Ten years on

Everybody remembers where they were on September 11 2001. I'm no exception. But recollecting where I was on that terrible day pales into absolute insignificance as I watch live the 10 anniversary broadcast from Ground Zero.

What stands out as particularly poignant is hearing the steady, thin voices of children reading the names of their dead parent, appendicing the reading of the name with a heartfelt, heart-rending comment on their loss. One boy, barely ten years old, made use of the occasion to also thank his deceased father for the gift of life. The boy was in his mother's womb as the terrorists dealt their inexplicable blow, robbing him of a father forever.

What a striking contrast. Mohammed Atta and his accomplices could only speak the devil's dialect, death, and only knew how to take a life. But this boy is living proof of life's triumph. His birth and existence are symbolic of the futility of the merciless, cold-blooded terrorist acts of 9/11. Yes, the world is still mired in evil, but in each birth a voice proclaims the full power of God's redemption and provision:

Life is not hostage to the powers of death. We're only witnessing the abject, bitter protests from the Chief Instigator of evil. So whenever tears pour down our cheeks in memory of the dead, we do well to remember that there will be a day in which death finally dies.