To young sisters, Blair (13) and Brooke (11) Harber, staying with their grandparents in a cabin, during the Texas Hill Country Floods -- found holding hands, their rosaries with them -- Grandparents still missing. May your memory be a blessing. May the memory of all who perished be a blessing. May every tainted ghoulish voice drop to their knees and ask for forgiveness. May mercy and goodness be upon us all.
God do you hear are you near can you see the debris around me despair hear our prayers as waters rise to black skies and her hand in mine intertwined winged flight the fight little bird of the air my sister to the end friend Godsend Your warmth over them our family transcend this river of good withstood one hundred years of Mystic revivalistic Your Glory of stories as devils write wicked allegories we see You Light breaking hearts aching together soaring mooring at the straight of our fate shedding tears our fears leaving them grieving disbelieving we'll be okay little birds of the sky beautify at the break of day entering His glorious walkway...
I might have attached this beautiful music before to another poem or story — but I wrote this piece through it this morning — sobbing. I don’t know what happens other than needing to find a way to honor the suffering of our world. It’s outer body.
I poured my coffee, turned on the classical station, aired out the house with the old fashioned whole-house fan, shut it off after a few minutes, heading to get changed, when this piece began to play. I imagined the suffering and sheer panic of so many in the pushing force of raging water. The few interviews I’ve seen in social media of survivors listening to voices crying for help. Last night, I saw non-partisan news journalist, Jenna Lee from “Smarther News,” (who I follow on Instagram) interviewing sweet singer-songwriter, Julia Hatfield, about her experience camping with her husband on the Guadalupe River, near Hunt, Texas, as the floods began. Then I read about the conversation young Blair Harber had, about her love of Jesus with her aunt, the week prior to going on holiday with her sister, grandparents and parents. And read about a young camp counselor trying to hold onto several little girls and was forced to let go of a few. So many heroes in the midst. So much sorrow. The stories of those left behind with these haunting scenes and memories will last a lifetime, as they do for anyone who has suffered things they can’t unsee. There are daily accounts never heard of and wars continuing to rage.
I honestly do not have television on in our home, with exception to late-night comedy re-runs on the Pluto app. — and now the gorgeous scenery of Le Tour de France. I read what is given to me — not in a manic abundance of searching. I open my news in the morning and read for about an hour. There are, as we know, so many heartbreaking stories. Too many to even digest. Yesterday, unfortunately, my Substack feed fed me the shocking tweets, concerning the Texas floods, from people who have completely lost their way in this often wicked world where it truly does feel as if the devil emptied out hell. Tragedy should never be political.
Then I see all the good. I search for good. We need to “anchor ourselves to goodness” — but not the world. The world is not an anchor. It is temporal. We are temporal.
When my dad would question me about my faith, since he lived his life as an agnostic — I would give him this story of him and I climbing a rather large mountain, ropes tethered together. Suddenly, our ropes begin to fray. River below, there is a long fall. I told him I wanted to fall knowing that I knew there was something better. That heaven awaited. And the God I prayed to would greet me. I wanted dad there with me. That my whole life, his whole life, was far more than crashing onto the rocks and water below. Instead, when I was falling I was actually ascending, rising to a better place. A beautiful place called heaven where I could sit in perfect self, in perfect peace, with the One who made me perfectly imperfect.
I don’t know why children have to die, or why many of us are dying younger than it seems, but I do know that the shortest verse in the Bible is this: “Jesus wept.”
He weeps.
The earth was given to us as a great responsibility. A gift. Free will. We are stewards of God’s most magnificent creation: The world and us. Man is most definitely toying with His creations. And history speaks of it’s unsustainability when man toys. God waits and watches as we live in it. He desires our fellowship, prayers and thanksgivings.
He is Sovereign.
In all of this tragedy, there are still His miracles. Many people spared. Crosses left standing in rubble. And we can’t question why, although we want to and we do.
Everything is stitched together for a purpose. We carry on.
Staying in community:
Thanks for the Mention! Sometimes, writing is the best tool we have to help process our feelings and try to make sense of these terrible tragedies. This was a beautiful tribute. Have a great weekend... 😎
Oh my sweet… my friends send their children to Camp Mystic. Fortunately, or by God’s plans, those I know are able to hold their children tight tonight. As of Sunday, some of their group were still waiting. They even hired retired SEALS to go in…
Bless you for writing this. My heart really, really needed it. 🕊️🙏🏻