Doing Life Together

The Beach Ball that Swam to Oma . . . by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Posted on October 23, 2015 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Even though I grew up near the Jersey shore, we didn’t often go to the beach when I was a child. My dad was busy earning a living; my stay-at-home mom didn’t drive. But I do remember one rare beach day when I was ten years old and my brother Billy was three.

My mother had picked up a couple of beach toys at an end-of-the-summer clearance: a blow-up raft and a beach ball. I was excited about the raft. My brother was thrilled with the ball. I remember my dad inflating them and handing them to us.

Unfortunately, as often happens in the afternoon, a breeze blew, and it picked up Billy’s ball, launching it seaward.

We ran after it, but couldn’t catch up. As we waded into the water, my dad passed us. “Wait here!” he said, and dove in.

We watched him swim with powerful strokes past all the other bathers, but the ball danced over the waves faster still. After what seemed like forever (but was probably more like ten minutes), he turned around and swam back to us, the beach ball now just a dot approaching the horizon.

Billy cried, “My ball!” It wasn’t fair—his brand new toy, and he’d barely had a chance to play with it.

Found on technonaturalist.net.

“Don’t worry,” Dad said to him. “The ball is swimming to Oma. She will know it’s from you, and she’ll be so happy.”

Our grandmother, who we called Oma, lived in Germany, across the ocean. Dad’s comment made sense to Billy, and he wiped away his tears, a happy little boy again.

My baby brother turned 55 this year. Dad passed away in 2013. How I long for the days when my father could make everything all right.

How often have I counted on something, only to have it fail to materialize? How many times has a long-anticipated event fallen short of my expectations? How frequently have my best efforts yielded unsatisfactory results? Disappointment is a fact of life.

But you can’t live there.

Your tragedy isn’t the end of the world. Life goes on.

In his book, You Gotta Keep Dancin’, Tim Hansel said, “Pain is inevitable, but misery is optional. We cannot avoid pain, but we can avoid joy.”

Why would we want to avoid joy? And how can we get to it when we’re in the middle of misfortune?

While Don Piper recuperated from the horrific car crash that almost cost his life (chronicled in his book 90 Minutes in Heaven), unbearable pain launched him into a deep depression which didn’t relent for months, until he listened to a favorite song, Praise the Lord by the Imperials. As implausible as it sounds, that song was cathartic for him. “When we’re up against a struggle and we think we can’t keep going, we can change that by praising God,” he says.

What changed was his attitude. He went from hopelessness to persistence in a moment. (Actually, he cried for an hour, and then he found the will to go on.)

By JFXie.

Have you ever been despondent after a disaster? How did you find the courage to face life again? Please share in the comments below.

Posted in Doing Life Together, Family Stories, Fathers, Finding solutions, Memoir, Perserverance | Tagged depression, despair, Disappointment, Doing Life Together, faith, family stories | 3 Comments

Cats Behaving Badly by Betty Mason Arthurs

Posted on October 20, 2015 by Betty Mason Arthurs

My friend, Kitty Chappell, a cat lover like myself, wrote a sweet poem, “Cats.”

God knew there’d be times
When we’d need a friend—
A soft, gentle creature
Who’d love to the end.
A friend who has grace,
And patience and class.
So, He searched heaven
And then sent us cats.

I’m no longer sure about the sentiments of this poem because I’ve decided our two cats are rescued reprobates. Somehow Clifford and Henry have morphed into heathen cats that enjoy tormenting my husband, John, and me. Or perhaps they’ve gotten in touch with the DNA of their wild ancestors, jungle cats, saved from the flood by Mr. and Mrs. Noah.

Clifford is a Maine Coon mix rescued by a technician at our vet’s office, adopted by us 13 years ago, and loves being a pampered feline. He is 15 pounds of a furry love ball and worships food, sleep, food, and my lap. Attacking the fax machine used to be his favorite pastime.

Henry, abandoned by a neighbor, was hiding in our locked shed for two weeks when we found him four years ago. He became our lovable outdoor cat until someone shot a BB into his neck, shown on an x-ray, and slashed him with a knife. He adjusted to our home but it took a long time before he trusted a human again. The color of ebony with yellow eyes, he is our “little man.”

For 50 years of our marriage we’ve bestowed Christian mercy on our numerous cats when they’ve used our furniture as scratching posts, spread their cat hair over freshly folded laundry, kicked mounds of gravel out of their litterbox (which is painful to our bare feet.), spit out their medicine even though I wrap it in their favorite food, indulge in minor hissy-fights with one another…all normal cat behavior. But now I have to explain why we’re calling our last two reprobates.

Two years ago Clifford and Henry decided they didn’t appreciate my husband’s sister and her husband taking over our extra bed room for a visit. The bed had always been their cushy napping place and under it they could hide among the boxes of Christmas paper and bows.

One night the rascal reprobates coughed up numerous hairballs on the hallway rug and Clifford used an area outside the guest room door for a litterbox. The disgusting noises and smell of sick cats woke us and we knew we’d be tiptoeing through their messes while we dug out the disinfectant spray and wipes, garbage bags, paper towels and face masks. They were sure we got up out of bed to feed them. ”Meow, meow, feed us our paté!” Our embarrassment over their nasty mess hangs over us to this day and we were only in the second week of Kay and Bob’s visit. I don’t think they’ll come again.

That night we abandoned the idea of throwing them over the fence and feeding them to our neighbor’s dogs. However, a plan to ship them off to Anaheim, California to hang out with the Disneyland cats for the nightly rodent population control was a good possibility.

Just when we thought we had converted Henry from a rowdy alley cat to a sweet Christian we discovered he’s a tiger in a black disguise. John had laid his open Bible on the floor. Henry peed on it. Beelzebub is Henry’s new name.

Our daughter and her family also have two cats. Bindi catches field mice that invade their home, bites their heads off and proudly places their bloody remains where they can be stepped on. Leeland demands people food at the dinner table.

A friend lost her cat for two weeks. She was devastated over the loss of her “baby,” King. He had squeezed through a hole around the bathroom plumbing in their manufactured home, living beneath them until they finally heard his frantic meows.

What is it that possesses so many Americans to grace their homes with pets? I admit, over the years, I’m discombobulated when it comes to loving and caring for our cats and dogs. The statistics show that 1000 homes have 2000 pets. Yes, I made that up, but shop at any pet store and the variety of food, equipment and toys you must have for your precious gerbils or dogs or fish or cats or birds equals enough money to pay for a new car every year. The vet bills alone could send you on a cruise. However, for me, the entertainment of animal antics in your home will keep you laughing for years. They are experts at combating loneliness and sadness, getting your mind off the troubled world we live in.

Henry just scampered across my keyboard. I don’t know how he manages to always hit F7, but he’s telling me his food bowl is empty. If he ever tromps on the delete key, I’m sunk. Gotta go and check on the reckless rescued reprobates. I’m sure somewhere in the house they are behaving badly.

Posted in Humor, Pets, Uncategorized | Tagged Pets and how we love them | 3 Comments

To Halloween or Not to Halloween?…by Linda Carlblom

Posted on October 16, 2015 by Linda Carlblom

There are a lot of folks these days who don’t celebrate Halloween. Frankly, I get it, and I’m not a huge fan myself. For me, it’s not so much about religious convictions as it is that I don’t like the idea of mixing scary stuff and kids. I also don’t like how sexy some of the costumes have gotten, even for kids.

The idea of any costume, friendly or scary, is frightening for some children. If your child is one of them, here are a few tips for handling Halloween.

1. Respect your child’s fear by staying a safe distance from people in costume.

2. Don’t laugh at their fear, no matter how silly it may seem to you.

3. Offer comfort and reassurance.

4. Remind them it’s only pretend, but they still don’t have to like it.

5. Let children play with masks and costumes in front of a mirror so they can see the transformation take place. Have them play peek-a-boo with themselves pulling the mask on and off.

Some of these may seem extreme to you. But your child probably will only have these fears while he’s too young to be able to distinguish what’s real vs. what’s pretend. Usually, by school age, kids can tell the difference. Is it really worth scaring your child just for a party or event you want to attend? For me, the answer is no. I can put off going to these Halloween events until he’s old enough to not be traumatized by them.

So that’s my take on Halloween, costumes, and scaring kids. I prefer a nicer, less edgy alternative, even if my kids aren’t scared.

How about you? How do you plan to do Halloween this year? Will your children dress up? Will you? Will you go trick-or-treating? Attend an alternative event at a school or church? Or aren’t you doing anything for Halloween? I can’t wait to hear from you!

Linda

Posted in Celebrations, Halloween, Overcoming Fear, Parenting, Uncategorized | Tagged costumes, Halloween, masks, scared children, trick-or-treating | 10 Comments

YouTu-torials

Posted on October 13, 2015 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Posted in Music, Tutorials, YouTube | Tagged Cup Beat Game, Piano | Leave a comment

Be at Rest

Posted on October 6, 2015 by Carol Boley

I crave the Word of God more and more these days. Not so much for its comfort, although that is surely there, and welcome in these days…these days of terror, disease, disaster. Not so much for its promise of eternal life, although its pages abound with it, and that is welcome in these days…these days of beheadings, shootings, bombings. And not even so much for its assurance of forgiveness, although I am grateful beyond words for that gift.

With all of its beauty, grace, and love, right now I crave God’s Word for its grounding, its certainty.

Two verses struck me this week. Both of them are in the Old Testament book of Isaiah. Both of them full of the grace and kindness of the Lord. Both of them rock-solid.

Both of them exactly what I needed to remember. The news this week leaves me fuller of questions than answers. You’ve read the headlines; you know the issues we face, the challenges that threaten our nation and our world. You don’t need them listed here. You also know we’re entering round after round of debates by Presidential hopefuls of both parties. We are bombarded with “facts” we can’t even be sure are true, reported by professionals who put their own spin on them and who, in fact, may or may not be making them up. Challenging and frustrating indeed to form intelligent opinions on issues when you can’t be sure you have correct information on which to base them.

And then I read, “I, the LORD, speak the truth; I declare what is right.” (Isaiah 45:19) and “I am the LORD your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go.” (Isaiah 48:17).

This is what I need to hear. This is what I know to be true. And my heart is at rest.

Of course, it requires wisdom to correctly interpret the scripture, to understand context and to determine which covenant you are operating under. There is room to reason together.

There is also clarity and honesty and the ring of truth. When you, too, feel confused and tired, weary of the struggles of life and wary of so-called solutions offered by so-called experts, God’s Word offers a place to rest your heart. These three verses did that for me this week: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” (John 3:17). The world? That includes you. “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:32). You never have to wonder if God will forgive you. You never have to wonder if it is right for you to forgive another. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28). That “all”? That includes you. And that is Jesus talking.

No matter what else is going on, this is true. And it’s all good news. As a former newspaper reporter, I learned to always check my sources. Good idea. This source is reliable. And this source loves you.

Feeling overwhelmed by the tragedy that swirls around you? Overcome by bad news? Uncertain about the future of your family, your nation, yourself? Unsure of the facts you hear reported? I suggest reminding yourself of the Truth found in God’s Word. And then tell him, “Thank you. All your words are true.” (Psalm 119:160). And may your heart be at rest.

Posted in Bible, Christian Living, Elections, Faith, Fear, Finding solutions, Forgivness, Freeway shootings, Frustrations, Grace, Greatest love ever, Hope, Jesus, Love, Overcoming Fear, peace, Politics, rest, Terrorism, War | Tagged facts, faith, fear, peace, politics, rest, uncertainty | 7 Comments

Phoenix Drive-by Shootings by Betty Mason Arthurs

Posted on September 29, 2015 by Betty Mason Arthurs

“Shooter arrested.” These headlines over our news outlets in the Phoenix area on September 18th captivated all of us who live in the Valley of the Sun. You could hear the
sigh of relief that perhaps the bewildering reign of terror was over.

This past month Phoenix and its surrounding communities had become danger zones with eleven drive-by shootings on our freeways. Some sick person or persons had shot out windows of cars or trucks and bullets penetrated the body of vehicles of our citizens traveling to work or school. Domestic terrorism had come to our valley. Many had chosen to take side streets to avoid the dangerous freeways. Schools re-routed their bus routes. DPS offered $50,000 for a tip leading to an arrest of the shooter and hung huge billboards along our freeways with a phone number to call with tips that would lead to the arrest of the shooter. So far no one had been shot, but DPS told us it was just a matter of time before a life was taken or a serious accident occurred. We had become a valley of fear.

Drive-by Praying

However, I think our community also became a Valley of Prayer. I think of it as “Drive-by Praying.” Perhaps people who hadn’t prayed in a long time said, “Catch them, Lord.” Even a simple, “Help, Lord,” could have an impact on helping DPS and other law enforcement catch the criminal. I imagined young mothers and fathers covering their children and schools in prayer as they tried to explain the danger to their little ones. With four grandchildren attending school in Phoenix, we kept them and their school covered in prayer.

God is not deaf to our prayers even if we haven’t talked to Him in a long time. Just like the plants that go dormant in the harsh winter, even though they appear dead, they bloom again and cast their fragrant flowers over our backyards…so it is with prayer. Along the dangerous freeway, I-10, drivers who hadn’t prayed in a long time woke up and called upon God for protection. Those of us at home also prayed and waited for the good news of the capture of the shooters. With grateful hearts we experienced security in the midst of danger as Psalm 91 promises:
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty…He is my refuge and my fortress; my God; in him will I trust. (KJV)

The true story is told of a Christmas Eve northeast of London, 1943, of Colonel Jimmy Stewart flying a B-24 Bomber to attack German secret weapon concentrations in France. Flying low at 12,000 feet, Stewart and his company of men, for the American Eighth Air Force, attacked the targets and all returned to Tibenham safely. Jimmy was never without his father’s letter tucked in the pocket of his flight suit.

His father wrote: My dear Jim boy, soon after you read this letter you will be on your way to the worst sort of danger…I am banking on the enclosed copy of the 91st Psalm. The thing that takes the place of fear and worry is the promise in these words. I feel sure that God will lead you through this mad experience…I continue only to pray. Goodbye my dear. I love you more than I can tell you…Dad.

God delivered Jimmy Stewart from death and honored him with a wonderful life.

Cell Phone Praying

My cell phone has become my prayer list to help me remember to pray for the victims of 9-1-1, Sandyhook, Boston Marathon and others. When I can’t sleep at night, I pray through all my entries. I can’t forget the heartbreak of so many who lost loved ones. Fortunately, it appears the crisis on Phoenix freeways is over, but I continue to pray for the safety of our neighborhoods. I also pray for the shooter or shooters and their families to know and experience God’s mercy and forgiveness.

Will you join me in prayer for our communities? Pray when you drive by a school. Pray when you see law enforcement and fire fighters. Pray as you watch the news on TV as they so often report the horrific suffering around the world. Wherever we are, Drive-by Praying can bring peace to our communities as we acknowledge our love for God and dependence on Him.

Posted in America, Christian Living, Drive-by praying., Faith, Phoenix AZ, Prayer, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Miss You, Vivien . . . by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Posted on September 25, 2015 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

When I first met Vivien in 1984, I resisted getting to know her. She was five years younger than I, but already had three children, approximately the same ages as mine. The intensity of her personality threatened to suck away all my energy. I tried to cut a wide swath around her when our paths crossed at the Hamilton, New Jersey library where we brought our soon-to-be kindergarteners to attend Safety Town.

But Vivien would not be avoided.

I tolerated her attempts to engage me in conversation. I answered her questions with as few words as possible and did nothing more to hold up my end of the interchange.

Vivien: Your baby looks just like my baby, Diana.

Me: Uh huh.

Vivien: Did you ever notice how many baby girls are named Diana now?

Me: No.

Vivien: It must be because everybody loves Princess Diana.

Me: Whatever.

It was Vivien’s wish that we carpool the kids to school in the fall. I didn’t like that idea. I had envisioned myself walking Carly to school every day, with Erin in the stroller and Matt clutching the handle as I’d trained him to. I resented Vivien’s intrusion into my dreams.

Yet she kept calling me and offering to trade driving chores.

I put her off. Matt and Erin and I walked Carly to and from school for the first week. A neighbor tagged along with us.

But Vivien wore me down. I agreed to let her drive Carly the next week.

It was a disaster. Although I, responsible mother that I am, rose every morning at 6, Vivien slept until a few minutes before school started. Maddeningly, her alarm frequently failed to go off, and I ended up taking David and Carly to school myself—and getting them there late. Despite my protests that this arrangement was not working for me, Vivien promised it would get better, so I stuck it out. There were occasional relapses, but I had a bigger problem.

This school was not a good fit for Carly. My brilliant daughter entered kindergarten already reading the Little House books and doing simple multiplication and division. Her new teacher’s lessons introduced colors and numbers and the alphabet.

I asked for instruction at her level. The school had no provision for gifted education in kindergarten. The principal finally allowed Carly to go to first grade for reading time. This turned out not to be the best solution, because although she read well, she couldn’t write fast enough to keep pace with the other students.

I had to find a different school for Carly. There were no charter schools in those days, but nearby Princeton had several excellent private schools.

Unfortunately, investigating them was impossible, because my younger children got weepy every time I picked up the telephone.

I complained to Vivien, expecting her to sympathize with me.

Instead, she said, “Bring the kids to my house tomorrow afternoon. I’ll watch them while you go to my husband’s office in the basement and make all the calls you need to make.”

She blew me away with her kindness. I would never have asked her to babysit. I know what a handful three children are—and she had three of her own to take care of as well.

But I took her up on it. The next day I spent an hour in her basement talking on the phone with admissions officers at three private schools, asking questions and setting up appointments for testing and interviews. Then my children and I spent the rest of the afternoon visiting with Vivien and her children, beginning a truly wonderful best friendship that lasted for years, even after I moved across the country.

I am sorry to admit that, somehow, we eventually lost touch. I heard through the grapevine that Vivien’s marriage ended and she moved away from the address I knew. I regret her loss, but I will always love her for reaching out to me when I was totally unlovable.

Vivien was the kind of friend I want to be–one who offers to be the solution to the other’s problem. I miss you, Vivien.

Has anyone ever gone out of their way to help you? How did that affect your relationship? Share in the comments below.

Posted in Finding solutions, Friendship | Tagged children, Kindergarten | 3 Comments

She Did What She Could

Posted on September 18, 2015 by Linda Carlblom

I attended our Tuesday’s Children’s writers retreat in the tall pines of Pine, AZ earlier this month with my critique group that I do life (and this blog) with. One of our members, Judy, has a house there she opens up to us for writing, learning, eating, and laughing. Lots of laughing. And eating. And chocolate. Oh, and writing, which of course is our real reason for going. But we also have a spiritual element that makes our gathering extra special. We’re all Christians and we always hope our writing contains the fragrance of Christ.

Our first night together we changed into our pajamas and shared an informal communion service together. Judy read to us from Mark 14:1-26. We talked about the woman who anointed Jesus with expensive perfume and how the people gave her a hard time about it. Jesus responded by telling them to “Leave her alone. Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me…She did what she could…” (vs. 6-8 NIV).

I was so struck by that. First of all, I love how Jesus went to bat for this woman, defending her and her actions. And second, I love that “she did what she could.” It may not have seemed wise or politically correct, but she used what she had (perfume) for Jesus.

What do I have that I can use for Jesus? What do you have? Let’s do what we can with what we’ve been given, whether material possessions, time, talents, or skills. We all have something to offer the world, and that is our gift back to Jesus. I hope He can say of me, “She did what she could.”

Linda

Posted in Bible, Christian Living, Doing Life Together, Faith, Faithfulness, Gifts, Jesus, Ministry, Service, Uncategorized | Tagged communion, doing what you can, Jimmy Carter, Mark 14:1-26, retreat, serving, writing | 5 Comments

My Journal, September 14, 2001 . . . by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Posted on September 11, 2015 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Found on Facebook.

Inspired by the article 9/11–We Remember by Mary O’Connor, I am sharing the first entry in my personal journal after the attack, unedited. Please excuse the rambling and the incorrect information.

When I got out of the shower Tuesday morning (9/11) and turned on the TV, the World Trade Center was on fire. I called Greg at work, and he turned on the TV in his classroom. While we were watching, the second tower burst into flames, although the reason wasn’t readily ascertainable. I called Carly in Brooklyn. I was glad to know she was safe.

When I returned to the bedroom, Andy, who had been watching TV, told me a second airplane had hit the building. I couldn’t understand it. That building had been there for 33 years without any accidents. How could there be two in one day? They replayed the film footage of the second tower bursting into flames, and this time I saw the plane fly around the back of the building and then the explosion as the plane passed through. They they said the two planes had been hijacked. Finally, I understood–this was not an accident.

Then the news of the hit on the Pentagon–and the crash of a plane outside Pittsburgh. The news kept getting worse and worse.

I couldn’t stop watching TV. It looked like a disaster movie and had a feel of unreality. Then the first tower came crashing down. It looked like an implosion, like when a building is demolished. I got an email from Janell telling me not to go to work. I took Katie to school. By the time I came back, the second tower was gone. What a nightmare. My children were watching this happen on TV. Is it good for them to be seeing this? I tried to call Carly a few more times, but I couldn’t get through.

Carly emailed me that she was worried about Sara Jo, who is a flight attendant. She couldn’t phone out; would I please call her apartment and find out if she’s okay?

I called her apartment and spoke to her boyfriend. He said, “She’s fine. I just talked to her last night.” I had to fill him in on what was happening. Sara Jo was in Baltimore. He said he’d call her and get back to me later.

by Ben Sturner

I had to take the cats to the vet for an appointment. Around 8:00 AM the power went out. This is it, I thought. The bombs are dropping. I called the animal clinic to ask if they had power and if they were taking patients. They said yes on both counts.

The power came back on, Matt helped me round up the kittens, and I took them to the vet. It took half an hour to check them in, and then I went to my writers group.

We didn’t do any critiquing at group, just talking and praying. When I got home I was relieved that no new targets were hit. I believed the worst was over.

On Wed. Mayor Giuliani said there were 4,763 people missing in NY. How can that be? If 50,000 work in the WTC, did 90% escape in the 40 minutes between the crash and the collapse?

Or did many of them never get to work?

There are stories of people who were supposed to be on those planes but weren’t, or who were supposed to be in that building but never got there. I think God intervened.

Donna F’s cousin was supposed to start a new job at WTC Tuesday, but his buddies took him out to celebrate Monday night–and he overslept.

Donna hasn’t yet heard about 35 of her friends who work at WTC.

I heard about a flight attendant in Phoenix who often works on one of the flights that was hijacked–but she drew jury duty.

I thought it was odd that there were only 45-90 passengers on those flights. Those were big planes–737, 757, 767–there should have been at least a hundred passengers on each. There were 288 total on the four planes.

Flight 93 that crashed outside of Pgh–after it was hijacked, passengers called home on cell phones to say goodbye to their loved ones. They found out about the WTC and Pentagon. One man told his wife, “The male passengers took a vote–we’re going to jump the hijackers.” They knew they were going to die anyway, but they wanted to preserve the lives of people at the intended target. The plane crashed in a rural area.

Two of the men who fought the hijackers were scheduled to be on different flights. One postponed his flight from the night before. The other was at the airport early, and was given the option of taking an earlier flight because Flight 93 was so empty.

One person told me their relative was bumped from one of the flights. How can that be, if there were so many empty seats?

The airlines always overbook. I can’t remember being on a plane with more than 2 empty seats.

I heard the CEO of Cantor-Fitzgerald, an investment firm on floors 100-105. He got to work late because he took his son to the first day of kindergarten. When he got to WTC, it was already on fire. He tried to go in, but couldn’t because of the people coming out. So he asked people as they came out, “What floor were you on?” 55, 62, 70, 84. He knew if 1 person from the 100th floor escaped, there would be others who left through other doors.

The highest floor anyone escaped from was 91. None of the 700 Cantor-Fitzgerald employees who were in the building escaped.

On Thursday when the airports reopened, a group of Middle Easterners at each NY airport (JFK, LaGuardia, and Newark) were dressed as pilots with fake IDs and attempted to board planes. It took all day for me to understand what this means–that the attacks stopped because the flights stopped. With the planes flying again, the risk of another attack is back. My relief is gone. We can be killed at any time.

What a strange war this is. We are most likely to encounter the enemy at the airport.

Found on Facebook.

One person rescued was a cop who had been on the 86th floor. He’s in the hospital with broken legs. He said he “rode the building down” when it collapsed.

That’s another thing–how did that building crumble like that? They took samples of the cloud that hung in the air and analyzed it. It was mostly gypsum (drywall) but also contained pulverized steel, glass, marble, and concrete. The hardest materials in the building were reduced to powder. Yet one of the least durable materials–paper–was fluttering around undamaged. Shouldn’t it have burned up? Or was this also God’s intervention, so that there would be less weight on the people trapped under the rubble?