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I’ll never forget where I was 22 years ago when two planes crashed into the World Trade Center. Being in the Pacific Time Zone, I woke up to a call from my wife, asking if I was watching the news. I can still hear the shock of the news reporters and see the images of black smoke coming from the towers and the ash-filled streets.
That morning I drove to attend a presbytery meeting, where we turned on the news and continued to watch the events unfold. We ended our meeting early so we could go home to comfort our communities. I was pastoring a church in Thousand Oaks, California.
I remember driving home through Los Angeles. A freeway usually packed with cars was completely empty. I was one of the only cars on the road. It felt eerie. The gravity sunk in. I knew this would become a monumental day.
America will always remember September 11, 2001.
On that catastrophic day, four coordinated terrorist attacks crashed into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and a field in Pennsylvania, killing nearly 3,000 people, and taking aim