9/11

Byron and I were living in Fortaleza in September of 2001. Greyson was one. Dalton had just turned four, and William was almost six. At the time we lived in the only house we ever bought in our own name.  It was a cute house on the end of one block long, one-way street. The street had originally been a "gated community," but the gate had long been removed.

We visited the house in 2016

We had looked long and hard for that house. One day we drove down the little street house hunting. I thought it was the perfect distance from the church. The house on the end looked to be just right for our family. Alas, there was no for sale sign. I begged Byron to just get out and ask if the people didn't want to sell it. He did. They did. We bought it.

Most of the people on the little street had lived there for some time. We were kindly welcomed and made friends with several families. I think they liked the fame we brought them as foreigners living on their little block. We were invited to parties and well treated. Teenaged girls that lived just across from us would frequently come over to take Baby Greyson off my hands so to speak.  

On the ninth day of September in 2001, I was going about my normal missionary mom business. A little cleaning, kid wrangling, a little kindergarten homeschooling, baby diaper changing, and trying to figure out what was for lunch when my phone rang. It was a church member calling from a phone booth. He asked if Pastor Byron was home. I said, No. He asked me to please sit down if I wasn't already. I wondered if something had happened to Byron at first.  

He told me that something bad was happening in the United States. It sounded like war and I should turn on the television and see what was going on.

I had a bad feeling, but for some reason, I called the boys to all come and sit on the couch. I told William that something was going on where Grandma, Granny, and Grandaddy live. I said it was bad but I thought we should all watch the news together. I had this idea that when William was older he would want to recall this moment.

I turned on our television and we watched for hours. No more thoughts of sweeping or lunch.  

Neighbors came clapping at our gate to ask if we were okay if our family was safe. Church members came by. Byron came home. It seemed the world was coming to an end. Funny thing, it wasn't. Just like now, it's not. God isn't done with this story quite yet. The end will come just like the Bible says it will, but it will be in God's dear time.  

In the meantime, "Let's Roll!" as Mr. Todd Beamer of Flight 93 shouted before he and other passengers rushed the cockpit of one of the hijacked planes on that fateful day. "Let's Roll!" in sharing God's Word to a lost world before the end really does come. "Let's Roll!"

9/11/2021

“But, when the veteran missionaries of our church shall fall at their posts after lives of unselfish devotion, where, we sadly ask, are their successors? Who shall take up the banner they have borne so bravely through weary years of gloom and discouragement? I think your idea is correct, that a young man should ask himself not if it is his duty to go to the heathen, but if he may dare stay at home. The command is so plain: ‘Go.'”

Letter from Lottie Moon to Dr. H.A. Tupper, Corresponding Secretary of the Southern Baptist Foreign Mission Board, November 1, 1873