Reflection...

In the past week, we have all had the opportunity to reflect upon the terrible events of September 11, 2001, as well as the effect that day has had on us all in the decade that has since passed.  It is easy to become lost in the day to day shuffle, and I was happy to see so many taking the time to remember and reflect.

As I was reviewing some media coverage, I came across the article below, which was published in Men's Health Magazine in December, 2001.  The article speaks volumes to me.

It was only recently that I realized my role as a man.  In 2009, and the first part of 2010, I was going through some difficult times.  I took the opportunity to really figure out who I was.  With the help of God and the utilization of the message in John Eldredge's Wild at Heart, I was better able to understand what God meant for me when he made me.

This article was timely in the months following 9/11, and is still relevant today.  In many ways, I feel this article is an Eldredge-esque wake up call for men:

A Man’s Reach By Hugh O’Neill Originally published December 2001 Men's Health Our country has been wounded. We’re grieving the loss from the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and the death of the passengers who took on a group of terrorists in midair and perished in the woods outside Shanksville, Pennsylvania, saving other folks the bad guys sought to slaughter. In the days right after the assault, like most Americans, we tried to salvage some lesson that might be salve for the ache. But apparently, if you spend too much time thinking about the NFC East, your brain may be overmatched in the brutal terrain of thousands immolated for no reason. We couldn’t form a coherent thought, never mind rescue a sustaining fragment from the ruins. But then, as the full extent of the tragedy became clear, a TV-screen tableau formed an image that will be worth clinging to, whatever happens in the future. Whether the dogs of war are loosed, or wisdom and love can find a way around necessity, the memory of police officers, firefighters, ironworkers, and emergency medical technicians moving methodically over the great heaps of rubble will remain an inspiration for dealing with a crisis and plain old daily life. With a stubborn mix of strength and care, those guys just worked. One chunk, one bucket at a time, they set about moving the mountain of I-beams and concrete and glass that had entombed their countrymen. We were struck by their plain doggedness, the relentless simplicity of lift and carry and continue. Facing an undoable task, they did what men do best—they began. Their ambition extended only to the ends of their arms. Nothing fancy. Just men and their muscles and their wills at work. They looked about them, bent over, and bore away the nearest burden. Here’s the lesson we’re determined to learn. Men are most useful when, like those rescuers, we focus on the small circle around us. We dream of big opportunities—to dazzle hordes of women, to reinvent capitalism, to matter. But so many of us get lost in big plans, or trapped by vague angers and old regrets, that we forget what those rescuers knew—that a man’s job is right here, right now. The opportunities aren’t out there. They’re asleep upstairs, wearing Spider-Man pajamas. They’re at the supermarket buying stuff for dinner, and now, after the attack, a little more fearful for the people they love. Yesterday’s game is in the books. The assignment, lieutenant, is to focus on the task at hand, to seize opportunities that are right in front of you—within your arm’s reach. The word “ambition” has come to mean the drive to move up in the AP rankings, to achieve wealth or standing. But in truth, a man’s “ambit” is nothing more or less than the circle in which he moves, the compass of his connections. We hereby decree that “ambition” is the more modest, but more demanding, urge to enrich the circle in which you move, whether you’re a Wall Street player or a firefighter from Bay Ridge who may die on the way up the stairs of an inferno. The attack on America has, for now, done what all those sixth-grade teachers couldn’t do—wiped that smirk off our faces. It’s a good bet we’ll be wise guys again. But we’re also hoping that the theologian Thomas Moore is right, that melancholy carves out a space in the soul where wisdom can grow. And we’re determined to shrink our circle, commend our attention to that which we can control. We’re going to deploy our love and energy in classrooms, on ball fields, in churches, in bars, in our offices, in the backyard, throughout the ambits of our lives. Don’t mistake us. We remain four-squared behind great achievements in the common world, including the rebuilding of whatever time reveals to be right on the World Trade Center site. But a few months out from this tragedy, we find ourselves in search of a manhood a little more attentive, one that dreams of stewardship, not empire. In all the great men we’ve known—fathers, teachers, brothers, pals—their strength came from a sense of duty. Left foot. Right foot. We’re at war, all right. And terrorism is just one of our enemies. The other is carelessness. To honor the memory of the folks who died, and the service of those who dug, we’re going to try our best to make ourselves useful.

Stewardship.  Serving others with a sense of duty.  Leading and growing my family's Faith.  Loving those around me (or those in "the ambits of our lives").  I will not lose heart, nor sacrifice my strength.



God Bless...