Have you ever wondered about the aircrews on those fateful flights of 9/11? One man's story gives a vivid description of what happened . . . please consider what the pilot, Steve Scheibner, has to say about life

I have the great privilege of coaching the Upward cheerleading squad and am married to the fearless Upward referee commissioner. We have four lovely children, three of whom are participating in Upward activities this morning—but it’s likely that none of this would have happened if events had gone a bit differently exactly nine years ago today. It was on that fateful morning that I found myself among the hundreds of government workers being hastily evacuated from the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, D. C. Word was circulating that YES, another plane was headed right for us. I was twenty-seven years old and had been married for only six weeks.

On the battlefields of the Civil War, one hundred and sixty-three years ago, the troops of the Army of Northern Virginia (Confederacy) experienced an event called for by their president, Jefferson Davis. On August 21, 1863, they observed a “day of prayer and fasting.” General Robert E. Lee issued this order in response to President Davis’ request: “The President of the Confederate States has, in the name of the people, appointed the 21st day of August as a day of fasting, humiliation and prayer. A strict observance of the day is enjoined upon the officers and soldiers of this army. All military duties, except such as are absolutely necessary, will be suspended. . . . "

Bedford is a small town in rural Virginia. Nestled in the Blue Ridge foothills, it’s a tranquil spot to visit and ponder the enormous price this community made in service to our country on June 6, 1944—D-Day. Upon this beautiful town fell proportionately the heaviest share of American losses on that day. For out of the thirty young men from Bedford who had joined the National Guard and were called into service in 1942, twenty-two were killed in the invasion. For the “Bedford Boys” who landed on Normandy’s Omaha Beach in 1944, their bonds meant just that—bonds.

On the wall of my father-in-law’s office hangs a small piece of paper framed as an important document, yellowed with age. On this paper are these words: "You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world . . ."

No doubt you associate March 17th each year as St. Patrick’s Day, as I do. For as long as I can remember, the date set aside to celebrate St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, has been a day dedicated to the wearing of green, to decorating with leprechauns and shamrocks, and to holding parades in locations where many Irish have settled. But little did I know that March 17th is also a holiday because of a military victory.