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A decade ago...

Ten years ago my little family was living on Luke Air Force Base on the west side of Phoenix where my husband, an Air Force mechanic at the time, was stationed. Luke was a relatively quiet base, at least from my point of view. I drove in and out of our little base housing neighborhood easily where guards were never posted, gates were always open, and anyone came and went with ease.

I was the mother of one 2 year old daughter then, and on September 10 had attended a doctor's visit where I heard, for the first time, the sweet sound of my newest baby's heartbeat. This was a much anticipated pregnancy that came on the heals of several heartbreaks. I went to bed that night with soaring hopes and peace in my heart.

The next morning my alarm came in the form of a very early morning phone call from my mother, living on the east coast. "Turn on the TV. A plane has just crashed into the World Trade Center." A picture lazily played through my mind of a confused pilot in a small private plane who must have lost control, and in my grogginess didn't understand the panic and what warranted such an early call. I did, however, stumble from bed and into the living room to turn the news on. As I stood in front of the television, phone to ear, mouth gaping and heart pounding, I witnessed a second plane fly into the other tower. It didn't register at first. How could this be happening? Not here. Not the U.S. I continued to listen as the news poured in. I began to wake up a little from the shock and went to my back door where I had a clear view of the closest housing gate. The gates were closed and a large tractor was placing concrete barricades on our side. That small action triggered something, a realization: our world would never be the same.

In the next few days that passed we remained in a sort of lock down. On September 12, the first presidency of our church broadcast a prayer meeting. Our small Air Force "family," which consisted of our closest friends in the area, gathered at one friend's house to watch it and grasp for some sense of peace. I had walked the one block over, and later as I pushed my daughter home in her stroller, was stopped by Security Police and questioned as to where I had been, where I was going, and then told to get back in my house and stay there. Once again, that former security was chipped away at.

As for most of us, time passed, healing occurred and for the most part life returned to normal but always  a "little something" in the back of my mind refused to let me forget entirely.

Today the girls and I got up and went through our normal Sunday routine of getting ready for church. JT was on call, so we went by ourselves. We were singing as we passed the post office and I noticed the flag at half staff. "Oh girls, it's 9/11. Let's not forget about it," I said non-chalantly. Then a thought occurred. The oldest are 12 and 9. They've lived through plenty of 9/11 anniversaries, even celebrated "Patriot Day" in school, but did they really know?

"Do you guys really know what happened that day?"

"Yes...kinda...not really...no."

For the first time I told the story of that day to ears that hadn't heard it. I spoke of the days that led up to it, my early morning phone call, the closed gate. Then, I began to recite the events. The Pentagon, the towers, their collapse, the firemen and policemen, the field in Pennsylvania. I choked on those words as sobs broke through my story, and I realized I hadn't forgotten the intense feelings of that day. I never want to. Complete silence was all that emanated from my six little girls as they listened to every word.

Ten years later, at 8:46 am eastern time, 10 years to the very minute of the first plane hitting the World Trade Center, I was sharing a testimony with my girls. We can't ever let evil win. Your daddy will deploy, it will be hard, and we won't like it, but it's his duty and he'll do it. He'll do it for us as many others have and will.

 A favorite quote from C.S. Lewis comes to mind. "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Tonight, as we watched video footage from that day, it still seems surreal. How could that have happened? And yet, it did. We learn from tragedy. I'm thankful for this day to reflect. I'm thankful for the defining moments that force me to stand a little taller, stretch a little further. Most of all, I'm thankful I haven't forgotten.

This Moment

this moment inspired by Soule Mama - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Happy Weekend to you!

This Moment

{this moment inspired by Soule Mama} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Happy Weekend to you!

The Realities of Playing House

  A few days ago Ava, 5 years old, and Aria, 3 years old, were overheard "playing house." The following is an actual conversation that took place between the two with Ava playing the daughter, also known as "the honey" to my girls, and Aria playing the Mama.

 First, a few notes about Aria language. When she speaks her "th" sounds come out as "sss" sounds. She also has a few replacement words and phrases that she regularly uses in place of common ones. The one most pertinent to this story is "booby things," which actually comes out sounding like "booby seengs." (Excited to see where this story's going, huh?) Booby seengs are more commonly known as bras, in case you had a hard time figuring that one out. So, here goes.

Ava: Mommy, why do you wear what you call booby things?

Aria (in a high pitched, 3-year-old version of what a mommy sounds like): Well, honey, mommy's boobies are just a lot bigger than your little girl boobies. So, we have to wear booby seengs or else our boobies will hang down really long and make our shirts look funny.

I feel we've all been enlightened by Aria's explanation of the true mission of the brassiere. Women everywhere are rejoicing daily that they don't have to walk around with funny looking shirts. Yes, I'm aware that make believe tends to imitate reality, and in my defense I have given birth to and nursed six children! With that said, long live Victoria and her secrets!!

Pioneer Tribute

As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, we have not one but 2 big holidays in the month of July: the 4th, of course, and the 24th. On July 24th we celebrate the arrival of the Mormon Pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley. This holiday has come to mean more than just commemorating the day an earthly place was settled. It embodies a spirit of reverence for those who literally gave all to follow their hearts and what they knew to be true. With the promise of a peaceful life, free of persecution, the pioneers left homes, lost family, and many lost their own lives. They went with hope in their hearts.

We look to our early progenitors and learn from their perseverance. We find hope in the midst of our own trials by hearing how they handled theirs'. I, personally, did not have any ancestors who crossed the plains, but my husband and children do. I'm thankful for their stories of faith, hope, love, and for the impact their lives have had on each generation leading up to that of my children.

With each Pioneer Day comes a Pioneer Day celebration. This year's celebration began with breakfast on the lawn, followed by pioneer games, and intermingled with lots of children running and laughing everywhere.

This Moment

{this moment inspired by Soule Mama} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Happy Weekend to you!