My son Jonathan discovered this week that local farmworkers were going to bed without blankets as the nights here dipped down below forty degrees. He began a drive to collect blankets. My four-year-old daughter Linnéa has insisted on accompanying him as he makes the rounds, handing out flyers. I see God in their innocent compassion. I also see him in the Muslim store manager who said, "If these blankets are for the poor, I want to help, too," and did. I see him in the girls in our neighborhood who were gathering bouquets of wildflowers to sell today, and when I said we were walking distributing flyers but not carrying money, they conferred and shyly returned to present us each with bouquets and to ask if they could help us distribute flyers to gather blankets. Would they have done so a week ago? Perhaps. But they certainly did it today.

I saw God in the friends and relatives from many countries who called to make sure we were okay, and the friends from church who kept calling even though they knew Bob was safe.

My mother-in-law, Dorothy Scott, lost her fifteen-year-old daughter in a terrible accident at a school picnic nearly fifty years ago. She has never forgotten the pain of that day, and the thought that she had also just violently lost her son, my husband, left her emotionally shattered, but with her strong and valiant faith showing through "in all the broken places." I saw God clearly in the depth of her love and the keenness of her pain.

My colleagues at Beliefnet certainly do not expect me to say this, but they came into our Manhattan offices that Tuesday when no one knew if it was safe, and every day thereafter, and stayed into the wee hours because they were determined to provide our users with a place of solace and community at a time of urgent need. This was not an easy task, as our server was located down by the Trade Towers, and is out for the foreseeable future.

Let me finally tell you about my across-the-street neighbor, James Shanahan. James is an obstetrician. Early Wednesday morning, September 12, he delivered a baby to a mother who has a six-year-old son, whom James also delivered. The little boy has an inoperable brain tumor. The father is a New York City police officer who came to witness the birth on his break from disaster duty at the Trade Center. The baby was a planned Cesarean, and as the team worked, James and the parents discussed the tragic events, and how different the world was that they were bringing this child into than it had been even the day before. Their hearts were heavy, their discussion subdued.

And then the baby was born. It is a little girl. And the parents, who were facing the worst that this world has to offer, held her tight and welcomed her and surrounded her with love. God was there. And the world went on.

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