The number 11 has always seemed to creep into my life in various ways. I was born on the 11th day in the year 1988. 88 is a multiple of 11. It only seems fitting that September 11, 2001 would be a day that would hold great significance in my life, and here we are–11 years later.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. One could argue that God could not have created a more beautiful day. There was not a cloud in the sky and the air was crisp in Charlotte, NC. I was in my 7th grade history class, taking a test, when I heard the news.
I will never forget that day. Like most of us, it was a day filled of sadness and mourning. We were mourning for loved ones, for friends, for friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends, but we were also mourning the world as we had known it. It was that year that I decided that I wanted to teach history.
Here I am, 11 years later. I will wake up on September 11, 11 years later, 11 years older, and I will walk into North Cobb Christian school as a history teacher. It is a humbling and motivating sensation. The gravity of that day weighs so heavily on me. The thought of conveying the lessons of that day to these students seems daunting. But then, grace. I remember that I was their age the day the towers fell–11 years ago.