For Distant Viewing

Like many Americans, I have spent the last several days reflecting on the horrific attacks, incredible courage, and inspiring patriotism that took place 25 years ago. Suddenly remembering that I went to New York City three years—almost to the day—after the events of September 11, 2001, I went digging through old photos. 

This is a precarious mission; one that can lead to a variety of side trips down memory lane if one is not careful. I am rarely careful when it comes to old photos. 

But sometimes these trips are educational. Sometimes photos reveal a hidden message. Sometimes God uses weird moments of squatting in an attic, thumbing through boxes of 35mm prints to remind us of His faithfulness.

There it was. The singular photo that I captured standing in front of Ground Zero. This was two years before construction of the memorial would begin. I was there with my parents for Labor Day weekend, and had just started my final semester of college. On 9/11, I had just begun my first semester of college. 

Now, fast forward a decade—because memory-lane trips have that sneaky power—as I found myself clicking through old DSLR images. These photos displayed a different city. 

My toddler, baby, and I were hundreds of feet above the ground on the observation deck of the Tower of the Americas in San Antonio, Texas. We were exploring a cool feature of our city with friends who were also helping me navigate hard circumstances.

These ended up being the last photos I took in my beloved city that I had called home for seven years. My life imploded exactly two weeks later. 

As I got lost in scanning these memories the other day, something caught my eye in the cityscape. The image revealed a bird’s-eye view of a building I would frequent over the next 18 months after this photo was taken, making multiple difficult trips from my parents’ home in Virginia. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would soon experience some of the greatest fear I’d face in my life inside that giant red courthouse with the green roof.

Clicking to the next snapshot, irony in the form of words leapt from the screen: “For Distant Viewing” displayed on a large viewfinder.

Yet I had no clue what lay ahead. 

Those victims had no idea what that September day held.

We do not have a long-distance viewfinder with an aerial view of life.

But we do have the God who sees it all, who gives sight for the next step and takes it with us. And we do have His Word, the only viewfinder we need. Because through its lenses we see a hopeful future; the eternal kind where ground zeros are replaced with streets of gold.

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