At the Pentagon's South Parking Lot the smoke has cleared but not the acrid smell. From where I stand at the very base of the building, the men walking and working on its roof seem small, like miniature toy soldiers. The building is that massive. Cranes pick at its gash like vultures tearing into a wound.

There's no running and shouting anymore. Instead the parking lot that surrounds the Pentagon looks like the site of a convention, or public safety flea market. Tents have been erected. Salvation Army and Red Cross vehicles bearing license plates from Virginia, Maryland, North and South Carolina, Texas, Tennessee and a dozen other states are parked side by side with local ambulances. A mobile McDonald's has been erected, complete with Golden Arches. Enough Gatorade has been stacked on pallets to quench the thirst of the entire armed forces. Volunteers resting on folding chairs find shade and share stories, exchanging business cards.

It is possible to forget that 180 bodies lie trapped beneath the rubble just yards away. But not for long. I came to perform the smallest of chores: hauling 500 pounds of charcoal briquettes from the back of my Jeep to the huge grill constructed by our friends at Tyson Food. The plant manager who supervises 600 employees at their Berlin, Maryland factory brought his team members and an eighteen-wheeler loaded with chicken. They are going through more than 8,000 pounds of chicken a day, feeding as many as 2,500 rescuers and volunteers. Share Our Strength facilitated their participation here, though nothing could have kept them away.

When they run over to express their gratitude for having some role to play, I know just how they feel. Military might alone cannot make a nation strong. It can only protect the strengths already existing within.

The fact that our national leaders will be almost exclusively focused on achieving victory over foreign adversaries makes our work to make a difference here at home not less relevant, but more so.

Beyond managing grief, the toughest challenge for those of us who are not firemen, doctors, or ironworkers has been finding a way to help. Against a catastrophe of this scale, it's almost impossible to do anything that feels significant. So the small things count. I stack the briquettes with extra care.