Unexpected

I know, I know, you don't have to tell me twice. For some reason, I've just been avoiding making a new blog post. Maybe it's because I don't have a whole lot I feel the need to share right now (not in a bad way, just...nothing crazily unreal that I'm compelled to write about on here). Maybe the creative juices just aren't flowing. Plus, when I know pretty much exactly who's reading this blog, I start tailoring my writing for other people---not myself---and that can be kind of limiting, you know? Perhaps I need a separate outlet for that kind of stuff, but for now, it's nice to have a place to keep family and friends updated.

So where did I leave off last time? Ah yes, Christmas. Seems so long ago. Maybe it feels that way because it has been in the 70s all week and a cold Wisconsin winter seems a universe away. I'm excited to keep tackling our list of places to go and things to do. 

Speaking of which, although this isn't even in Texas, I got to check something off my "Places to See" list on our drive home from Wisconsin. After staying overnight in Tulsa, we were on-track to make great time that day. As we sped past Oklahoma City, I saw a sign for the OKC National Memorial. I thought, "Now's as good a time as any," and asked Andy to make a last-second exit. 

It was a sunny and extremely quiet day downtown, which made everything seem that much more surreal. It was a place of tragedy and horror turned into one of peace and beauty, and I really wasn't prepared for it. We silently walked around the grounds and took in information from the wardens (it is considered a National Park).

The reflecting pool sits where 5th street used to be. To the left is where the Murrah Federal Building once stood, which is now an open space graced by 168 empty "chairs" to represent each of the bombing victims.

The bronze gates on each end of the grounds are inscribed with two respective times. The link between them---the entire memorial park---represents the moment, 9:02 AM, when time stood still and thousands of lives and our country were changed forever. I couldn't get over how powerful that was.

 Each victim's name is engraved into one of the bronze chairs. The clear boxes they sit on are illuminated at night.

 The Survivor Tree. This elm tree sat mere feet from the the blast and was badly damaged. Through the efforts of many, it made a miraculous comeback and thrives to this day. It stands as a symbol of all who were affected by this event and continue to heal.

 A message from rescue workers affixed to the Journal Records Building (seen on the right of the above photo), which was across the street from the Federal Building. 

The Journal Records Building is now the site of a national museum. (In case you're interested, the museum is free on Sundays.) I can't even begin to describe how powerful, thoughtful and heart-breaking that was. From listening to the only known recording of the blast in a darkened room, to seeing the victims' personal artifacts, to an actual, preserved room of the Journal Records Building damaged beyond recognition, to the outpouring of support from the rest of the country, to the actual evidence and records from the ensuing trial, to the process of creating this memorial, it was truly an unforgettable experience. In fact, one of my Religious Studies professors was an advisor for this memorial (he taught a Terrorism class, one of the best ones I ever took), and the amount of thought, emotion, disagreement and meaning that went into this is an incredible story in itself. 

I was in junior high when this happened, and quite honestly, although I knew it was tragic and felt anger and heartbreak, it seemed like a million miles away. But when you stand on the actual soil and feel the overwhelming range of emotions, you are left with only one thought: "Why?" And although I believe with all my  heart that God has a reason for everything that happens, good or bad, something so horrible and of this magnitude seems nearly impossible to wrap my head around. Events like this cause us to feel helpless and desperate. We want to take back what happened, only to come to the harsh realization that we can't. Although I will hopefully never fully understand how that feels, there is the tiniest amount of solace in seeing the beauty and knowledge that can come from it.