Roseanna White - Roseanna M. White

Thoughtful About . . . Attacks and Victory

by Roseanna White | Sep 8, 2011 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized

First, I want to thank everyone who shared their story yesterday of where they were on 9/11. If you haven’t yet, I’d love to hear from you on yesterday’s post. Tomorrow I’ll be asking for folks to share the tales of heroism and miracles they’ve heard–from the small ones like Carissa shared, about her aunt’s alarm not going off that morning, making her late to work at the World Trade Center, to the bigger ones of lives saved against all odds. Tomorrow we’ll feature the hope.

Today I want to talk about attacks.

Last night I had some of the strangest dreams I can ever recall. To give you some context, here’s what’s been on my mind. First, 9/11. Duh, right? Second, one of my books going to committee, likely today. Third, a lot of prayer I’ve been giving to my projects, including this new school year with my kiddo. Fourth, and this will seem insignificant, but bear with me, my internet has been crashing on my laptop.

So. In this crazy dream of mine, I got up in the morning like always and grabbed my laptop. Turned it on, and it booted fine. Then went blank. Just–blank. Not to be daunted, I go through the house turning on lights. The switches are on, nightlights are still glowing, but the overhead lights won’t come on. Weird, but whatever.

Daylight is just beginning to brush the world outside. I hear something and look out the window to find four inches of snow on the ground, but only in the grass. In the driveway is my mother-in-law’s Jeep. And in our yard is . . . a reindeer? Looked like it, but apparently it was a dog. (No clue what that was all about, LOL. Probably from my son’s new obsession with Rudolph.) My MIL gets out of her car with people I’ve never met before, people who look like I imagined Sandi Rog’s neighbors from Holland did (see her comment to yesterday’s post). My husband appears and tells me he’s heading out with them for breakfast. I’m fine with that . . . except the light thing is getting to me. And my computer’s still not working. And I’ve got that feeling at the back of my neck that says someone’s here who shouldn’t be.

While my MIL says something about taking the kids for an hour–which sounds like a great idea, since I don’t want them exposed to whatever-this-is, I start to pray. Only my lips won’t move. My tongue won’t work. Still, I force out the name of Jesus.

The lights come on. My laptop’s screen finally displays what it should.

Content, I send hubby and kids off and try to pull up my book on my computer.

It wigs out again, and the lights again go off. Getting mad now, I storm over to the light switch chanting the name of Jesus and glaring at where I imagine this invisible enemy to be. I won’t be run over. I won’t be torn down. I’m thinking, “You’re only here because you want to stop the good that’s coming today. Well, sorry about your luck. I’m not going to take it.”

I put my hand on the light switch. It was in the off position. I push it up. Something pushes it down. Up. Down. Until once again my swollen tongue wraps itself around the name of the Savior.

That would be when I woke up–pushing at my husband’s back and trying to mumble a prayer, LOL, while he says, “Are you okay?”

Now, I’m not trying to say this dream was anything but that–a dream. But as I lay there trying to get back to sleep and contemplating whether that was my imagination attacking itself or maybe a message that I needed to bathe my day in prayer, I had to look back over other times my dreams have had this note to them.

Here’s the thing. I’ve had fearful dreams before. I’ve had dreams that touch on the spiritual, usually when I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve had dreams where I feel the Spirit descend and wash me in His renewing waters, when that breath of holy wind provides in sleep what I need so much in waking.

This wasn’t like that, not really. There was no fear, just indignation that something would dare do this. And when I woke up, it wasn’t with a pounding heart–it was with a desire to give my day entirely to the Lord.

Contemplating what to blog about today, I realized that in a lot of ways, this is what happened on 9/11, as so many mentioned in the comments yesterday. We were attacked. Yes, it hurt–devastated. Yes, we were afraid.

But we stood up. We fought back. We worked together. We claimed the victory long before it was ours.

Today as we go about our lives, my prayer is that we consider what it means to be attacked, spiritually and physically. That we remember our reactions, that we recollect that helpless feeling we all had, the incredulity that someone would dare do this to us. And that then we cling to the real and true victory–the Savior who already won the battle, and the promise He gave us that we can claim that victory for ourselves by the power of His most holy name, His sacred blood.

Today my crazy dream is going to be a reminder to me not to just take it when the enemy tries to mess with me. Instead, I’m going to stand up and shout the name of Jesus. I’m going to do the work He gave me.

And if someone tries to push me down . . . well, I’m going to push right back.

Remember When . . . The Towers Came Down?

by Roseanna White | Sep 7, 2011 | Remember When Wednesdays, Uncategorized

This isn’t exactly long-past history, but as part of my 9/11 Remembrance Week, today I’d like to take a look back at where we were on that day. I’ll tell a bit of my story, and then I would love to hear from you.

My husband and I were newlyweds, having just married in June of 2001. We were still in school, and Tuesdays meant music lab–class started at 8:50 and didn’t let out until lunch time. David and I always met in the hallway outside class, walked to our car, and drove home for lunch. We had to be back for our respective work-study jobs by 1, then had one more class at the end of the day.

Annapolis traffic can be annoying, especially around on-ramps to Rt. 50. But that day as we drove up Rowe Blvd, we frowned over a rather odd sight–two unmarked, white haz-mat vans cutting through lanes of traffic and headed for the entrance to 50 West–the road that led to D.C. Shrugging it off–after all, we saw all manner of strange government vehicles in the state’s capital–we continued to our apartment.

We’d no sooner walked in the door than our phone rang. David answered as I toed off my shoes and locked the door behind us. The caller ID would have told him it was his mother, so he undoubtedly greeted her accordingly. But all I remember is him saying, “What?” and reaching for the remote. To me he said, “Planes flew into the World Trade Center. They’ve collapsed.”

It was the kind of news I’d never in my life had to deal with, and all I could think to say was, “You’re kidding, right? They didn’t collapse.” Right about then he found a channel on TV that showed one of the towers collapsing.

Presumably we ate–frankly, I don’t remember. I just remember going back into town and finding the roads clearer than usual, and the college . . . strange. See, St. John’s is a bubble removed from the outside world. There are no TVs, no cable even if you bring one. But when we stepped back onto campus that afternoon, everyone was plugged into the outside world. Televisions had miraculously appeared in every classroom, and had somehow found connections to news shows. Radios blared from every room. I remember sitting in the basement of the Admissions Office, trying to get done what work needed done, and listening to the radio. Hearing an announcement saying all non-crucial personnel at the NSA were ordered to evacuate.

That night the dinner I had planned was spaghetti with twisty breadsticks. Don’t ask me why I remember that–but it’s a meal I’ve never made again. Every time I’ve tried to make those breadsticks (with something else), I hear that terrible news reverberating through my mind again. Sorry, Pillsbury–our breadsticks now must be straight.

It was about then that I noticed our newspaper never arrived for the day–and a few minutes later I heard it smack against our door. The Capitol had delayed its printing (it’s an afternoon paper) to report the news. So I have one of (I assume) few newspapers reporting the event that is dated September 11, 2001. (I just dug it out of my memory chest, where it’s been sitting for 10 years with the other papers from that week.)

The surreal part (other than the obvious) was the transformation within Annapolis. The Naval Academy takes up the entire flank of the city, and is directly across the street from St. John’s. Most of the rest of Historic Annapolis is government buildings. On Wednesday, they were all empty. The waterfront boasted no tourists, only FBI agents. All roads leading toward the Naval Academy were blockaded by armed guards–which meant that to get onto campus, we had to show our student IDs and say we had class/work to go to.

I remember thinking as we drove to school one day that week that our whole world had changed. That things which had seemed so important a few short days before simply didn’t matter anymore. I was devastated by the events, and buoyed by the American spirit that rose up from the ashes. I remember wondering what it would mean for me as a writer–how any novel could ever have meaning again.

I remember driving home that weekend and seeing messages of faith and prayer all along the highway, “God Bless America” spelled out with plastic cups shoved in chain-link fencing.

I remember being so proud of my country, and the kinship I felt with my fellow Americans, who were, for the only time I can think of, united.

And today I miss that. I miss the union, I miss the feeling of pride that you couldn’t escape even when driving down the road. I miss looking out at my neighbors, my officials, my state and nation and thinking, “Someone did wrong to us–but we handled it right.”

Where were you on 9/11? What were you doing? What memory stands out in your recollection from that time of turmoil and grief? Let’s remember together.

Story Time . . . From Ashes to Honor by Loree Lough

by Roseanna White | Sep 6, 2011 | Uncategorized

I’m not going to say much about this book because (a) it speaks for itself and (b) I’ve only just cracked it open. But in that I’m spending the week mentally preparing for the 10th anniversary of 9/11, this book was a must for me. And as you still have a few days until the date, I suggest you run out NOW and get yourself a copy!

From Ashes to Honor is the first in Loree’s new First Responders Series, about the men and women who responded to those terrible calls on 9/11/01. From Ashes to Honor will hook you from the get-go with this back-cover copy:

If he had only answered that last phone call from the World Trade Center . . .

Minutes before two jumbo jets changed U.S. history, NYPD officer Austin Finley ignored the call from his brother. Mercy Samara, who cost Austin his job after 9/11, leaves the city to work as a school counselor in Baltimore. When Mercy and Austin cross paths again, will their common–and painful–memories finally bring them closer or drive them further apart?

When I cracked open the book, I nearly cried over the dedication and author’s note, and with my mind swirling back ten years to that day when I came home from morning classes at college to find the horrific news blasting us from our TV, I moved on to the prologue and felt a clenching in my chest as the main character gets that call to the WTC–after ignoring the ones from his twin brother who worked there. The first chapter begins two years later, the story one that revisits the disaster through a few years of distance, much like Loree’s readers will do.

If there is one book you ought to read this week and next, as you’re watching all the documentaries on TV and letting your mind drift backward, I recommend this one. Through Austin and Mercy’s story we can come into touch with our feelings, our responses, and give true honor to those who waded through the ashes to save what lives they could.

Thank you, Loree, for writing this. I for one intend to savor it as I remember.

Word of the Week – Holiday

by Roseanna White | Sep 5, 2011 | Word of the Week

My word of the week is “holiday,” not only because today is Labor Day, but because this week all my posts are going to be gearing up toward 9/11. Which isn’t an official holiday, I know, but I think for all of us it’s a day of remembrance.

“Holiday” is a fairly literal word, coming from the mashing together of “holy day,” in its original meaning of a sabbath (day of rest), a celebration, or a remembrance. In the 14th century, it took on the meaning not only of a religious holiday, but any day of recreation. By 1869, it had also become a verb meaning “to pass the holidays,” hence to holiday in the Riviera. (If only, LOL.)

I hope everybody today is enjoying their Labor Day and taking a much-needed day of rest. In our house, Xoe was too impatient to want to start school tomorrow, so we dove in today–at 6:30 a.m. no less. =)

But I hope this week we also pause to think about how our nation and world changed ten years ago. Because of the close proximity of Labor Day to 9/11, I’m going to be spending much of it not only resting but remembering. And as I remember, I’ll be sharing with you here on my blog, culminating with an article I post annually that I wrote the day following 9/11 and which appeared in my hometown newspaper.

I hope that this day and week reminds us all of the original meaning of “holiday” too, and that we not only rest and remember, but reflect on that which is holy and sacred. I pray that this week be filled with the breath of the Spirit upon our lives, and that He open our eyes to His might in new ways over the next days. Amen.