September 11, 2001, 9/11 is a day to remember. Of the 2,977 people who died that day, I want to remember the estimated 200 jumpers.

When the plane hit the first tower, all elevators and stairwells to the upper floors were demolished; there was no going down to save yourself and no first responders going up to the rescue. Because of the fire, no helicopter rescues were possible. The only way to escape the inferno was to jump.

The Twin Towers were about one-quarter a mile high, 1,368 feet tall, or 110 stories. The media stayed away mostly from broadcasting the jumpers. You can find some pictures and videos, but the jumps were so horrendous that the public couldn't stomach the visual.

The firefighters who gathered for direction at the doors of the Twin Towers would hear these thuds, thinking it was debris falling about, aghast that it was the bodies of men and women. Every few seconds, there would be a thud. Bodies of husbands and wives, sisters and brothers, friends and schoolmates were smashing to the ground. A few people jumped together, holding hands. The first firefighter casualty was a falling jumper.

What is it that the public couldn't stomach, the view of people jumping to their deaths, that the jumpers found falling a more tolerable death? I must paint a picture that I can only imagine why they chose to jump.

Over the last year, I have given some thought and conclusions to what people call the deconstructing of their faith. We are in the midst of the great falling away. People are declaring on their social media 'why' they aren't following Jesus down the narrow path anymore after years of believing. Instead of shouting from the rooftops of the revealed light of God in darkness, they are shouting their truth and experience from a greater darkness than before.

After nightfall, go outside for 15 minutes tonight until your eyes are used to the dark. Then, come inside, where the lights are bright, for 5 minutes. Return to the night sky, and you will see how much darker it got after exposure to the light.

I thought deconstructing was terrible. But then God shared with me something else happening in the Church that was not as loud and boisterous as the deconstructing crowd. It is those who are silently quitting Jesus. They are doing the same deconstruction but doing so silently.

I love you with eternal love but hate your flesh. Those were the words I heard in my heart one-day last week. I was oblivious to what I did to provoke such a statement. What did I do that God hated? I did not know.

Fast forward to Friday, and I was found to be the parental guardian of my 3-year-old niece and 11-year-old nephew as my mother and sister headed for a weekend getaway. If you know me; I'm a healthy recluse and need a lot of alone time. I can't remember when I went two and a half days without separation from people. I leaned on the grace of God, and I got through, and this is my story.

My niece is at the age where she is Dora the Explorer, looking for the next adventure to give her five senses something to shout about. Anything that is closed gets opened—all doors, drawers, bags, and boxes.

My nephew is developing his way, his truth, and his life. His way is what he wants. His truth is that no one understands him and is against him. His life is whatever he feels like at the moment.