I am thankful to find revelations in my day-to-day experiences. This past weekend, I traveled to Norman, Oklahoma, to participate in an academic conference. It is a time where scholars fly hundreds or even thousands of miles to shake hands and make presentations that last no more than 15 minutes. After a 13-hour flying day on Sunday, I did not think it was worth it. Thankfully, God used an experience attached to the opening reception as my true reward.
On Friday evening, our group traveled to Oklahoma City where domestic terrorism took place nearly 14 years ago. As a junior in college, I watched television as events unfolded at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. On Friday night, I stood on the grounds where 168 lives were taken and over 800 people injured. The lighted memorial is an amazing site to behold; however, it was in the museum where I heard God. Museum visitors take a chronological tour through the events of the day. Video of the news reports replay, survivors tell their stories, and then there are the images that remind you that the events of April 19, 1995, involved more than a building. Children were orphaned, spouses widowed and dreams remain unfulfilled. A rumpled calendar from someone’s desk and a personal Bible found in the rubble are examples of the artifacts on display. While I had noticed other group members sniffling and shedding tears, I was good. That is, until I viewed the memorial space for a couple who died that day. Along with their photos, family members chose two small Bibles with a bronze plate that read:
“For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39)
I read the passage and I was out for the count. The server at the hotel restaurant as well as someone at the museum hinted that it was an emotional place. That night, that space also preached a few sermons with topics ranging from loving your neighbor to realizing that life is but a vapor. What words were left unsaid and how many “I Love Yous” went unspoken that morning? How many phone calls were never returned?
That night, I was challenged to consider how others would remember the life I lived. Would people remember me as a Christian? What artifact would my family donate to represent my dash?
I am not sure how the Lord has spoken to you after reading this post, but I pray you will take a moment to consider the things you must do that cannot wait another day.
Today, I pray for the survivors, loved ones, rescuers, and people of that city whose lives were forever changed.
Arlecia
P.S. At the outdoor memorial I looked for the space of brothers Aaron Coverdale, 5, and Elijah Coverdale, 2. I've always remembered their grandma, who looked like someone who could have attended my church or lived on my street. She dropped them off that morning, and after the bombing their father walked the streets with their photos. Aaron and Elijah were among the 168 victims.
For info on The Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum, visit http://www.oklahomacitynationalmemorial.org/index.php
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