I was in the hospital with my newborn son David. It was the day we were to go home, and I was watching the local news segment on a popular restaurant in the central part of town, waiting for Scott to come pick me up.
I'll never forget the look on the face of the reporter when she heard someone say it in her ear. She said "We have to go to a break, there is breaking news, an explosion at the World Trade Center in NYC." I sat and watched as the second plane hit. I cried. I called my husband at home, he didn't know what was going on. His brother lived and worked in Manhattan, but I didn't know how close he was. Fortunately for him it was about 3 miles from his workplace.
When we finally did get home, it was not the joyful, restful day I had looked forward to, but one of sitting in front of the TV, crying, praying, and wondering what kind of world we lived in.
Scott went up to our church that evening to pray with the people that came there to pray. For a long time, David's birth was a reminder of that horrible day. But now I choose to remember the joy of September 9th, when everything worked out perfectly, and a beautiful baby boy was born.

Bookmark: