The world was normal when the clock said "9:01" -- and then suddenly, it was not.
Things changed. The world split. The gates of Hell opened. The world turned upside down; 168 people died at the hands of madmen.
And Jesus wept.
He felt our pain. And He wept.
The clock struck 9:03 and the world was never again the same.
A field of chairs now stands for those who no longer can.
We remember them, the children, the parents, the grandparents, now gone from the lives of those who loved them so.
Forever frozen in our memories as they were at that moment, at 9:02 a.m. April 19, 1995.
Tonight there are gifts among the chairs -- flowers fill the air with their sweet perfume. Toys fill the small chairs of the children. Teddy bears never to be hugged, never to console a hurting child who would now be a teen, but for that moment on that Wednesday morning.
Even now, when we know more of the truth than we did then, we still seek understanding or explanation. None will ever soothe us. And so we weep, as Jesus wept.
His tears, mixed with ours, water the Survivor Tree, and we learn that we can survive. We can thrive again, even with the scars that still feel so fresh, a decade later.
The satellite trucks have returned and will focus the world's attention on us again as we again honor those lost that day. And as then, we open our arms to those who see our hearts clearly.
And yes, we will remember that we are changed, again. And we mourn, again. And we try to find the peace that a decade has brought.
A block away is our statement -- a new federal building -- saying we will not bow to terrorism.
Today, we remember again the names of the 168. And we remember those who survive.