April 19, 1995, 9:02 am

Taking advantage of the sunny weather (although no longer in the 70s), J.D. and I decided to visit the Oklahoma City National Memorial, the site of the 1995 bombing. We made our way downtown, parked, and plugged a couple of quarters in the meter. The memorial takes up about two city blocks and is made up of several monuments and a museum. Along the western edge, about 200 feet of chain link fence stands on either side of the entrance gate. The fence is part of the original fencing put up to secure and protect the bomb site when rescue operations began. We made our way to the gate looking through the various ribbons, flowers, teddy bears, license plates, wreaths, toys, stickers, and dozens of other items littering the fence in memoriam. We entered the memorial plaza through two enormous gates, the inscription above reading: We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived, and those changed forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence. May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope, and serenity.

Along the length of the plaza runs a reflecting pool bordered on each side by the Gates of Time. Emblazoned on the gates are two times: 9:01 on the eastern gate and 9:03 on the western gate. Bookending the time of the bombing, the gates provide a seemingly timeless physical space. Even with specific times overlooking the memorial, there is a sense that I entered into the past, present, and future; pain, healing, and hope.

Along the south end of the plaza is the now grassy footprint of the Murrah Federal Building, called the Field of Chairs. Bronze and glass chairs dot the lawn, each etched with the names of those killed in the bombing and arranged according to which floor they occupied. 168 in all with smaller chairs representing the children who died. The winter sun was low and cast long shadows for each of the chairs, a heavy reminder of the still long shadows these deaths have cast. The eastern edge of the field is buttressed by the only remaining wall of the building.

Opposite the reflecting pool from the field is the Survivor Elm. This 90 year old American Elm stood witness to the bombing and took the full force of its violence, but still stands and flourishes in defiance. It struck me how remarkable it is that such an ordinary, humble thing has taken become a powerful and noble symbol. This phenomena of exaltation and incarnational strength was echoed again and again when touring the museum in the lives of the thousands who responded to this tragedy.

Now the memorial is a beautiful tribute filled with powerful images, but my eyes remained dry. That didn't last long. J.D. and I popped a couple more quarters into the meter and entered the museum. Now if the thought of spending $10 for this museum doesn't seem worth it, let me tell you that you're getting a great deal. The exhibits start in a room with a large screen on one side and a conference table in the middle. We were now sitting in a water board hearing the morning of April 19th listening to the only known recording of the blast. The meeting began at 9:00am and that's when the audio recording begins with all of the normal business of a public hearing. Knowing that the blast was at 9:02, we sat waiting, not sure how long two minutes actually was. I started getting really anxious, waiting to hear the blast. Suddenly on the tape is an enormous crack and rumble, so much larger than I had expected, and the screen opposite lights up with the faces of each of the victims. The doors open and you begin to walk through the aftermath.

The first room has cases filled with debris collected from the rubble and chaotic news reports shouting overhead. I was doing alright until I saw the small, pink shoe with a big flower on the side belonging to a little girl who was killed. That was it. I was pretty teary for the next hour or so. As you progress through the exhibits, you relive the minutes, hours, days, and months following the blast. Survivors' stories, rescue operations, criminal investigations, funerals-all of it. I was in sixth grade at the time and remember it happening, but learning the details of it was a far more emotional experience than I had expected. It is a remarkable story and one that needs to be retold and remembered.

Both of us emerged a bit shell shocked and red-eyed, grabbed some BBQ for lunch, and headed back north. I urge any of you reading to see this memorial if you are ever in this part of the country. We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived, and those changed forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence. May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope, and serenity.