Leaning against the railing on a ferry out in the middle of the Manhattan bay, I pointed out the Freedom Tower to my family. We were just coming back from The Statue of Liberty, Liberty Island, and Ellis Island.

As the tallest skyscraper in the Western Hemisphere, the One World Trade Center sparkles in the sunlight. Rising 1,776 feet into the air, the building is a monument to liberty.

I knew much had changed since the day years ago when my wife and I stood at the base of one of the Twin Towers and then later on a return visit to the gaping ground zero wound and the nearby Trinity Church that showcased countless stories and pictures of the victims.

Making our way to the Memorial Plaza, the first thing that I noticed was all the swamp white oaks trees. Each one unique.  Stately.  Beautiful.

Then we came to the first of the two square reflecting pools, each filling an acre and bordered by thirty-foot waterfalls and bronze panels containing the names of the 2,983 who died.

Leaving the pools, we bought tickets and entered the newly opened Memorial Museum, a place dedicated to preserving the stories of those who died. We listened to the last words of so many before they died.  Words of anguish, fear, terror, sacrifice, faith, and courage.

On that fateful day, thirteen years ago, some lived as they rushed down the Survivor’s Staircase.  And in brushing my hand along some of those steps, I could not help but think about all those around us who are spiritually perishing.  They need to be shown the path where they can be rescued.  Jesus is that path.  The Way.

September 11 is upon us. My favorite symbol on this particular day is the steel cross.  It was at the foot of the steel cross in the museum just a few weeks ago, I thanked the Lord Jesus Christ for rescuing me.