Bebo‘s road manager pulled the curtain back on my bunk. I shuffled bleary-eyed to the front lounge of the tour bus.
I sat on the floor, staring up at the television mounted on the wall. Smoke billowed from a building and Bebo brought me up to speed. A rocket? A plane? Probably a plane.
Something had smashed into the tower.
Our tour bus was parked outside a theatre in Wichita Falls, Texas.
Katy was fifteen, sitting on the couch in pajamas, her hand across her mouth, peaking over her knees at the screen. She and I, Bebo and his band and crew said very little. We just watched.
I called Becky back home in Nashville. She sat quietly with the receiver to her ear, watching CNN along with me. Then the second tower was struck.
Definitely a plane.
Becky hung up to call her little sister, Kathy, who worked in Manhattan. She called me back a few minutes later. “I couldn’t get through.”
How will we get through?
Should I leave the tour and head to New York to find Kathy? To do something?
Won’t they cancel the tour?
Will there be more attacks?
Are we going to war?
Hours later, Katy strummed her guitar, writing a song in her green room. Bebo and his band sound checked. I hung up the phone – Kathy was OK – and wrote in my journal…
Three years later those lines mingled with the words of Jesus in Matthew 5 and became a memorial to all we lost on 9/11, in the war that followed…to all we’ve lost since the Garden.
“Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.”
Mourning their own brokenness. Weeping over the brokenness of the world. Singing the melody that spilled from Eden and out across humanity.
Comforted by the Man of Sorrows who made a way to end our sad song.
Where were you on 9/11?