The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. †

On this day of remembrance, we would especially like to hear about your personal experiences on September 11, 2001 and the days following; where were you, what do you remember, and how did the events of 9/11 affect your life.
My story is unremarkable, really. Just that of an average American. On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was at my desk (in Michigan) when my boss ran into the room to tell us that the World Trade Center had been hit by an airplane.  I tried to access Fox News on the internet to find out what was going on, but the internet was slow as everyone else in my office, and probably the country, had the same idea.  I found out what I could, and turned on the radio too, which was a better source of news that day.  It wasn’t long before we learned that a second plane hit the other tower, and yet another had hit the Pentagon.
I emailed my friends and family to make sure everyone was okay, that they knew what was happening.  My daughter was home in suburban Chicago about 10 miles from downtown, as they were supposed to close on a home remortgage that day, and my grandson, just 14 months old, was with her.
My son-in-law was at work in one of the tallest buildings in Chicago and his building was evacuated, as they were afraid of more attacks.  Since the trains and els had been shut down as well, my daughter drove to the outskirts of the downtown area to pick him up.
One of my best friends was stranded in Los Angeles, as he had flown out there on business.  Normally, he would have taken AA Flight 11 out of Boston, as it was easy to get a senior standby seat on that flight, but he had flown to Arkansas for a friend’s weekend anniversary party, and then on to LA from there.
It was a relief, in a way, to go home to watch television news to learn what I could about the terrible events of that day.  I sat alone, crying and praying for those who lost their lives, and for the pain and sorrow of their families and friends.  President Bush’s address from the oval office was comforting; he made it clear that our country was still in business, and would do whatever was necessary to avenge the actions taken against citizens of the United States.  We were at war.
My friends, coworkers and I exchanged emails, as we tried to find ways we could help and honor those who had died in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania.  We joined in the candlelighting on the Friday after the attacks.  We watched the service at the National Cathedral, where our President gave another uplifting address to the nation. 
He said, “It is said that adversity introduces us to ourselves. This is true of a nation as well. In this trial, we have been reminded and the world has seen that our fellow Americans are generous and kind, resourceful and brave.
We see our national character in rescuers working past exhaustion, in long lines of blood donors, in thousands of citizens who have asked to work and serve in any way possible. And we have seen our national character in eloquent acts of sacrifice. ……… On this national day of prayer and remembrance, we ask almighty God to watch over our nation and grant us patience and resolve in all that is to come. We pray that He will comfort and console those who now walk in sorrow. We thank Him for each life we now must mourn, and the promise of a life to come. As we’ve been assured, neither death nor life nor angels nor principalities, nor powers nor things present nor things to come nor height nor depth can separate us from God’s love. May He bless the souls of the departed. May He comfort our own. And may He always guide our country.”
I sent an email of condolence to Deena Burnett, whose husband, Tom, was a hero of Flight 93.  It said,  “I cannot possibly understand the sorrow you are feeling. Please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. Tom Burnett was a very brave man, and thousands of U.S. citizens know and appreciate his actions which almost certainly thwarted another bombing, resulting in many more victims. It seems that the best men are the ones that we lose in cases like this one. I am very sorry that this time it was your loved one.”
It seemed that almost everyone wanted to contribute, to give money, give blood, or donate time, fly flags, say prayers, light candles.  We were united as a country as we had not been for a long time.

One of the emails I received contained an editorial from a Romanian newspaper.  Perhaps you received it too.  I’m repeating it here because I think it is an interesting assessment by an outsider of what America means.

Editorial from a Romanian newspaper by Cornel Nistorescu

Why are Americans so united? They don’t resemble one another even if you paint them! They speak all the languages of the world and form an astonishing mixture of civilizations. Some of them are nearly extinct, others are incompatible with one another, and in matters of religious beliefs, not even God can count how many they are.
Still, the American tragedy turned three hundred million people into a hand put on the heart. Nobody rushed to accuse the White House, the army, the secret services that they are only a bunch of losers. Nobody rushed to empty their bank accounts. Nobody rushed on the streets nearby to gape about.
The Americans volunteered to donate blood and to give a helping hand. After the first moments of panic, they raised the flag on the smoking ruins, putting on T-shirts, caps and ties in the colours of the national flag. They placed flags on buildings and cars as if in every place and on every car a minister or the president was passing. On every occasion they started singing their traditional song: “God Bless America!”.
Silent as a rock, I watched the charity concert broadcast on Saturday once, twice, three times, on different tv channels. There were Clint Eastwood, Willie Nelson, Robert de Niro, Julia Roberts, Cassius Clay, Jack Nicholson, Bruce Springsteen, Silvester Stalone, James Wood, and many others whom no film or producers could ever bring together. The American’s solidarity spirit turned them into a choir. Actually, choir is not the word. What you could hear was the heavy artillery of the American soul. What neither George W. Bush, nor Bill Clinton, nor Colin Powell could say without facing the risk of stumbling over words and sounds, was being heard in a great and unmistakable way in this charity concert.
I don’t know how it happened that all this obsessive singing of America didn’t sound croaky, nationalist, or ostentatious! It made you green with envy because you weren’t able to sing for your country without running the risk of being considered chauvinist, ridiculous, or suspected of who-knows-what mean interests. I watched the live broadcast and the rerun of its rerun for hours listening to the story of the guy who went down one hundred floors with a woman in a wheelchair without knowing who she was, or of the Californian hockey player, who fought with the terrorists and prevented the plane from hitting a target that would have killed other hundreds of thousands of people.
How on earth were they able to bow before a fellow human? Imperceptibly, with every word and musical note, the memory of some turned into a modern myth of tragic heroes. And with every phone call, millions and millions of dollars were put in a collection aimed at rewarding not a man or a family, but a spirit which nothing can buy.
What on earth can unite the Americans in such a way? Their land? Their galloping history? Their economic power? Money? I tried for hours to find an answer, humming songs and murmuring phrases which risk of sounding like commonplaces. I thought things over, but I reached only one conclusion.
Only freedom can work such miracles!