We are dedicating this page to the friends and families of those killed or injured during the cowardly attack on an innocent American civilian population on 9/11/01; also to the rescue workers and volunteers who have given so much of themselves to help during this tragedy - some have given all.

The future is full of doubt, 
indeed, but fuller still of hope. 
~ John Lubbock ~

NUMB 

By Bob Perks 
Bob@BobPerks.com 


I have been in situations in my life when I felt overwhelmed, at a loss for words. But there have been rare instances when I have felt this way.

I am in Oklahoma City. Far from home and wanting desperately to hold my wife closely and kiss my children as if never wanting to ever let  go of them again for fear of losing them.

I am numb to all my senses except for complete sadness and an overwhelming feeling of shock.

Upon my arrival here to speak to the Oklahoma Press Association in Lake Texoma, I drove immediately to the site of the bombing. I was drawn like a magnet. I felt this pulling, this calling to be there. I nervously drove through the city lost and seeking directions. I stopped and hesitated to ask a stranger which way to the National Monument. Perhaps these local people are tired of what has happened to them. Maybe they are sick of people coming here to see the site of disaster rather than coming to share in this wonderful city's unique and beautiful sites.

They didn't ask for this. But they got it. My feelings were unwarranted. They have opened their hearts and arms wide to the world to come and see what hate and sickness created and then how faith, hope and commitment has overcome tragedy.

I parked my car and slowly walked up the street toward the site. My heart began to pound with anticipation. What incredible timing to have been booked here just days before the execution.

As I approach the towering wall before me I read the following...

"We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence...May this Memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity."

Off to my right and left were the all too familiar fences with pictures, poems, stuffed animals, flowers, and pieces of lives left there as homage to the tragedy.

I walked up the ramp before me and as I reached the top, I began to lose my breath. I hesitated, not knowing what I was about to see. It scared me. Then off to my right I saw the chairs. I had only seen  them on television as unreal images. In front of me was a reflection pool, a very thin layer of almost glass-like water gently pouring over granite from one tall monument to another. One wall had 9:01 engraved at the top, the other 9:03. You know why.

So did I.

I didn't understand this place. I was lost, confused and wanting desperately to scream out, "Oh, God help us!"

I walked past the chair monuments scattered across the lawn before me.  The sign said the walkway that I was standing on was created from the stone that once made up the building. "You are now standing inside the spot where the building once stood."

I shook. 

I made my way over to a Park patrol person who was handing out brochures that explained everything. I never looked at it. I stopped her by grabbing her arm and started to say, "Could you tell me where the front of the building was?"

I never finished. I started bawling, trying desperately to catch mybreath. I began apologizing to her, and she said, "It's not necessary. This happens often. You are moved by being here."

She pointed out that the reflecting pool was where the street ran. She said, "The truck was parked right there," pointing to a spot near the side and center of the water."

I was standing just a few feet from where it was parked. Oh, my God help me. The thought of being right here where the truck was parked and where he walked turned my stomach, made me shake till I was numb.

I couldn't feel or think. I almost didn't know where I was. This was all unreal, as if I was visiting a movie set and this was all pretend.

But it wasn't.

There to my right stood the "Survivor Tree." It lived through the blast that leveled buildings and took lives. It now stands as a symbol of hope.

I walked through the new museum that holds stories, pictures, poems. pieces of lives lost. I relived the whole thing from beginning to end. The biggest impact on me was when we were placed inside a small room that had only a table, two chairs, a microphone and tape recorder sitting on the table. Suddenly the sound came up. In anticipation I held my hand to my chest. I closed my eyes and waited. "Okay it's 9:00 a.m. this session is now in order," it began and I rocked nervously. I had heard this before. We were listening to the actual explosion as it occurred.

Off to my right was a woman with a camera. I didn't know it until she approached me later, but she took my picture. She was with the Associated Press. She could see my anguish and pain. I don't know if it will ever be used. But I suddenly realized that I belonged there.

As sure as I have shared with you before that God sends me places, connects me with people, I was supposed to be here. But I didn't want to leave. In fact it is 12:20 a.m. Sunday morning and I want desperately to jump in the car and go back. I can't. I can't. It's a place I where I become numb.

I have stood on the battle fields of Gettysburg and prayed thankfully to all the men and women who fought for freedom. I have been to national cemeteries which honored those who served our country.

But I was standing in the middle of America, in it's heart and soul where all that I value about it was attacked...but not destroyed. I stood where the devil stood, I cried for perfect strangers. I cried for myself. I cried for the world. I felt so useless.

Then I found out why I had to go there first before heading to the site of my presentation two hours south of there. I was tired from a week of travel and little sleep and yet found the strength to spend time here.

In the final minutes of my visit to Texoma, I discovered why I went to the site first.

During my speech I completely avoided mentioning the destruction. I wanted desperately to tell these wonderful people the pain I felt. But I never mentioned a word. Instead I shared my words of hope and my own personal challenges. I talked about how life changes forever in a split second. But never said a word about the loss. In the end I sang the song, "This is the moment," and closed with my now signature story, "I wish you enough."

Several people came up to speak with me afterwards. The very last man, Don Ferrell, whom I had referenced several times because he received a very prestigious award that day, said hello.

"I lost my daughter in the bombing," he said. He took my breath away. Not only did I stand in the spot where the devil stood, where the truck was, where the building once stood, but I met a man who lost his daughter in the explosion.

Oh, God, Thank you for trusting me with this. I am forever changed and even more dedicated than ever.

Yes, I cried when I tried to speak to Mr. Ferrell.

My friends, tonight I am "numb."

Please pray for all affected by this. America will be no better for the death that will occur on Monday. But our strength is in our ability to rebound, recover and go on.

"I believe in you!"

Bob Perks
Bob@BobPerks.com
"Repentance is good for the soul; apologize for anything you have done to hurt someone else." -- Brian Tracy

http://my.homewithgod.com/im4christ/

Page 9 - 911 Memorial

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