My thanks to my dear friend Sal for allowing me to copy the following poem and tag.
'MEET ME IN THE STAIRWELL'
You say you will never forget where you were when
you heard the news On September 11, 2001.
Neither will I.
I was on the 110th floor in a smoke filled room
with a man who called his wife to say 'Good-Bye.' I
held his fingers steady as he dialed. I gave him the
peace to say, 'Honey, I am not going to make it, but it
is OK..I am ready to go.'
I was with his wife when he called as she fed
breakfast to their children. I held her up as she
tried to understand his words and as she realized
he wasn't coming home that night.
I was in the stairwell of the 23rd floor when a
woman cried out to Me for help. 'I have been
knocking on the door of your heart for 50 years!' I said.
'Of course I will show you the way home - only
believe in Me now.'
I was at the base of the building with the Priest
ministering to the injured and devastated souls.
I took him home to tend to his Flock in Heaven. He
heard my voice and answered.
I was on all four of those planes, in every seat,
with every prayer. I was with the crew as they
were overtaken. I was in the very hearts of the
believers there, comforting and assuring them that their
faith has saved them.
I was in Texas , Virginia , California , Michigan , Afghanistan .
I was standing next to you when you heard the terrible news.
Did you sense Me?
I want you to know that I saw every face. I knew
every name - though not all knew Me. Some met Me
for the first time on the 86th floor.
Some sought Me with their last breath.
Some couldn't hear Me calling to them through the
smoke and flames; 'Come to Me... this way... take
my hand.' Some chose, for the final time, to ignore Me.
But, I was there.
I did not place you in the Tower that day. You
may not know why, but I do. However, if you were
there in that explosive moment in time, would you have
reached for Me?
Sept. 11, 2001, was not the end of the journey
for you. But someday your journey will end. And I
will be there for you as well. Seek Me now while I may
be found. Then, at any moment, you know you are
'ready to go.'
I will be in the stairwell of your final moments.
Author unknown.
11 comments:
Which is more pertinent than all the bluster that's been filling the airwaves of late.
That was very moving and I do not think I can add anything to that.
I loved this. Most people remember what they were doing when they got the news that terrible day of what had happened. My heart and prayers go out to those who lost their loved ones and those who were lucky enough to survive. Thanks for posting Jeanie! xxoo
Lovely entry my friend. How we share their sadness today. God Bless you.
Sal
Dear Jeanne and Sal ,this was a lovely tribute and one which made my eyes moist ...love Jan xx
Dear Jeanne and Sal ,who ever put these word together spoke from the heart ,and touched mine ..love Jan xx
This post brought tears to my eyes.
Nice entry. Glad to see you blogging.Lovely poem. God BLess you.
Nancy
Yes, we are remembering. I am sure practically the whole world was shocked at that huge terrorist act. I had just seen the twin towers on my first trip to New York and was in awe of their immense height, so I had some idea of the magnitude of both of them going down. I can still see the image of a plane I saw on TV flying into the tower and a woman screaming and crying and pointing on the ground, about to collapse with shock.
A beautiful poem describing an unspeakable act of cruelty imposed upon innocent human beings by their own species.
There is nothing new here. Such acts have littered history and still occur but do not receive the same media attention.
Why? Because they occur far from our doorstep, this in no way decreases the appalling tragedy but it must be seen as only one more instance when human beings show they have yet to learn how to understand each other.
Poets have an indescribable urge to write words that attempt to describe their thoughts. Those words may or may not be understood.
The thoughts are lost; the words remain.
The poet waits for the words he/she wrote to inspire thought in the reader.
The poet doesn’t care whether the thought generated is similar to what inspired the words. He/ she only cares that the reader was moved to think.
Beautiful entry and verse Jeanie. I finally found your blog! I didn't know you lived in the Lake District, I was there in July. Jeannette xx
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