Of all of the lives that were taken on that September day--one life was saved: MINE.

Of all the lives that spiraled down in a whirlpool of hate--one life was saved: MINE.

Of all the lives that ended when people were forced to choose--one life was saved: MINE.

That day...September 11, 2001, when planes were flown into buildings, when our national defenses were left scrambling, when heroes purposely battled the enemy in the air (thereby preventing more attacks) or entered burning structures, when twin towers collapsed in columns of dust, when our President vowed that terrorism would not win...my life was saved.

I was, like everyone else in America, blissfully (stupidly?) unaware of the changes about to take place. All of us were changed in an instant. My life was saved.

How, you ask?

Prior to 9-11, I kept all of the hurts I encountered throughout my life (real or imagined) buried deep within my soul, and would not let anyone know what I was truly feeling. I became cynical, covering up my real emotions under a veil of anger and bitterness; I rarely cried (unless I was having a "poor, poor, pitiful me" day). I did not write in a journal or diary; I'd attempted it over the years, but nothing would "come out right," and the project would quickly be abandoned.

There were times I got so low and depressed that I seriously considered suicide, because no one would listen to me, and I would stubbornly refuse to tell people how I was hurting.

That morning, I turned on the t.v., like I always do, and a breaking news story captured my attention. I heard the speculation that a small plane had run into one of the World Trade Center Towers in New York City; I felt kind of bad...but it was there, not here, and accidents happen; you see planes flying around tall buildings all of the time, you know?

Then there came the second plane.

I sat there, unbelieving; TWO different planes hitting the SAME complex? No way, man, this was no accident...America was under attack.

I had to go to work, so I didn't get to see the news for the rest of the afternoon; my boss, though, kept us informed. I'll never forget the look on his face when he said the Towers collapsed: my cynical reply? "One hundred ten story buildings just don't fall." I didn't believe him.

When I got home from work, my twin sister, who had turned off the t.v. from fear, wanted to go to church. She was really scared and upset (she's much more emotional than I am). While at church, she was delivered of a spirit of fear, and we came home, where she went to bed and slept peacefully.

And I turned on the t.v. ...the images played and replayed, over and over again, burning into my memory: the planes hitting; the smoke and flames; the people jumping, desperate to escape the inferno inside; the fire and smoke at the Pentagon; the smoking ruins (what was left, anyway) in a Pennsylvania field; firefighters, police men and -women and EMTs running inside burning Towers, trying to rescue those still inside; the Towers collapsing, first one, then the second; the ululations and celebrations from halfway around the world, rejoicing in America's downfall...these images will stay with me for a long, long time.

I grabbed a pen, a piece of paper, and started writing: that's how my life was saved.

Tears poured down my face, needed, cleansing, healing tears: my life was saved.

I still write, nearly two years later: my life was saved.

God saw that I needed a Gift, and He gave me one: my Gift of writing.

And that is why I write: my life was saved.