PERSPECTIVES ON THE OKLAHOMA BOMBING : ‘Taking Care of One Another, Hugging Every Child in Sight’ : Accustomed to picking up the pieces from nature’s assaults, Oklahomans are as resilient as ever, putting their faith in God and character.

When perfect terror struck the heart of my hometown, the million and a half human beings who live here responded with perfect love.

Here are a few Oklahoma stories.

State Rep. Kevin Cox, a black Democrat from Oklahoma City, was near the downtown YWCA, only a couple of blocks from the federal building, when the explosion shattered his windshield and blew his car against a building. At the YWCA, “I saw white heroes bringing out black babies and black heroes bringing out white babies,” he told one of our reporters. Cox and another group of men went looking for missing children. After helping as much as he could with rescue efforts, Cox caught a ride to the state Capitol, where he spoke to colleagues: “I forgot to say my prayers last night, and I guess one block slower than I was going, and I would have been a casualty. . . . I just hope and pray when that time comes, I’m all prayed up.”

Robert Henry, a judge on the 10th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, was at his home in Heritage Hills, a few miles from the destruction, yet the blast shattered some of his windows. On Wednesday night, he told me, he was able to get in touch with his staff at the courthouse (directly south of the explosion), to learn they were shaken yet safe. He and his wife stood in line for more than five hours to donate blood. With them were businessmen in $500 suits, blue-collar workers who appeared to have come straight from work, bikers in black leather jackets and chains, “folks of every ethnic background--and they were one. They were there to do their part to ease this hurt.”

At the Federal Employees Credit Union, which my father (retired from the Treasury Department) co-founded three decades ago, about 30 employees were in their third-floor offices in the Murrah building at the moment of the explosion. By Thursday morning, only 12 were known to be safe and alive. Everyone fears this will be the final ratio: the death of two of every three people on site at the time of the blast.

The credit union’s chief executive officer was in a meeting with several colleagues on the Murrah building’s third floor when the explosion struck. She wound up in the basement, to be rescued after a few hours. Wednesday night, officers of other credit unions in the region were working to reconstruct records and take over its operations until things can be put back together.

Wednesday night and Thursday, thousands gathered at their places of worship to comfort one another and seek solace through affirmations of their faith in God.

People called the Oklahoman from literally all over the world. Print, radio and television reporters from Los Angeles, Boston, Washington, New York and elsewhere called not only to seek information, but also to ask how they might help. From Estonia in Eastern Europe came a copy of President Lennart Meri’s letter to President Clinton, expressing condolences. Other messages came from social workers in Africa, from the British government, from across the planet.

They reach out, asking “What does this mean?” and “Can things be put back together?”

It’s too soon for most folks here to say what it means. Speculation about who did it is still secondary to most Oklahomans. We are taking care of one another, and hugging every child in sight.

But it does mean this much: Terror lives, and it has now struck our city.

No one pretends this situation can quite be compared to anything in our remembered past, yet there is determination to continue.

People here are resilient. As my colleague, Managing Editor Ed Kelley, has observed, “Oklahomans are survivors.”

A reader, Kirk Shelley, wrote the paper that “natural disasters are part of life here in Oklahoma. Storms, wild fires are sort of expected. Maybe that’s why people are so down-to-earth. They know how fragile life is, and how dependent we are on our neighbors. When a tornado hits, everyone pitches in to clean up.” To be sure, “the bombing yesterday was different. We are used to a little warning before our disasters.”

“My love of the heartland increases,” Shelley concluded. “One of the reasons why people live out here is because bombings just don’t happen. I’m glad to see that the bastards that did this didn’t destroy our character.”

He got that right. Call it perfect love, in the toughest times we’ve ever seen.