Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Monday, November 15, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Noodle Yak Camp aka NYC
Silver and gold glitter sprinkled down on a felt black canvas. It was fashioned in horizontal and vertical layers beneath the swift wings of the airplane. Our tiny rocket with tiny window gave way to a glittery hope of a fairy tale land of magic and love and kindness.
That's what NYC looks like from the sky.
But 25 minutes later when the plane lands and you smuggle your bags from the clenches of the mechanical rotating beast, and you step outside already covered in a dirty film from recycled airplane air and your forced to mesh that film with the new film of the thick humid air and the stench of rotting garbage in your nose coupled with tired hairy foreign men with their broken English and filthy facial hair clad in smoke and sweat laced garments yelling at you about your oversize suitcase they can't seem to stuff into the back of their cab at 3:30am at New Jerseys Newark Airport, then....then...you know you've made it to the Big Apple.
*** Editors note: These pictures are just a few snapshots from my phone, hence the poor quality and randomness. More to come later when I have less computer hard drive issues***
Ah the sweet aroma of unfriendliness, obscenities and general vulgerness. NYC is everything your childhood dreams of what Sesame Street and the Today Show are not. In a way. In others, its ten thousand times better that any pathetic colorless dream one might imagine about the big city. Its hot, its always going, its loud and its beautiful.
Ours was a love hate relationship, me and NYC. The 20 year old explorer in me and my stake on the city in the prime of my independent woman days gripped onto me like an old friend. Immediately the comfort sounds of honking, endless sirens of cop cars or fire brigades and sanitary workers soothed me to sleep. My children and husband on the other hand, yeah, not so much. Jeff was a little bothered, by the noise and my dear little ones, were in a constant perch of interest about "where the fire was". Thank goodness for big picture window at the W Hotel on the 15th floor. We had a great view of Union Station Park and the stream of taxi lights by nightfall, and the ant farm of people by day. Ethan and Jacob adored sitting in the window sill watching with careful eye at the city move and shake below. Like me. I loved it too. The change from the gentle sway of immature trees of the soft ocean breeze in our backyard, while matched in beauty, has nothing on the excitement of downtown Manhattan.
It was a restless sleep that first night.
But sun came up and the birds chirped and the angry taxi drivers were still honking their nasty horns. We dressed and ventured out into the city jungle.
Our first day we walked, in the hot sweltering heat, sans stroller (yes, it was my brilliant idea to go to NYC without a stroller for the 1st time in 6 1/2 year. I know, genius right?) apparently my kids, or at least Jacob, is not ready to give that last lingering item of babyhood up yet. <---Not to mention that those strollers provide much needed storage space for gallons of sanitizer and cameras and bits of uneaten wrapped up food for those "just in case" moments when your child has a meltdown.
Moving on...
We had pizza at Joe's, walked Soho, walked the Brooklyn Bridge, and of course, Ground Zero. It was 8 years ago that I stood in St. Paul's church and cried my eyes into oblivion. The soft light filtered in this time and what I remembered as dark and dreary was now an open and airy sanctuary full of hope, community and remembrance. It was in ways a mini museum to what I had seen 8 year prior. My heart caught in my throat a few times as I walked around. When we made out way outside, Jeff and I rested on a bench in the yard and cemetery below the shade of the trees and clouds while our kids played "dinosaur" through the gravestones. While that might ring a bit strange or morbid, it really was a serene moment in which I found pure innocence and joy and comfort seeing kids be kids and be careless because their world is so. A carefree if we do things right, and my kids are beyond blessed to live in a country where they have just that, the ability to be carefree and woeless. Ethan sang loudly there in church courtyard about God and no one looked twice. That's an amazing thing which I never want to take it for granted.
Day two we headed out to Central Park and the Natural History Museum. Both were amazing and on a much cooler day in NY, we had a fantastic time walking. Mind you, my husband is a bit of a germ-a-phob so NYC was a little traumatizing in that department. I say this with a word of caution, becuase really NYC without kids would have been easy. Jeff's been before and had a great time, but when you have kids, little kids, kids who touch things and then stick their fingers in there mouth or their nose, or your mouth or your nose, you have more...fears...about just what's on those hands. Especially when they boys decided to writhe their sweet little innocent body's up and down the filth laden poles of the subway. Completely unaware of what kinda of potential venereal diseases might be crawling the steel pole, it was a battle to get them to realize how disgusting they were truly being.
Now, for a kid who use to think he was a T-Rex, you'd think, something like the Natural History Museum would have been a swell place to be. By far one of the best museums' we've ever been to, if your not an obsessive art lover (me= obsessive art lover. my 3 boys= not obsessive art lovers). So we head right to floor 4, dinosaur fossils and when we get there, both kids open their mouth do a priceless "oooohhhhh wooooooow!!" and that pretty much was it. They moved on, with Jacob giggling uncontrollably about wanting a "bumpy ride" from Ethan in the stroller (yeah, we broke down and bough one early that morning at Babies R Us one block down). "Bumpy Ride" was where Ethan pushed Jacob down a bunch of tiny stairs in the display room. Eventually the bumpy ride morphed into Ethan violently shaking the stroller while they both laughed their heads off.
It was the quintessential family vacation at that point. Jeff with the video camera rolling trying to get our attention to stand in front of the behemoth giant fossils manipulated to look like a raptor was tearing the guts our of another dinosaur; me softly but frantically trying to get my kids under control and stop them from shaking the bejebus outta each other. Jacob by the way was letting his head flop back and forth as if his neck was a measly piece of lose sewing thread. Then there were the hundred other camera and croc clad tourists doing the same thing. It was a pretty priceless moment when I stand outside myself and look at it as a whole picture. I'm in uncontrollable laughter mode about it now. Can't. Stop. Snickering. Bawhahahaha!
That evening commenced with another stroll through Central Park, a ferry ride across the Hudson to Hoboken, NJ where we met and had a BBQ with my husbands cousins wife's brother. Yeah.
They were incredibly sweet to have us over and cook steak for us, and the best part was they also have two little boys who are 5 and 3 and all the kids had a blast playing together. We left around 9ish and had a brilliant walk to the Path which took us back to NYC and then a lively walk at 10 pm to our hotel. Thank goodness our kids never really adjusted to the small time change, because they were still wide awake and somewhat chipper at 10, just like the rest of the city.
Day three was relaxing. Jeff had a morning meeting in with some guys from Scandinavia I think. I called them Hans and Franz. The boys and I slept in and I can't remember if it was this morning or another one, but at one point I took them for breakfast at Dunkin Donuts (don't judge). It was fun. Fat fun.
When my dashing lover was done with business we headed over to Central Park again and rowed boats in the Pond for a few hours. The weather was perfect. The topography was classic and the company was divine. My most loved family all smiling in the sun with the beautiful backdrop of murky pond water lined in lilly pads, sweet turtles poking their heads out of the water for a greeting and a lush green leaves drooping with a soft bend of branches out across the waters edge leaving magical canopies for us to row under and tell secrets. We set up the ipod and played Pirates of the Caribbean and Jack Sparrow (Eth) and Will Turner (Jake) lead the charge in giving us directions as to where to row. I got to be the princess quite often that day and the boys would pretend to save me.
When our time was up there, we sprawled out on a white linen picnic blanket and had lunch and played hide and seek, freeze tag, and duck duck goose for while longer before packing up and riding the carousel. We ended the day with a taxi ride back to the W and a relaxing dinner at a grill down the street from us. It ended with a giant ice cream sundae split 4 ways and warm showers to cleanse away the days dirt. We snuggled the boys into bed and the packed up for our next leg of the journey, Norwegian Cruise Lines new ship EPIC which would board in the morning.
More to come, but lastly...this:
We realized once we landed in NJ that Jacob had put on two different shoes before we left. So...yeah, he wore two different shoes the whole time. At lease they were nearly the same colors and one right and one left shoe, right?!
That's what NYC looks like from the sky.
But 25 minutes later when the plane lands and you smuggle your bags from the clenches of the mechanical rotating beast, and you step outside already covered in a dirty film from recycled airplane air and your forced to mesh that film with the new film of the thick humid air and the stench of rotting garbage in your nose coupled with tired hairy foreign men with their broken English and filthy facial hair clad in smoke and sweat laced garments yelling at you about your oversize suitcase they can't seem to stuff into the back of their cab at 3:30am at New Jerseys Newark Airport, then....then...you know you've made it to the Big Apple.
Ah the sweet aroma of unfriendliness, obscenities and general vulgerness. NYC is everything your childhood dreams of what Sesame Street and the Today Show are not. In a way. In others, its ten thousand times better that any pathetic colorless dream one might imagine about the big city. Its hot, its always going, its loud and its beautiful.
Ours was a love hate relationship, me and NYC. The 20 year old explorer in me and my stake on the city in the prime of my independent woman days gripped onto me like an old friend. Immediately the comfort sounds of honking, endless sirens of cop cars or fire brigades and sanitary workers soothed me to sleep. My children and husband on the other hand, yeah, not so much. Jeff was a little bothered, by the noise and my dear little ones, were in a constant perch of interest about "where the fire was". Thank goodness for big picture window at the W Hotel on the 15th floor. We had a great view of Union Station Park and the stream of taxi lights by nightfall, and the ant farm of people by day. Ethan and Jacob adored sitting in the window sill watching with careful eye at the city move and shake below. Like me. I loved it too. The change from the gentle sway of immature trees of the soft ocean breeze in our backyard, while matched in beauty, has nothing on the excitement of downtown Manhattan.
It was a restless sleep that first night.
But sun came up and the birds chirped and the angry taxi drivers were still honking their nasty horns. We dressed and ventured out into the city jungle.
Our first day we walked, in the hot sweltering heat, sans stroller (yes, it was my brilliant idea to go to NYC without a stroller for the 1st time in 6 1/2 year. I know, genius right?) apparently my kids, or at least Jacob, is not ready to give that last lingering item of babyhood up yet. <---Not to mention that those strollers provide much needed storage space for gallons of sanitizer and cameras and bits of uneaten wrapped up food for those "just in case" moments when your child has a meltdown.
Moving on...
We had pizza at Joe's, walked Soho, walked the Brooklyn Bridge, and of course, Ground Zero. It was 8 years ago that I stood in St. Paul's church and cried my eyes into oblivion. The soft light filtered in this time and what I remembered as dark and dreary was now an open and airy sanctuary full of hope, community and remembrance. It was in ways a mini museum to what I had seen 8 year prior. My heart caught in my throat a few times as I walked around. When we made out way outside, Jeff and I rested on a bench in the yard and cemetery below the shade of the trees and clouds while our kids played "dinosaur" through the gravestones. While that might ring a bit strange or morbid, it really was a serene moment in which I found pure innocence and joy and comfort seeing kids be kids and be careless because their world is so. A carefree if we do things right, and my kids are beyond blessed to live in a country where they have just that, the ability to be carefree and woeless. Ethan sang loudly there in church courtyard about God and no one looked twice. That's an amazing thing which I never want to take it for granted.
Day two we headed out to Central Park and the Natural History Museum. Both were amazing and on a much cooler day in NY, we had a fantastic time walking. Mind you, my husband is a bit of a germ-a-phob so NYC was a little traumatizing in that department. I say this with a word of caution, becuase really NYC without kids would have been easy. Jeff's been before and had a great time, but when you have kids, little kids, kids who touch things and then stick their fingers in there mouth or their nose, or your mouth or your nose, you have more...fears...about just what's on those hands. Especially when they boys decided to writhe their sweet little innocent body's up and down the filth laden poles of the subway. Completely unaware of what kinda of potential venereal diseases might be crawling the steel pole, it was a battle to get them to realize how disgusting they were truly being.
Now, for a kid who use to think he was a T-Rex, you'd think, something like the Natural History Museum would have been a swell place to be. By far one of the best museums' we've ever been to, if your not an obsessive art lover (me= obsessive art lover. my 3 boys= not obsessive art lovers). So we head right to floor 4, dinosaur fossils and when we get there, both kids open their mouth do a priceless "oooohhhhh wooooooow!!" and that pretty much was it. They moved on, with Jacob giggling uncontrollably about wanting a "bumpy ride" from Ethan in the stroller (yeah, we broke down and bough one early that morning at Babies R Us one block down). "Bumpy Ride" was where Ethan pushed Jacob down a bunch of tiny stairs in the display room. Eventually the bumpy ride morphed into Ethan violently shaking the stroller while they both laughed their heads off.
It was the quintessential family vacation at that point. Jeff with the video camera rolling trying to get our attention to stand in front of the behemoth giant fossils manipulated to look like a raptor was tearing the guts our of another dinosaur; me softly but frantically trying to get my kids under control and stop them from shaking the bejebus outta each other. Jacob by the way was letting his head flop back and forth as if his neck was a measly piece of lose sewing thread. Then there were the hundred other camera and croc clad tourists doing the same thing. It was a pretty priceless moment when I stand outside myself and look at it as a whole picture. I'm in uncontrollable laughter mode about it now. Can't. Stop. Snickering. Bawhahahaha!
That evening commenced with another stroll through Central Park, a ferry ride across the Hudson to Hoboken, NJ where we met and had a BBQ with my husbands cousins wife's brother. Yeah.
They were incredibly sweet to have us over and cook steak for us, and the best part was they also have two little boys who are 5 and 3 and all the kids had a blast playing together. We left around 9ish and had a brilliant walk to the Path which took us back to NYC and then a lively walk at 10 pm to our hotel. Thank goodness our kids never really adjusted to the small time change, because they were still wide awake and somewhat chipper at 10, just like the rest of the city.
Day three was relaxing. Jeff had a morning meeting in with some guys from Scandinavia I think. I called them Hans and Franz. The boys and I slept in and I can't remember if it was this morning or another one, but at one point I took them for breakfast at Dunkin Donuts (don't judge). It was fun. Fat fun.
When my dashing lover was done with business we headed over to Central Park again and rowed boats in the Pond for a few hours. The weather was perfect. The topography was classic and the company was divine. My most loved family all smiling in the sun with the beautiful backdrop of murky pond water lined in lilly pads, sweet turtles poking their heads out of the water for a greeting and a lush green leaves drooping with a soft bend of branches out across the waters edge leaving magical canopies for us to row under and tell secrets. We set up the ipod and played Pirates of the Caribbean and Jack Sparrow (Eth) and Will Turner (Jake) lead the charge in giving us directions as to where to row. I got to be the princess quite often that day and the boys would pretend to save me.
When our time was up there, we sprawled out on a white linen picnic blanket and had lunch and played hide and seek, freeze tag, and duck duck goose for while longer before packing up and riding the carousel. We ended the day with a taxi ride back to the W and a relaxing dinner at a grill down the street from us. It ended with a giant ice cream sundae split 4 ways and warm showers to cleanse away the days dirt. We snuggled the boys into bed and the packed up for our next leg of the journey, Norwegian Cruise Lines new ship EPIC which would board in the morning.
More to come, but lastly...this:
We realized once we landed in NJ that Jacob had put on two different shoes before we left. So...yeah, he wore two different shoes the whole time. At lease they were nearly the same colors and one right and one left shoe, right?!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Two Blue Beacons
I'm posting a few of my favorite posts from Adventures with the Anderson's here before I remove the account. Here is one of my favorite. It was titled Two Blue Beacons. I wrote it on Sept. 11, 2009.
***
It was the middle of the night, and I'd been sleepless in an under padded sleeping bag on thinly carpeted church floor. And it wasn't even a new church, it was an older, very old in fact Gothic style church in NYC. The cool drafts blew in and out and the belfry each midnight like the earth was letting out the breath she had been holding onto for months. Tomorrow I would face the demons, but for a few more hours I'd pretend to cling to my immaturity and ignorance as I stuffed my pockets with massive amounts to tissue and cried for what I was about to experience first hand.
In the middle of May 2002, I sat in the tower and thought about life and death and meaning and purpose and contemplated a God who let this happen. I watched with blurred vision each night as two huge blue beams shot into the heavens as ghostly reminders of that which once was.
The morning of September 11th 2001, my life didn't change. I was beyond horrified, scared and stunned like the rest of the world, but I didn't lose anyone, I didn't call searching for loved one, I didn't even know anyone in NYC and only one friend was in DC, fairly far from the Pentagon. I basically watched the news round the clock and waited...numb and speechless and waited more...for...something. I guess we were all waiting for...answers, for potential more attacks, for good news, for the unexpected tension that filled each exaggerated lung in America to ease and relax and know that we'd all be okay.
Things never did ease. At least I don't think they did. Its hard to remember. Less than 5 weeks later my Step- father passed away completely unexpectedly. My life narrowed, and my eyes and mind only thought of my family, of brain tumors and of how life might now go on.
After months of recovery and some small healing, I emerged from a delicate cocoon and slowly waded in the shallow ends of life post 9/11. As the opportunity arose I hesitantly stepped to the plate to join a team of 12 other APU students to spend a summer in NYC and DC learning, helping, and healing cities who suffered greatly 9 months earlier. Completely unaware of what I was really getting myself into, I tried so hard to shed the layers of cement I had crafted around myself. I wanted to feel again and I wanted to understand again. I wanted to empathize and I wanted so badly to feel like I could be significant to the disaster.
A full day of paperwork, background checks, and training at the Red Cross NYC, I donned a red lanyard which granted me full access to Ground Zero. Having not even seen the site other than on TV I would be face to face with gaping hole of hell in the morning. But sleep eluded me, as it does most nights before a monumental even in my life. That day would be monumental.
I suppose I wasn't shocked when we were given aprons and hair nets, but I wasn't completely expecting it either. As we entered the massive white tents on the north side of the Ground Zero passing through 2 sets of security and hundreds of volunteers with clipboards, walkie talkies and hard hats, we entered the mess hall. A serving buffet lined the back walls and dozens of round tables with folding chairs filled the remainder of the tent. There were only two ways in and out, one being the way we came in- from a heavily guarded and banned off street, and the other another heavily guarded ally looking street which was barracked and lead to the lifts which lowered you into "the pile".
Our job was to make, serve, and feed the hungry souls of the men and women who were cleaning out the pit. Most were firefighters and police officers. Some were construction workers, a few doctors and government officials. All were from all over the country, all over the world in fact. It was a true human melting pot of bitterness, sorrow, blood, sweat and a tiny glimmer of hope in their eyes.
Some passed in the lines and actaully thanked us for helping, for serving them. A knot forms in my throat just thinking about the humility they bestowed upon us. It should have been the other way around. And at times it was. We thanked and smiled at each passing face. Each one marked with exhaustion, dust encased their wrinkles and beards, and it was not uncommon for them to use their napkins to wipe the tears away as they tried not to look at you directly in the face when asking for more mash potatoes.
3 days. We spent 3 days at Ground Zero. It felt like 3 months. At times when the food lines were slow or empty we were encouraged to go talk to the men and women sitting at the tables. Ask if they needed to talk. Ask if they needed prayer. Ask if we could lead them to the sleeping quarters or get them a cup of coffee. Most of the time, they just wanted to balance on their heels squatting in the ally way, still closed off to the public and smoke a cigarette and stare at the blue sky that wasn't littered with particles of dust and bone.
Twice I had the honor to pray with two different firefighters. It was a odd thing. Me and my massive volunteering co-ed pride got a brutal humbling wake up call when I asked God who was I that in my infancy as a believer in His infinite power to pray for these grown men who were warriors in every sense of the word, fighting a war of darkness and hot mangled metal and fighting for the hope of finding bodies just to ease the minds of the thousands of friends, husbands, wives, sons and daughters? Who was I to even come close to understanding what I could possibly even pray for in a moment like that? Who was I to have any comprehension of why this was and why these people died and why these men had the unimaginable task of cleaning it all up? What words could I offer to comfort them? What lame attempt would I make to understand God and His working? I felt like nothing. Because, I was nothing. In the grand scheme of things, I was so small and so helpless and fruitless to enrich anyone’s life with my prayers, and that was humbling. For the first time ever- I really truly trusted God for provision. I was humbled and broken and astonished in my realization that alone I was incomplete and nothing. With God I was whole and empowered. And as if I thought walking in that white tent I would be giving something- those moments right there- I gave nothing and received everything.
As we said goodbye the after the last dinner we served on the 3rd day, a few of us walked around the entire blockade of what was Ground Zero. We walked to the edge of the platform which hovered into the gaping hole and slowly took in the sensory overload. before even making it to the end where we would stare hate in the face, the plywood boards encasing the plank were etched in memories, prayers of every kind of faith, missing person posters, phone numbers, and remembrance. Random mourners had sharpied the heck out of the wood. With barely enough room to sign a name, we took a few moments to sign and write on the boards. It was unbearable to read most of what was up there. It felt intrusive and too private to be read by someone who didn't lose that day, but the grief overtook me and undid me simultaneously as I looked out over the pit of Ground Zero, what was the World Trade Center Twin Towers, the white and yellow lights which temporarily hung over the hole for the 24 hour clean up crews blurred into brilliant shinning stars whose points stretched to infinity and melted together to form brightness over something so dark. I didn't want to tears to stop for fear of seeing the true ugliness that lay before me.
Not an inch of sidewalk, gutter, building, fence, plywood, car or truck that was bordering Ground Zero remained unmarked. Cards, posters, flowers and flowers and endless amounts of dried, molding, and fresh flowers marked the outline as if to purify it from the outside in. The church on Church Street marked a temporary monument as well as relief center that we collapsed into. Nothing I've ever seen in person, or on TV can ever compare to the overflow of expression I witnessed that night. Nine months after. Nine months. The smoke was still rising, the metal was still piercing the sky. The dust still surrounded the tip of Manhattan like a massive evil storm cloud.
That night we stumbled upon the Cross At Ground Zero. We learned the story and we prayed. We found a sailor who was visiting the cross while attending fleet week who also prayed with us. We took this picture and although we are all wearing smiles, it was a bittersweet moment after days of pure exhilaration, exhaustion and the slow mend of healing our hearts and finding a nation of Americans doing the same.
***
It was the middle of the night, and I'd been sleepless in an under padded sleeping bag on thinly carpeted church floor. And it wasn't even a new church, it was an older, very old in fact Gothic style church in NYC. The cool drafts blew in and out and the belfry each midnight like the earth was letting out the breath she had been holding onto for months. Tomorrow I would face the demons, but for a few more hours I'd pretend to cling to my immaturity and ignorance as I stuffed my pockets with massive amounts to tissue and cried for what I was about to experience first hand.
In the middle of May 2002, I sat in the tower and thought about life and death and meaning and purpose and contemplated a God who let this happen. I watched with blurred vision each night as two huge blue beams shot into the heavens as ghostly reminders of that which once was.
The morning of September 11th 2001, my life didn't change. I was beyond horrified, scared and stunned like the rest of the world, but I didn't lose anyone, I didn't call searching for loved one, I didn't even know anyone in NYC and only one friend was in DC, fairly far from the Pentagon. I basically watched the news round the clock and waited...numb and speechless and waited more...for...something. I guess we were all waiting for...answers, for potential more attacks, for good news, for the unexpected tension that filled each exaggerated lung in America to ease and relax and know that we'd all be okay.
Things never did ease. At least I don't think they did. Its hard to remember. Less than 5 weeks later my Step- father passed away completely unexpectedly. My life narrowed, and my eyes and mind only thought of my family, of brain tumors and of how life might now go on.
After months of recovery and some small healing, I emerged from a delicate cocoon and slowly waded in the shallow ends of life post 9/11. As the opportunity arose I hesitantly stepped to the plate to join a team of 12 other APU students to spend a summer in NYC and DC learning, helping, and healing cities who suffered greatly 9 months earlier. Completely unaware of what I was really getting myself into, I tried so hard to shed the layers of cement I had crafted around myself. I wanted to feel again and I wanted to understand again. I wanted to empathize and I wanted so badly to feel like I could be significant to the disaster.
A full day of paperwork, background checks, and training at the Red Cross NYC, I donned a red lanyard which granted me full access to Ground Zero. Having not even seen the site other than on TV I would be face to face with gaping hole of hell in the morning. But sleep eluded me, as it does most nights before a monumental even in my life. That day would be monumental.
I suppose I wasn't shocked when we were given aprons and hair nets, but I wasn't completely expecting it either. As we entered the massive white tents on the north side of the Ground Zero passing through 2 sets of security and hundreds of volunteers with clipboards, walkie talkies and hard hats, we entered the mess hall. A serving buffet lined the back walls and dozens of round tables with folding chairs filled the remainder of the tent. There were only two ways in and out, one being the way we came in- from a heavily guarded and banned off street, and the other another heavily guarded ally looking street which was barracked and lead to the lifts which lowered you into "the pile".
Our job was to make, serve, and feed the hungry souls of the men and women who were cleaning out the pit. Most were firefighters and police officers. Some were construction workers, a few doctors and government officials. All were from all over the country, all over the world in fact. It was a true human melting pot of bitterness, sorrow, blood, sweat and a tiny glimmer of hope in their eyes.
Some passed in the lines and actaully thanked us for helping, for serving them. A knot forms in my throat just thinking about the humility they bestowed upon us. It should have been the other way around. And at times it was. We thanked and smiled at each passing face. Each one marked with exhaustion, dust encased their wrinkles and beards, and it was not uncommon for them to use their napkins to wipe the tears away as they tried not to look at you directly in the face when asking for more mash potatoes.
3 days. We spent 3 days at Ground Zero. It felt like 3 months. At times when the food lines were slow or empty we were encouraged to go talk to the men and women sitting at the tables. Ask if they needed to talk. Ask if they needed prayer. Ask if we could lead them to the sleeping quarters or get them a cup of coffee. Most of the time, they just wanted to balance on their heels squatting in the ally way, still closed off to the public and smoke a cigarette and stare at the blue sky that wasn't littered with particles of dust and bone.
Twice I had the honor to pray with two different firefighters. It was a odd thing. Me and my massive volunteering co-ed pride got a brutal humbling wake up call when I asked God who was I that in my infancy as a believer in His infinite power to pray for these grown men who were warriors in every sense of the word, fighting a war of darkness and hot mangled metal and fighting for the hope of finding bodies just to ease the minds of the thousands of friends, husbands, wives, sons and daughters? Who was I to even come close to understanding what I could possibly even pray for in a moment like that? Who was I to have any comprehension of why this was and why these people died and why these men had the unimaginable task of cleaning it all up? What words could I offer to comfort them? What lame attempt would I make to understand God and His working? I felt like nothing. Because, I was nothing. In the grand scheme of things, I was so small and so helpless and fruitless to enrich anyone’s life with my prayers, and that was humbling. For the first time ever- I really truly trusted God for provision. I was humbled and broken and astonished in my realization that alone I was incomplete and nothing. With God I was whole and empowered. And as if I thought walking in that white tent I would be giving something- those moments right there- I gave nothing and received everything.
As we said goodbye the after the last dinner we served on the 3rd day, a few of us walked around the entire blockade of what was Ground Zero. We walked to the edge of the platform which hovered into the gaping hole and slowly took in the sensory overload. before even making it to the end where we would stare hate in the face, the plywood boards encasing the plank were etched in memories, prayers of every kind of faith, missing person posters, phone numbers, and remembrance. Random mourners had sharpied the heck out of the wood. With barely enough room to sign a name, we took a few moments to sign and write on the boards. It was unbearable to read most of what was up there. It felt intrusive and too private to be read by someone who didn't lose that day, but the grief overtook me and undid me simultaneously as I looked out over the pit of Ground Zero, what was the World Trade Center Twin Towers, the white and yellow lights which temporarily hung over the hole for the 24 hour clean up crews blurred into brilliant shinning stars whose points stretched to infinity and melted together to form brightness over something so dark. I didn't want to tears to stop for fear of seeing the true ugliness that lay before me.
Not an inch of sidewalk, gutter, building, fence, plywood, car or truck that was bordering Ground Zero remained unmarked. Cards, posters, flowers and flowers and endless amounts of dried, molding, and fresh flowers marked the outline as if to purify it from the outside in. The church on Church Street marked a temporary monument as well as relief center that we collapsed into. Nothing I've ever seen in person, or on TV can ever compare to the overflow of expression I witnessed that night. Nine months after. Nine months. The smoke was still rising, the metal was still piercing the sky. The dust still surrounded the tip of Manhattan like a massive evil storm cloud.
That night we stumbled upon the Cross At Ground Zero. We learned the story and we prayed. We found a sailor who was visiting the cross while attending fleet week who also prayed with us. We took this picture and although we are all wearing smiles, it was a bittersweet moment after days of pure exhilaration, exhaustion and the slow mend of healing our hearts and finding a nation of Americans doing the same.
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