Retreat. Refresh. Regroup.

What a difference a week makes.

The cornfield crackled as I walked by yesterday, the dead stalks bending in an October breeze. A scene of harvest and of endings. It made me think of the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania, a place of water and color, a place to find refreshment as our nation endures a brittle election season.

The scene below Cucumber Falls, Ohiopyle State Park

A week ago Mr. Pettit and I traveled there for our last camping trip of the year. It's time to put our trailer---affectionately called "Kermit" due to its frog decal---away for the winter.


We spent the first day of our trip exploring Ohiopyle State Park. We clambered over boulders and climbed up and down hillsides to watch the Youghiogheny River at work. 

We heard the water long before we saw it. And when our eyes could take in what our ears had perceived---the sunlight illuminating the mist as the torrent continued its relentless path through the mountains, trees thinned of leaves bearing witness---all of the stress of the 24-hour news cycle faded.

We let the autumnal sunshine bake into our bones as we listened to the music of the river, written by the Composer of all good things before time began.

The names of all those killed on September 11, 2001

The next day we turned our attention from natural wonders to man made tragedy. First we visited the Flight 93 National Memorial outside Shanksville. You know the story: The passengers and crew of United Airlines Flight 93 fought back against the terrorists who sought to use their plane as a missile against a target in Washington D.C. (most likely the U.S. Capitol). They died when the hijackers decided to crash the plane. 

We watched a loop of the television news coverage of the day: From the first reports of a plane hitting one of the World Trade Center towers, to the collapse of one tower, then another, to the terrible burning gash in the side of the Pentagon, to the blackened field in Pennsylvania. 

We saw artifacts from Flight 93's wreckage and portraits of the passengers and crew. Not only portraits, but spontaneous family photos, moments of joy frozen in time. 

A marble wall adjacent to the crash site honors the dead

There were boxes of tissues scattered throughout the exhibit---I've never seen tissues at any of the National Park Service sites we've visited before---but I didn't need any until I listened to the messages left on answering machines by two of the women aboard Flight 93. These weren't reenactments; they were the actual voices of people who knew they probably wouldn't see their loved ones again, not in this life anyway. Different women, different families, the same sentiment, over and over: "I love you."

The crash site itself is more than the scene of a battle between good and evil: It is the final resting place of all those aboard.  I was reminded of our visit to the USS Arizona in Pearl Harbor, where 1,177 sailors and Marines are entombed. A sense of reverence, even awe, settled on most of the visitors. We walked quietly along the wall separating us from the site and some left remembrances behind: A flag, some flowers, a note in a child's handwriting saying "I am ralesle sorey."

The viewing areas with railings are all that remain of the 72-foot-high dam

Around 45 minutes from the Flight 93 memorial is another National Park Service site: the Johnstown Flood National Memorial. On the afternoon of May 31, 1889, the South Fork Dam gave way, sending the 20 million tons of water contained in Lake Conemaugh rushing down the valley toward Johnstown, Pennsylvania. According to the Park Service brochure, the lake broke through the dam "at the velocity and depth of the Niagara River as it goes over the falls." More than 2,200 people were killed. Among the dead were 99 families.

The Park Service brochure says the owner of the dam, the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, did not maintain it properly but over time the people of Johnstown and surrounding communities stopped worrying about it. One survivor, Victor Heiser, is quoted as saying, "The townspeople, like those who live in the shadow of Vesuvius, grew calloused to the possibility of danger." 

We packed a lot into a short stay: A day of restoration followed by a day of contemplation. And I returned home with a re-calibrated perspective. I still care about the outcome of this election, but I was reminded of the bigger picture. 

God made a beautiful world and He invites us to enjoy it. Pray for the strength to do what's right, even (and especially) in extreme circumstances. Never pass up the chance to tell your loved ones how you feel. And strive to appreciate each moment, because you never know when a flood, whether literal or metaphorical, will come roaring down the valley.

Remember

I watch the television coverage every year. And every time I cry.

Bells ring. Moments of silence are observed. And the names are read.

Name. After name. After name. Almost three thousand in all.

They ranged in age from two to 85. Some died quickly: Murdered with box cutters wielded by hijackers, incinerated as planes were used as piloted missiles or killed in a crash when they rushed the terrorists. Some were lost as they scrambled for safety. And some died as they ran headlong into the conflagration in order to save their fellow man.

It occurred to me this morning that the day will come when the names will not be read. When the footage of the planes crashing into the World Trade Center towers, the blazing gash in the Pentagon and the smoking debris in Pennsylvania will not be aired. It is likely that the time will come when the only recognition given to the events of September 11, 2001, will be a notation in a block on a calendar and a "This Day in History" item at the end of a newscast.

But even as I bemoaned the fact that we have a tendency to turn "Never Forget" into "Never Remember" I realized something else: The impact of those lost is not dependent on our collective memory.

Each person who died that day---and those who have died in the years since due to their service at Ground Zero and on the battlefield---left a legacy that will endure even if their names fade from history. A child, followed by a grandchild, then a great-grandchild, and on and on. Acts of valor which inspire acts of service, followed by even more acts of valor: A chain of selflessness. Even a gentle word shared at the perfect moment lingers in the soul, causing the recipient to pay that sweetness forward, magnifying the original kindness a hundred- or a thousand-fold.

On November 19, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln visited the site of the Battle of Gettysburg to dedicate part of the battlefield as a cemetery for those killed there. His words---now known as the Gettysburg Address---have thrummed in my mind today as we observe the 15th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.

"But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate---we cannot consecrate---we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men living and dead who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried on."

"It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work..." What a weighty and stirring mission, as relevant today as it was almost 153 years ago. I think of the passengers of Flight 93 who denied the terrorists a fourth victory and of the military members who have made the ultimate sacrifice on the field of battle. We must be resolute in completing their unfinished work.

But I think we can also honor the unfinished work of those who died simply because they went to work or chose to travel. In the last 15 years I have seen both of our sons graduate from high school and college and get married. I have looked through a glass and seen my newborn granddaughter. Yes, I have grown older---the laugh lines are a bit more pronounced and I can no longer eat fast food with impunity---but what a small price to pay for the joy of the 5,479 days those lost on September 11 have missed.

None of the survivors who take part in the mournful roll call each year ever talk about the stuff their loved one left behind---not the new car or the nice house or the lovely jewelry. They do talk about how that person made them feel and the hole in their lives that will never close completely.

It is for us, the living, to honor the lost by being fully present with our friends and family. It is for us, the living, to weave a legacy of love that can stand the test of time. It is for us, the living, to light a candle in the darkness.

As Todd Beamer, a passenger on Flight 93, said to his fellow passengers: "Let's roll."