At church yesterday, the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks was commemorated with uniforms and steel.

Local First Responders were invited to be honored and prayed for.


The men in light blue are firemen/paramedics who work at the fire station a block away from my parents' assisted living facility.  The man on the right has been to Mom and Dad's room twice when 911 was called to take Dad to the hospital.

Active military were encouraged to come in uniform.  This Air Force officer was working the door, handing out programs. 

Off duty, but still serving. 

Bagpipers had been invited to play hymns as parishioners entered the church. 

They were majestic and riveting.

The Knights of Columbus had arranged this commemorative Mass.  They, too, came in full regalia.

Everywhere I turned, there were strong men (and a few women) who were protectors and helpers and healers.

I was so proud of them and so grateful for their commitment to service.   So grateful for all First Responders everywhere, especially the brave souls who tried so hard to save the injured and dying on September 11, 2001.

During the procession, a 10-inch cross fashioned from World Trade Center steel was carried to the altar.  It was displayed in the church hall after Mass.  

It was heavy and solid.  Cold rubble transformed into a symbol of forgiveness and reconciliation and new life.   

The 9/11 attacks weren't the first to be visited upon America.  And, sadly, they won't be the last.   In the meantime, let's do what we can to get along in our own little circle of influence.

Like share the remote control, and let the other driver have the closest parking space.

And let's be grateful for the days of peace we do enjoy. 

I made cupcakes for our local fire station yesterday. 

I'm going to do that more often.

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