I was ten years old, in the fifth grade, and learning mathematics in a classroom on the outskirts of a small rural Midwestern town.
The assistant principal of the school entered the room and instructed my teacher to turn on the television to channel eight, the local NBC affiliate's station.
I was ten years old; I did not comprehend the complexity of the situation, but surely it was bad since my teacher began crying.
The mathematics lesson was over for the day, so was school.
My family attended the evening prayer service in the high school auditorium. Prayers were said and tears were shed.
I was ten years old.
I am twenty years old, a junior at an interdenominational Christian liberal arts university, and aspiring a successful business career.
The blessings and faithfulness of God, family and friends have been consistent. Life has not been without pain, but my tears are quickly replaced by joy.
I am twenty years old; my country has been engaged in war for ten years and my people have haphazardly demonized a religion.
The quest for understanding is far from over, so I seek the Lord's favor.
My community will gather to remember that day in the university auditorium.
Prayers will be said and tears will be shed.
I am twenty years old.
