Yesterday, at approximately 3:00pm, a small aircraft crashed into a building on 72nd and York, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Sadly, two people lost their lives: Yankee’s pitcher Corey Lidle and his flight instructor.
As is our custom on Wednesday afternoons, we were downtown on the Upper East Side where my three older children take special classes. We were down stairs waiting for one of my kids to finish her class and waiting for the next to begin. We were playing regular old games; Simon Says, I Spy. . .and the flurry of activity began.
Cell phones ringing, people running in and out, trying to check and see if so and so is okay. One mother came and yanked her kid right out of class to go and check to see if it was her apartment building that had been hit. Walking outside, it looked as if giant dragon flies had descended upon the city. . .the sky full of news helicopters.
Children are blissfully ignorant and although my youngest little ones didn’t catch what was going on. . .my older ones (ages 7 and 5) certainly did. As I carefully watched and listened to try to decipher truth from panicked rumors, I was peppered with questions:
“Mommy, is Daddy okay?” “Did it hit Daddy’s building?”
Initial reports that we received placed the incident on the same block as my husband.
“Mommy are these the bad guys again?”
No one knew and standard procedure in NYC when there is an incident like this is to shut down: trains, traffic, buses, everything.
“Mommy, how will we get out if we need to?”
“Did anyone die, Mommy?”
While I think the news sensationalized the “panic” that spread throughout the streets of Manhattan, it is undeniable that in the very first moments of the crash, we all thought the worst.
Something about children that moms quickly figure out is you are not allowed to show distress. You’re not allowed to get sick. And you are most definitely not allowed to panic. So I gathered my children and as calmly as I could, I explained that I didn’t know. I didn’t know if daddy was physically harmed, I didn’t know how we were going to get home, and I didn’t know if it was another attack. And then I explained, “But it’s okay.”
It’s okay because we worship a God who is sovereign over the affairs of men. I don’t mean it’s okay so just go on and don’t worry about it. I mean that as sheep, we don’t know where to find green pastures or still waters. . .but our shepherd does. I told them that although we didn’t know, we knew that God was taking care of it even as we spoke.
I am always struck by the written Chinese word for crisis. It is two characters put together: the character for danger and the character for opportunity. Yesterday’s crisis was an opportunity for my children to experience what I hope will be a life long sense of peace. It was an opportunity for me to be reminded of that peace that will sustain me all of my days. It was an opportunity to find green pastures and quiet waters and lay down.