On September 11, 2001 I spent a day of shock with my best friend, watching a friend’s TV in the city, then making our way to her apartment to meet our husbands. Before we knew who was responsible, before we knew who we knew who was on the planes or in the Twin Towers, because we didn’t know what to do with ourselves, we made our way to a church. The church was empty and we knelt and prayed.
I’ve been through tragedies without faith in God. When my cousin was murdered at age 30 and I was 19, I didn’t have faith or a place of worship that felt like home. I was lost. I was angry. That’s part of the reason why when I got married, I vowed to give my children faith and religion, no matter which religion it was.
Now when I am lost in grief or praying for hope and peace and health for my friends and family, stopping in to a church and praying gives me peace and strength.
I received this picture of Boston College’s church, St. Ignatius which is on the marathon route and became a sanctuary for Boston Marathon runners and spectators. Seeing the halted runners in their iconic metallic post-Marathon wraps in the pews is heartbreaking, but beautiful and comforting.
I am praying for the families who lost their children on April 15, to the innocent people who have lost their limbs and are scarred by what they’ve seen, for god-like surgeons who have blessed our city of renowned hospitals, for our law enforcement and for our continued love of our almost-holy day, our beloved Boston Marathon.