Hi Kathy,
    I really appreciated  this article you wrote.If we need any more 
reminders, let us let The Lord use it so that we may forget our little petty 
tdiscomforts, and draw closer to Him, so he can work through us in whatever 
way he sees fit, for his kingdom's sake.
Vinny----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Kathy Du Bois" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, September 10, 2006 1:36 PM
Subject: a story


Okay, it's just too quiet on this list, so I
thought that I would pass along an article, for
those who are board, that I wrote for our
church's newsletter.  It's actually in honor of
9:11, which is appropriate, since that's
tomorrow.  I actually wrote this two years ago,
but finally polished it off last month.
          By the way, happy birthday
Pat.  Unfortunately, your birthday has become too
easy to remember, not only because it is the same
as my mother's, but because of  the other events of the day.
God's peace to you all,
May we all find God's purpose for our lives while we are still  on this 
earth.
Kathy

The Tower
For those who did not get another chance.
By Kathy Du Bois


         I was in the stair well.  It was dark
and hot.  I could feel the building begin to sway
as I descended.  I was fighting back panic and
claustrophobia with every downward step.  It was so hard to hold it 
together.
         As I went down, I knew that everyone was
feeling the same panic.  It was a miracle that we
didn't turn into animals, tearing each other
apart in our attempt to get out.    It was hot
and close.  What air there was, was stuffy and
stale.  The smells of hot bodies, perfume and smoke were pungent and 
sickening.
         I fought my panic, my stomach's desire
to relieve itself, my shaking limbs.  What I
couldn't control as easily was my mind: the
thoughts of who I may never see again, my
wonderful husband, my children, and my sweet
baby.  I would never hold him again.  Would he
forget me?  Would they all forget me?  I couldn't
get to them.  I couldn't tell them that I loved them just one more time.
         Sway, sway, one step down, now another,
don't think, just move, sway, sway, sway.  Now
thoughts began to flood in that made my torment
even worse.  What had my life been worth?  What
had I contributed to others?  Who had I told
about the hope that was, supposedly, within
me?  I thought that I knew God.  I had always
argued that he was like the air, just a necessary
part of my existence.  Now, I saw that thought
differently.  God was the air all right;
something that I had used, neglected and taken
for granted and rarely talked about.  Oh, it was
some love affair we had, God and me.  Why should
God get me out of this one?   Did I deserve even more of His grace?
         "Oh God," I cried, "I'm sorry!  Please,
give me another chance!  I don't want it to end
this way!  I want my life to count for
something!  I want my life to count for you!  If
I go now, I know that I have so little to show
for myself!  I'm not ready yet, please, please,
one more chance!  Just get me out and."  Sway, sway, rumble, thunder, roar.
         A child's haunting cry pierced the
air.  "Mommy, mommy.  Where are you?  Mommy, I
can't find you?  Mommy!"  The voice echoed above
me, out of my grasp.  Was it real, or just my
imagination?  I didn't know, but the panic that I
had been fighting swelled in my chest like a
balloon about to burst.  Hot tears stung my
eyes.  My throat was dry from the bad air all
around me.  I was breathing dust.  "Mommy, help
me!  Mommy!"  Groan, groan, rumble, rumble,
crack, showers of dust, sounds of coughing all around me.
  I wanted out, but there was no escape.  Bodies
pressed me on all sides: other people struggling
through similar hells as my own.   Each one of us
wanted out.  Each one longed for a loved one's
touch, just one more time, just one more
conversation.  Whatever wrongs had been done to
us were forgiven in our silent bargains with God
for just one more chance.  Sway, sway, rumble, rumble, shudder, shudder, 
roar!
         Darkness.  I'm sweating and panting
hard.  Tears are running down my face.  I'm in
softness and quiet.  Tentatively, I reach out my
hand and I feel a hand next to me. Who could it
be?  Am I alive?  Why don't I feel any weight
upon me?  The air is so fresh!  Slowly, I reach
out and touch the hand again.   Why does it seem
familiar?   Now it begins to dawn on me where I
am.   My husband is still sleeping soundly.  I
must not have cried out.  It was a dream then, but oh, what thoughts!
  What if I were to meet Jesus tonight? What
would I have to show Him?  True, all of our
righteousness is as filthy rags, (Isaiah 63:7)
but did I even have filthy rags to bring to my Lord?
I climbed out of bed quietly and felt my way
through the house.  Tentatively, I approached
each of my children, one by one.  I reached out
to touch their sleeping forms.  I listened to
their rhythmic, peaceful breathing, adjusted
their covers and lingered over each one, for just
a few, wonderful minutes.    I breathed a quiet
prayer of thanks for each one of them and then,
after being reassured that they were indeed
alright, quietly crept back toward the center of the house.
  I found the couch in the livingroom.  Sure
enough, our big dog Honey was sprawled across
it.  She used to get up, feigning innocence when
we came into the room, just in case we would
disapprove, but no one had ever scolded her for
using the couch as a bed and I didn't now
either.  In fact, I found her presence
comforting.  I let her keep the couch; choosing
to kneel beside her on the floor, stroking her
soft fur and letting the rhythmic breathing of
her sleep bring calm to my restless spirit.
After a bit, she woke enough to lick my hand.  It
was such a loving act and it released the flood
that I thought had been quelled within me.  The
tears flowed freely.  I stopped petting Honey and
just buried my face in her fur.  With the tears
came the questions.  Who am I? What is my
purpose?  Why am I on this earth?  Do I have even
any filthy rags to show my Lord?  What is the
point of my life?  Why am I here, Lord?  Why?
This wasn't the first time that I had wrestled
with these questions.  They had played in the
back of my mind often.  I had so often felt that
my life was merely an existence.  I get up, have
a quiet time, make sure the kids are decent and
fed before school, clean the house, plan dinner
and help my husband with church work when I
could, but all of this felt like such a treadmill
existence.  What was my life really?  This dream
had forced these issues to the surface more
vividly than I had ever seen them before.
Obviously, God had answered the prayer of my
dream.  I had been given another chance.  I would
see my loved ones again, unlike the victims who
had suffered that unthinkable fate in real life,
God had chosen for me to go on living, but for what?
Oh Lord, in You there is purpose when none seems
visible.  In You there is hope when no hope can
be found.  Teach me to number my days aright,
that I may gain a heart of wisdom in You.  (Psalm
90:12)  Help me to do what You ask of me.  May I
live to give glory to Your name.  Thank you for
all the chances You give me to live for You
again.  "Yet this I call to mind and therefore I
have hope: because of the Lord's great love we
are not consumed, for His compassions never
fail.  They are new every morning; great is Your
faithfulness." ( Lamentations 3:21-23)  In that
hope, help me to begin again.  Amen.