Images

This morning I sat in church captivated by images and sounds that, ten years later, still take my breath away.  In the darkened room I was mesmerized as I watched the scenes from NYC and was instantly transported back ten years.  Not a movement was made nor an utterance heard from the near one thousand companions who stared at the screen with me. 

We all remember that day. . . September 11, 2001.

Silent tears fell from my eyes as my heart broke all over again for those that were lost, for those that lost. . . for innocence lost.  Like most people, I remember everything about that day.  The images are burned into my brain.  In a moment the heartbreak is revisited as I stare, unbelieving, even though ten years later, I know it was real.

As I watched the pictures on the screen this morning and throughout the day on the television, I’ve found myself wondering. . . what if we didn’t have these images?  What if every other person didn’t have a camera fixed in this position or that one?  What if the story was only heard and not seen?  What if these images were not captured? 

Would my breath still be taken away by the memories of this day?  Would my heart stop like it does every time I see the scenes that were captured in the beautiful blue sky of that Tuesday morning?  Would that day be something that happened to “them” and not to “us”?

Honestly, I don’t know.  It has never been any other way.  From 8:46 a.m. on that Tuesday morning we all watched the unfolding of that horrific day.  We felt the impact whether we lost a loved one or we didn’t.

The images. . . the images made it real to all of us and as terrible as they are, I am thankful that we have them.  Thankful that the “Never Forget” is due, in part, to the captured moments of that day. 

For the first time today, I watched these scenes as if I were one behind the camera.  I wondered what these photographers and videographers were thinking.  On that sunny Tuesday morning they had no idea what their lens would capture. They had no idea that the the images they would capture would forever leave a mark on history. 

This blows my mind away.

I am not trying to make a far reaching connection, but today I was reminded,  that not one click of my camera is wasted.  In all reality, my images will not leave a mark on history, but they will document our history.  Someday, we will sort through these images and perhaps we will be reminded of the beauty, pain, silliness of a moment.  Perhaps, someday, someone will say. . . I’m so glad you had your camera.

If I didn’t have my camera would we remember Charlie’s very first soccer game that happened this weekend?  Would we remember the way he smiled all the way through the game?

Would we remember the way he ran, ran, ran after the ball, but never really felt confident enough to kick it?

Would we remember the way Chanelle longingly stared at the playground, rather than watching her brother on the soccer field?

Would we remember that Uncle Matt came to the game to cheer on his nephew?

Maybe we would remember, but there is something about the images that evokes feeling.  Something that makes my heart jump and almost feel like I can crawl back into the moment.  There is something about the images that make the ordinary seem so much more than ordinary.

As the kids and I were driving home from Charlie’s soccer game, I was stopped at a stop light and heard music outside my window.  When I glanced over, I saw a small band playing for a gathering of people standing on the street.  As I rolled down the window my eye caught a lone couple in their own world lost in the embrace of each other. . . dancing to the music.

I don’t know who this couple was, but the moment I saw them I felt joy.  I watched as they bounced up and down to the beat and relished this simple moment on the corner of a street in Amish country.  This image, undoubtedly, will always make me smile. 

I am not trying to compare our simple little moments with the remarkable moments in history. 

What I am saying is that every moment, if given the chance, can be remarkable.