Author Ruth Senter writes:

Life sometimes has a way of showing us ourselves more clearly. September 11th, 2001 was such a time for me.

On Monday, my husband Mark and I had made plans to eat at the Middle Eastern restaurant in town. I had enjoyed a delicious lunch there and knew Mark would like the food.

On Tuesday, the World Trade Towers fell. Now I wasn't so sure I wanted to give "these people" my business. I was ready to pick up the phone and make reservations elsewhere.

But something (I know it was God's Spirit) kept us headed toward our original plan—and we found ourselves walking through the door of the restaurant.

The place had an eerie stillness to it. We were the only customers. I noted that the owner—the dark-skinned man with a broad smile who usually waited on diners, wasn't to be seen. His young son took our order, and his wife cooked our meal. Her baby slept on a table nearby. I felt the woman and the young boy watching us.

We were at the door about to leave when Mark went back to the table and added more money to the tip. The act did not go unnoticed. Both mother and young boy smiled, nodded, and mouthed a "thank you."

In the days since the terrorist attacks, I've gone back, in my mind, to the young family there in the restaurant and the baby sleeping on the table. Eating in that restaurant the very night of the World Trade attack pulled me beyond my natural bent toward categories and judgments. It focused me on the people.

Now, as I watch the evening news, I see the ugliness of war, yes. But even more I see people—created by God, loved by him. People who are hurt, tired, hungry, afraid. And people trying to make sense of it all, just like I am.