I wrote the following letter to my son in the days following 9/11. I haven't read it since, until now. How quickly have so many already forgotten the unity of purpose we knew in those first few months. For your reflection:
My dear son,
As I write these words, you are but a tender age of not-quite two years old. Your world is simple and innocent, consumed with the task of learning to talk, a fascination with anything with wheels, and the emotional extremes of toddlerdom. And a precious world it is.
As you read these words, the world you know is as you remember it. Whether that world is one of war or peace, I do not yet know. But I want to tell you of the world I remember, and how a single moment in history changed me.
You have by now learned from history about the events of September 11, 2001. The facts you know, and I will not belabor them now. But that day is to my generation what December 7, 1941 was to the generation of your great-grandfathers. It was a day when words such as “duty,” “honor,” “patriotism,” “sacrifice,” “heroism” and “principle” awoke from the slumber of dilution, derision and dormancy. Indeed, my generation has allowed such words to fade, exchanging the privilege of freedom for the trappings of entitlement. We have little understanding, much less personal experience or appreciation for the cost of liberty. But we are learning now. Oh, are we learning now.
I grew up in a military family, the son of an Air Force navigator during the tense years leading up to the end of what history calls the Cold War. In the world of my childhood, war was often at the foremost of my thoughts. There was an enemy we could see, an enemy with a name, an enemy that was once called an “evil empire.” In those days, the Stars and Stripes meant something, though I admit I didn’t understand it as I do now. I remember going to movies, which always started with us standing for the National Anthem. I remember stopping my bicycle in the street at 5:00 in the afternoon, with cars and people stopped in the street as our country’s flag was lowered for the day. Within the buffer of military-family life, I didn’t know that such displays of respect and loyalty were the exception rather than the norm.
But times changed. The enemy became a “friend.” Patriotism was exchanged for portfolios and personal profit. Gone was the “just cause.” Even the Persian Gulf War of 1991 did little more than briefly spark the embers of national pride. In less than 10 years, the eyes of what was once a nation of principle (in my view, anyway) turned against principle, playing out a morality war vicious self-righteousness, corruption and scandal. The power of this intellectual onslaught wreaked havoc on the American psyche, even in the face of material prosperity. I certainly fell victim to its influence, for I was ashamed of our government and those in government. I could see no “principle” at work. My cynicism was bitter; my distaste for my country’s self-indulgence and superiority complex left me sick to my stomach. I cannot lie to you: I was not proud to be an American during these years. I even lamented the way in which our military was used overseas, under a banner of a world organization whose motives I questioned. I prayed for their safety, though, and for peace. After a while though, I admit, I became indifferent to the whole thing. I was not disrespectful, but I wasn’t very respectful either.
I was not prepared, as is true for most of us this day, for the emotions awakened in me following the attacks of September 11, 2001. I have spent much of this week vacillating between tears of grief, tears of anger, tears of pride and tears of guilt. On my desk at work sits a small American flag with a yellow ribbon tied about its top, an ensemble I put together while your Grandpa put his own life on the line during the Gulf War. I kept it because I didn’t want to forget, but I never imagined it would once again capture my focus like this. I have been reminded, along with many others, that freedom comes with a price. It is a blessing to be cherished, a treasure to be protected, and a privilege – not entitlement. The love of my country has been born in me, perhaps now for the very first time.
Please understand, my first and primary allegiance is to Jesus the Christ, whose Spirit dwells within me to this day. At a time when many see God as a far-away being, I know He is close at hand. I firmly believe that our first response to this crisis should be that of 2 Chronicles 7:14. I still pray for peace. For many years, I struggled with the apparent incompatibility of Jesus’ teachings and the actions of government and military. But I began to understand when I realized that in the scriptures, God gave His people instructions on how to live in together in a holy, loving and peaceful community, and then later called that same community to war to destroy the evil nations surrounding them. It remains a mystery, but it is not a contradiction.
I long for peace, and I abhor any loss of life. But I serve a God who values justice, a God who has used nations and kingdoms to exact justice. For me, I don’t know whether the governments of this world have the courage to take a stand against what I can only describe as evil. I hope so. I hope the world that you know is one in which peace abounds, where right and wrong are clear, where the blessings God affords us by His hand are bountiful. But even if it is not, I hope that you have learned from me the importance of prayer, the value of principle, the sanctity of life, and the courage to stand for what is right and good in the face of unspeakable evil.
There is grief and sorrow and tears to come, and it will be unbearably painful. But I believe the cause is right. I love my country, for the ideals and principles she represents, though often fails to reach or even remember. But I believe that she will now remember and rededicate herself to the cause of peace, and to the cause of justice. May history record this as a time when America was once again, “One nation, under God.” My trust is in the Lord, and He can be trusted, especially now.
The world is as you remember it. But, my son, be sure that you remember also the world that I know, and have shared with you.
I love you dearly, Christopher.
Dad
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