Last week I wrote about Gary, a recovering alcoholic and addict, who from his office saw the twin towers of the World Trade Center collapse. He asked God to use him and started walking and found himself in a Triage set up for victims from the towers. Although in pain from a bad case of the shingles, he wanted to do whatever he could.

All volunteers at the Triage were given tags to indicate their function. Gary’s tag had a Purple Cross on it, meaning his job was to provide “pastoral care” to the victims. He was told to listen to people, bring them food and drinks, and console them. He felt qualified to do that because he’d already been through hell himself as an addict. He knew his experiences in recovery would be useful because he’d learned how to listen to others who were suffering from fear and confusion.

Hundreds of survivors from the Towers were being brought across the Hudson River in private boats and ferries. They were wounded and in shock. At one point Gary saw a man totally covered with ash. It seemed strange but he had an oddly joyful grin on his face. When Gary asked him if he wanted to talk about what had happened, he took out a business card from his pocket and said, “My name is John and you will be the first person to hear my story.”

Shortly after John arrived in his office on the 84^th floor of the first Tower to be hit, he heard a deafening crash. His desk was thrown across the room toward the window. As he looked out, he saw the sky was filled with papers, debris, smoke. “I was the fire marshal for my office, so I grabbed my flashlight, put on my hat, and told everyone to form a human chain and follow me. Just then everything went pitch dark. It was impossible to see even a few inches in front of us.

“As we entered the stairwell, we realized we couldn’t get through because there was a fallen beam. I don’t know where I got the strength to do it, but I was able to get it free. The next thing I knew some ‘eight footers’ were helping pick us up and taking us down the stairs. Before I knew it, all of us were safely down the stairs.”

When Gary asked what John meant by “eight footers,” he answered, “Oh, you know, those great big eight-foot angels. I have no idea how we got down or how we managed to carry some people all the way down those 84 flights of stairs. But suddenly we were on the street outside the building. It felt like a miracle.” It felt like a miracle to Gary too.

(Check next week’s blog for the completion of Gary’s story of hope and service.)

Beloved God of Hope and Miracles, we are such doubters of your power, of the amazing things you can do for us. Thank you for Gary’s story of hope. As we begin this Lenten Season, may we allow our hearts and minds to be open to miracles, to hope, to new growth. And may we be of service to others. Amen.

Joy Carol
www.joycarol.com