Seven years ago, terrorists flew airplanes at us thinking that they could drastically disrupt the United States economic and governmental systems with their actions. If nothing else, they hoped to send a strong signal to America that it had enemies, and that not everyone in the world approved of our way of life.
In the weeks and months after that tragedy, in spite of the country’s mourning, we proved that we would not be threatened, and we would not live in fear. We would continue. Markets opened, the government continued to operate, and the American way continued. We proved, once again, that no external threat or influence could severely disrupt our way of life for long, and that we would confront our enemies wherever they lived to secure our future.
This last week, however, has unmasked a much more dangerous threat to our American way of life. It turns out that our worst enemy hasn’t been a bunch of terrorists in a training camp half a world away, turns out the biggest threat to our very way of life has been sitting right under our noses in downtown New York City, parading around in dark suits and expensive shoes.
Yesterday when I arrived at work, our receptionist told me a story that put me in stitches…
In Sunday School lately, we’ve digressed back to the time in our youth where it was uncool to read things outloud in class. I mean, what’s more embarrassing for our budding egos than mispronouncing the name Kishkumen or Pahoran or Ammonihah? (come on folks… amone-aye-hah? or amun-eye-uh? pick one!)