The coverage of the 10th Anniversary of 9/11 is overwhelming. I feel compelled to read it and watch it all, yet, it would be impossible--and inappropriate with an almost 4-year-old in the room--to follow all of it.
In the aftermath of 9/11, the one thing I remember so clearly is that it did not rain. In the few days immediately following the attacks, I remember thinking how fortunate it was that it did not rain, because that would have made the search efforts that much harder. Then on Friday, Sept. 14, the National Day of Prayer and Morning, the heavens opened and poured down.
But after that, it did not rain. It did not snow that winter. I don't think it rained that spring. I remember working at the newspaper and writing drought after drought article. I remember my father and I keeping a running count of how many days without rain. I don't remember when the rain finally came. (When my dad gets back from his trip, I'm going to make him get out his 2001-2002 records to find out the exact day. The National Weather Service's record of significant weather events for New York City doesn't show any for that winter or spring.
To me, the dry weather felt like God's mercy on the workers of Ground Zero. I cannot imagine how hard and gruesome the work was, and it never let up. But at least they weren't also working in the rain.
Tomorrow, Pastor Jeff is going to preach a sermon about Where Was God on 9/11? I wonder if he will mention how God stopped the rain.
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