it hurts to ask
In 8th grade Social Studies class, we studied American History. One day our assignment was simple: go home and ask your parents where they were the day JFK was shot.
My freshman year of college, we didn't have a President for a couple of weeks. I found out we didn't have a President sitting in Heather K. and Jes H. bedroom til 4 am, the night before a test in Psychology. We didn't want to got o bed, because we knew this was a huge moment in the history of our country.
My sophomore year of college, the World Trade Towers and Pentagon were attacked. I was sitting in my Old Testament class, next to Tom M. and Elizabeth W. We were studying the Tower of Babel, I kid you not. Tom asked me during break if I heard about the plane that crashed into the towers. I had no idea - it was an early class and I hadn't watched the news prior. The class president then came in the room and told our professor he might want us to join his history class to watch the news. Tower One was down. We knew this was a huge moment in the history of our country.
My junior year of college, I learned we were going to war with Afghanistan while sitting at Chico's with a couple of my best friends from home. We knew this was a huge moment in the history of our country.
I don't think in 8th grade I had any true cognition that all of these mysterious events were going to be floating into my life all by such a young age. All I knew was that I, too, would have significant moments, and that my grandchildren, children, and friends would ask me about in my "ripe" years. They would ask the illusive "where were you," and I would have specific memories. Thoughts, emotions and feelings would flood back, I assumed. What scares me now? How many more will there still be? I've listed but a few significant moments in my life.
Monday marked another one of those moments. I was sitting at work, I had pulled up MSN.com, when I saw the headline: Breaking News: Shooting Spree at Virginia Tech. At least 1 dead.
I knew this was a huge moment in the history of our country.
I remember where I was. I will remember. Fuller will always be connected to my experience.
My heart? Broken.
My theology? Tested.
My memory? Forged.