contentedness and trust I currently hold will be tested, that I could know God as tried and true (that I could know my faith as better tried and true), will come.

At times I, paradoxically, fear those same opportunities.

And so the yearning (and simultaneous fear) are themselves a test to my contentedness and trust. He's being faithful, you see, while I'm waiting for Him to be faithful.

The thing about birthdays is that I really don't need the party. I mean, I love a good celebration and all, but a party about me gets stressful because I worry that everyone is having a good time. Usually I find that amount of worry worth it because most parties are about celebrating another person's life or a season in life and I enjoy doing what I can to urge people to enjoy those things. But it's awkward to have a party where I feel I should be encouraging people to enjoy me.

It's tricky though, because I like having a party. As in "Cooper, party of 15, your table is ready." I like having people together, sharing with each other. I like people feeling like they're in the company of truly listening ears. I like being that ear for people and I like having those ears.

I like words of affirmation. It's not about compliments. It's nice to hear "good job" once in a while. I used to think admitting that was selfish or needy attention-seeking. But hiding it is worse: it's pride, masked with false humility. So yes, I enjoy birthday gatherings with my family and friends where I am graciously reminded that I'm not failing at life. And then they are kind enough to offer examples of what they see me doing well.

Not because I don't have faults, but because once in a while a person needs to feel known.

Flaws in my life are glaringly obvious to me. As hard as they are to accept about ones self, I continue to ask the Lord to reveal my weaknesses, to provide wisdom enough to see those weaknesses in light of the strength of His redemption, and to bind myself with people who, though also flawed, can help balance it.

It is a lesson in grace to listen as people choose to affirm you when you know full well they've had plenty of experience with your faults.

Birthdays are for cherishing. And while the cherishing is in many ways undeserved, people still insist on taking at least one day to say your life means something.

I've had birthdays feeling so celebrated by people but still wondering if God saw. And if He saw me, what did He see? Could He, too, be so gracious as to affirm when He knows my faults best of all?

On this birthday, I understand just a little better.

It's not that He, in addition to the people on the facebook wall or stopping to chat at church or leaving me phone messages or sitting around the dinner table or cozied up on the couch at 3:30 a.m. could be so gracious.

It's that He especially is so gracious.

It's that He, even in the absence of those people's daily presence or encouragement, is so gracious.

It's that I can either believe He sees or I can believe He doesn't.

Then, once I choose to believe He sees, I can believe He operates with strict condemnation of weakness or with gracious redemption of weakness.

And then, I can choose be a condemner or a redeemer.

He brought me into the world on one Tuesday in September. He awoke in me a desire to see redemption in that world on another September Tuesday.

On my 22nd birthday, I praise the God Who presides over September Tuesdays.