As a member of the Post-9/11 Generation, I ate dinner with Lisa Jefferson, the lady who took Todd Beamer’s phone call on September 11, 2001. I observed her grace, love, and kindness. Lisa radiates Jesus’ love, joy, and peace.

 

As a young person, I admired how her soul shimmers with God’s grace. She knows how to live in the dark dirt of tragedy yet open her petals and blossom with Jesus’ love. She is a flower in God’s garden. Yet she once faced unimaginable horrors.

 

Lisa Jefferson heard Todd Beamer say, “Let’s roll!” She mourned when he died. In her marvelous book, Called, she detailed her avalanche of emotions. Only God gave her grace to move on. One call changed her life.

 

On 9-11, I, too, received a call that riveted my soul and changed my life: My elderly grandma phoned me with the news that tragedy had struck New York City. I immediately reached for my remote. I saw it all.

 

Smoke. Fire. Screaming people. News reporters - wearing suits that looked pulled together - unraveled, and became unstrung. Every single channel – even TCM, HSN, and others - posted bulletins on the shocking terrors.

 

Angry Arabs, who believed in Jihad, rubbed their hands in satisfaction. While America cried for her dead children, believers in Jihad cried for joy. While believers in Jihad regrouped, we recovered.

 

While they acted, we reacted. We feared. We grieved. We believed. We believed that God would bless America as we turned to Him. “God Bless America” blessed us as all kinds of people sang it.

 

I was a young, emotional, and very reactive teen. I felt fear. Fear that I’d never felt before. Fear for my country. Fear for my future. Fear for my life. But God helped me face my fear with faith.

 

As a member of the first high school class to graduate following 9/11, I faced the future with fright, but later I faced the future with faith. Only faith in Jesus filled me with hope. Only faith allowed me to dream despite tragedy.

 

Terrorists blazed onto the scene and screen of every home in America. All generations were affected; my Grandma Hilda and I were connected.

 

But when older generations die, mine will still remember. My generation has a voice; it’s not as loud as the older generations. But it is strong. And it will last.

 

My generation will tell our grandchildren about 9/11, just as my Grandma told me about Pearl Harbor. We are the Post-9/11 Generation. 

 

We will get married and go on honeymoons. But at the airport we’ll have to dump our toiletries or pack them in our checked luggage. We’ll be screened. We’ll be searched. We’ll be detained.