I’ve never forgotten the way the kids came home and huddled around the television on 9/11. We all did, I guess. In homes everywhere. Our kids seemed nervous -- yet comforted that they were with each other.

That night, when we could no longer bear the sadness, the tumbling of the towers, the rising of the ash, we all piled into the minivan and headed for church. We all needed words of comfort from someone qualified to provide them. But along the way, another image affected everyone almost as much as what they had seen earlier in the day: lines … long ones, at gas stations. It was eerie. Scary even. It put the tragedy of 9/11 on something of a personal level, as if it needed to be any more so. A sudden fear of running out of oil had gripped us, at least in my hometown, at what was the beginning of our latest long, national nightmare.

Other long, national nightmares (wars, slavery and other civil unrest, I could go on) preceded President Ford’s verbal description of the American condition when he was sworn into office and assured us Watergate was behind us. More long nightmares (and wars and civil unrest) have, of course, followed, including the one we endure now.

Our world changed (again) this week. The new normal has been kicked out, replaced by the even newer normal after radicalized Islamic terrorists stormed a workplace and killed coworkers — associates who only months earlier had gifted their eventual killers with presents for their coming newborn.

When the dust became such that we could at least try to make sense of Wednesday’s events — some three days before we officially called it an act of terror — my prevailing thought was that the phrase, “Tell your loved ones how you feel because it may be the last time you see ever them” means something today that it didn’t mean as recently as last week.

We must now truly go into each day like never before, fully realizing that this day could well be the last time we draw breath. Oh sure, it’s always been that way. But go ahead, deny that it’s reached a whole new level with the murders in San Bernardino.

Unlike 9/11, we barely slow down for news of the latest mass killings today. People continued playing golf on a course adjacent to the government building during and followingWednesday’s massacre. Life goes on just as people are slaughtered by radical assassins in the marketplace, social service agencies, theaters, churches, schools and homes.

There really is no safe haven anymore. Which is exactly why we must consider every place a safe haven. We have to go to the malls, look at Christmas lights, go to Christmas Eve services, bake sales, county fairs, New Year’s parades and sporting events. All the stuff that makes us us.

Most importantly, now more than ever, we can not keep our family members uninformed about our love for them because tomorrow — or five minutes from now — we could very well be loving a memory.

For weeks after 9/11, we were more civil to one another. The vitriol slowed thanks, at least in part, to those beautiful, prehistoric social media-free days. Today, we often can’t come up with the best way forward because we’re too busy being angry and standing up for that which we insist. We should feel as strongly about our loved ones and our neighbors as we do about our ramblings. For how can we find common ground against those who oppose us if we cannot even respect one another?

Dorothy Day once said that our greatest challenge is how to bring a revolution of the heart. A revolution, she said, which must start within each of us.

A revolution of the heart won’t stop the next radicalized extremist — or for that matter the next mentally ill, once-bullied, disgruntled, former employee, or an outraged, wronged husband — but it can change us. We cannot instill our joy on those bent on doing harm to others. But we can make ourselves more receptive to receiving love and giving respect. After all, it is by love that we were created and for love that we are meant.

A revolution of the heart, and the notion of civility and respect, love and joy, makes for a small, perhaps ineffective defense on the war against terror. Or does it? These are, after all, the very characteristics those who would bring us our end try to dispel. We must embrace our families, love ourselves, and treat our neighbors and friends — real and virtual — with the dignity that all those who seek peace are entitled.

And for those who work so hard for our destruction, we must keep them from taking what they so desperately desire: Starting with our freedom and ending with the revolution of our hearts.

In the aftermath of the terrorist attacks in Paris, the husband of one of the victims wrote a message to his wife’s murderers: "Friday night you took away the life of an exceptional human being, the love of my life, the mother of my son. But you will not have my hatred.”

Don’t give them what they want.


Jimmy Patterson is the editor of the West Texas Angelus . He can be reached at [email protected].