Note: I wrote this post yesterday, so my math is indeed right. Didn't get to actually publishing it until today. Thanks.

I had planned on writing a post three days ago, but I didn't have time, which brings me to the point of this post: I spent Thursday babysitting a care-free, three-year-old, tow-headed little boy; thorns scratched our fingers and hands as we picked blackberries around his suburban neighborhood while a friendly young cat followed us around like a lonely puppy. We spent the rest of the morning making a mess of a previously sparkling kitchen, rolling out pie crust dough, shaping mini blackberry tarts into mini muffin tins. Later that afternoon, I spent time with a good friend--we went on a long walk, ate juicy, sun-warmed blackberries along the way, chatting about life, boys, and occasionally frustrating mothers. Later that evening, we decided to go to an unfamiliar Bible study for the second week in a row. Being the "new girls" is always slightly awkward, especially in a co-ed Christian environment where most young people are encouraged to marry about as soon as they're handed a high school diploma. Awkward. My friend and I nearly felt like old maids at the ripe, old age of twenty. After the study, we decided not to come again. It's always frustrating and difficult to find a place to belong in a small group after your previous, tight-knit but challenging group has been dissolved for reasons outside our power, reasons only God knows, and I'm sure only He fully understands.

All day Thursday, I could not help remember that morning seven years before. I was thirteen, and I had awakened extra early that morning to go to an aerobics class with my mom at church. I shuffled down the wooden stairs, mumbling a good morning to my mom, who was in the office, presumably working on paperwork and listening to talk radio, like most early mornings. She called me into the office, mentioning in a hurried voice something about a plane crash into one of the Word Trade Center towers. It was that day, at thirteen, that I learned what the World Trade Center was, and where it was located. Horrified, I asked more questions, which she could not answer--she hushed me and turned up the radio as I beat her to the point and ran into the master bedroom to turn on the TV. I watched the live footage of the first burning tower--I was trying to take it all in...I didn't really comprehend...I don't think I could comprehend. It was then that another plane hit the other tower--no coincidence. Suddenly the whispers of "terrorist attack" sounding from the T.V. got louder and seemed more confirmed. I felt sick to my stomach; I curled my knees up to my chest and rolled back and forth in shock. My mom helped me make sense of it all. We still decided to go to aerobics, which turned into an impromptu prayer meeting. Women whose husbands were in the military were already reconciling with the fact, even then, that their husbands would inevitably be getting a call to action relatively soon. It was when we were back in the car that we heard about the crash into the Pentagon, and later that morning while I was emptying the dishwasher, the radio announced the crash in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. All the flights were grounded for the day, and the sky over our house was eerily quiet the entire day.

And seven years later, I was reminded throughout the day of WHY I was free to pick blackberries and hang out with a friend and go to a Bible study--I was safe from harm, and there were people half a world away fighting to protect yours and mine, and fighting for our freedom which was under fire.

...And I was grateful.

-Cydney

Cross-posted on The Celebrity.