September 11, 2023

It was a day I said I’d never forget. I was called to the phone in my dorm hallway and heard the news my dog had been killed by a car. I no longer remember the date.

It was a bright clear spring day when I won the award. I wanted to scream with joy. “Clearly, I’ll never forget today,” I whispered to a friend. I no longer even think of the day.

Remembering is important, but no matter how good we think we are at it, no matter how tragic or joyous the moment, time fades our memories. It takes effort to remember. It takes practice to make it a habit. But it’s worth it.

Today is a day when I never want to forget what happened years ago. The world stopped, the world changed forever, and yet with every passing year my memories fade, and I almost forget.  

Almost.

In seminary we were taught the importance of remembering in the Jewish faith. To remember was to re-member, as in bring back, to put back together. To remember someone who died is to bring them into the present. To recall a significant event is to bring it (and its significance) forward.

Today, I re-member the tragedy of 9/11. I remember the sadness. I remember the awe in which I stood when hearing about the courage and bravery that fateful day. I never want to forget. I always want to re-member the events and people of that September 11th years ago.

Following the Turtles

I recently rented a condo by the beach where there was a notice stating all porch lights must be turned off before bed. “It’s because of the turtles,” a resident informed me. It seems the dunes are full of turtle eggs, and when the baby turtles break through their shells, they head toward the sea. Lights from the homes on the beach confuse them and lead them astray.

Although I’ve never witnessed this inspirational migration back to the sea, back to their true home, I couldn’t help but think about the turtles and how much they have to teach me. Thinking of them breaking through the shells, I could almost hear the cracking that comes when we break through the confines of our old lives and enter the open space of new life. Imagining their first steps out of the shells and into the sand, I remembered the initial steps I’ve taken when venturing from the known world to the new, and as I pictured them making their way toward the sea, I marveled at their ability to know in what direction they should head, the direction of their true home. I also knew, too well, the danger of misleading lights that can lead one astray.

Long after returning from the beach, I’ve thought about the turtles. Like them, I want the courage to break through the shells that confine me and enter the unknown of new life. I want to take comfort in their relentless perseverance when the sand around me makes my steps difficult. And, most of all, I want to head toward the sea. Too often, I’ve headed toward the seductive lights on shore. More times than I can count, I’ve become lost. But in my heart, somewhere deeper than my clever, fickle mind, I know where my true home lies. Because of the turtles, I’m inspired to try again.

New Starts

Once a teacher, always a teacher. No matter how long it’s been, my heart races, my optimism soars, whenever September draws near. There’s something about a new school year that makes me profoundly grateful, even if I’m no longer headed to a classroom. Beyond the parents lumbering down the aisle with arms full of school supplies and children begging for the newest sneakers, is a joy that beckons me, once again.

It’s the promise of a new start, and it’s there for us all.

I can still remember going into my classroom early, cleaning the board, organizing my desk drawers, and throwing away the debris from the year before. I’d try to learn the names of the new students as I wrote their names in the gradebook then plan the year ahead as if I’d never taught before. More than all this planning, though, was the gift of being able to start over. I’m not sure if there’s a greater gift.

Like all gifts, though, it needs to be received and opened. There are those who refuse the gift because they are convinced new starts are only for the young. There are also those who allow others to determine whether they deserve a new start or not. It makes me sad to think about it. Life loses its pixie dust when I think of life as one long continuous line instead of the collection of new chapters in a one-of-a-kind novel.

Whether as a mother or father, daughter or son, business executive or stay-at-home parent, this could be the start of a new year. Whether as a company, church, school, or team, this is a chance to try again. Like the countless teachers across the country who are wiping away the markings from lessons past on their white boards, it’s time for us to do the same. What’s past is past. It’s time to start over. Thanks be to God, who extends this gift of a new start today, and always.