And Mercy Above All

Seven years.

Seven years ago, my daughter had not yet opened her eyes upon the world.

Seven years ago, my son was still living with his birth family, hardly more than a baby himself.

Seven years ago, Craig and I had been married a little over two years, and had managed to iron out most of the wrinkles of newlywedded angst.


And then the planes erupted in a flash of smoke and fire.

And then the Towers disintegrated in piles of ash and regret.

And then, as the demons cheered, the rest of America wondered just where God was.

And the angels wept as they led those souls through the smoke and clouds to ... forever.

Wept for the children who would wait forever for Daddy to tuck them in.

Wept for the husbands who would wait forever for wives to tell them where the mittens and hats were stored, and what time was their daughter's dance class, and how to put the soap in the washing machine, and...

Wept for the wives who would have to figure out how to run the mower and find the life insurance and online bank accounts ... and how to sleep in the middle of the bed.

Wept for the parents who wished the last words they said to their grown children weren't, "If you do that, I'll never speak to you again."

Human beings, we're such a fragile lot. We spend so much time obsessing about things that a year from now or even a day from now will matter not a whit.

And the angels weep. And they lead us toward forever ... where there is mercy above all.