www.thegospelcoalition.org
In the Aftermath of the Texas Floods, Keep Watch with the Suffering
Eight years ago, my family lost our home and most of our belongings in an unprecedented flood after Hurricane Harvey dumped more than 40 inches of rain over four days. Six feet of water sat in our home for 14 days. We were evacuated by boat, and like thousands of others in Houston, we spent the next year piecing our lives back together. Every time I look at pictures of the devastation, I’m shocked at the destruction and reminded of the grueling recovery that followed. Unless you’ve lived through it, the long-term physical and mental effects of a natural disaster on individuals, families, and entire communities are difficult to understand. I’ll never forget when Wilchester Elementary was turned into a mall full of clothing, toiletries, books, housewares, and furniture, where any family flooded out of their home was invited to come shop for free.
There’s a Wilchester Elementary student among those missing due to this week’s flooding in central Texas. Our community has once again been thrust into chaos as so many have faced unimaginable suffering and loss. Everyone I know is either grieving or desperately waiting to hear about a sister, father, niece, student, friend, neighbor, or daughter who lives or was camping or vacationing in the Texas Hill Country. As the death toll rises, we’re glued to our news feeds, waiting for each sliver of news, praying for those who remain missing to be found. Even friends without a direct connection to one of the victims share in the collective helplessness. Our heavy hearts and burdened souls feel the pain of each moment that has passed since the floods first came.
Anything I can think to say or do feels insignificant in light of the losses other families have sustained. But when I remember the way strangers surrounded my family during our time of need after Hurricane Harvey, I want to find practical ways to show love to those suffering now. What does it mean to love others amid their extreme suffering and loss in a way that’s genuinely helpful? Here are three ways we experienced such care.
Keep Watch
On the night before Jesus was betrayed, in anticipation of the great suffering he’d soon face, he told his disciples, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me” (Matt. 26:38). Jesus knew his disciples couldn’t drink the cup he was about to drink. He knew they couldn’t bear the weight of the world’s sins. They couldn’t imagine the depth of sorrow and anguish he felt as he asked his father to take the cup of suffering from him. But there was one thing Jesus asked his disciples to do: Remain and watch with him.
When I remember the way strangers surrounded my family during our time of need, I want to find practical ways to show love to those suffering now.
Right now, so many throughout Texas and beyond are experiencing great sorrow as they wait for their daughters to be found. We can’t take their suffering away but we can keep watch. We can plea in prayer to the Father until every missing person is found and the lives of those who have been left are put back together.
Eight years ago, when the water was still rising, there was nothing to do but watch. But knowing others watched with us gave us the strength to get through some of the hardest moments.
Show Up
Eight years ago, neighbors whose homes hadn’t yet flooded showed up to our home in rescue rafts and canoes. I don’t have any memory of eating or sleeping in the days that followed, but I know we were fed, were clothed, and always had a comfortable place to sleep as we watched the water rise over the next two weeks. When the waters finally receded, more people showed up in masks and gloves to help us muck out our house. Others showed up by donating toiletries, toys, beds, clothes, and school supplies.
The parent of a former student reached out and offered to lend us a car for as long as we needed. Friends and family showed up in text messages, emails, and phone calls that often went unanswered, though they didn’t go unnoticed. One of my oldest and dearest friends, who lives hours away, showed up without any agenda. Another friend I hadn’t seen in years sent a package that included the hymnal we sang from as children, reminding me of my comfort in life and death, the never-failing truth of the old, old story.
Give Generously
It wasn’t only friends, neighbors, and family God used to sustain us. Donations to local cleanup efforts poured in from all over the country. The staff from the church camp I attended as a child drove eight hours to help with clean-up. Amazon packages from a church group several states away began showing up on the front porch of our rental home. The owner of a clothing boutique on South Whidby Island in Washington State raised money to help our family with temporary living expenses. A local bicycle-shop owner collected the hundreds of flooded bikes in our neighborhood and restored them for free. A local theater invited all the flood victims over for a night away from the chaos. And when James Avery, an artisan jeweler who lives in Kerrville (where this week’s floods hit the hardest) heard that my daughter’s charm bracelet was lost in the flood, he wrote a personal letter that included a generous gift card to replace what had been lost. Strangers from all over Houston filled churches for city-wide prayer nights. Even the gracious #HoustonStrong comments on social media felt like tiny graces on the hardest days.
It wasn’t only friends, neighbors, and family God used to sustain us. Donations to local cleanup efforts poured in from all over the country.
I don’t own a boat or have an extra car to share. I don’t own a boutique, restaurant, or theater. I’m not an artisan jeweler or bicycle mechanic. And I’m not close enough to any of the victims’ families to show up in more personal ways. But I write. So today, I’ve written this as a reminder to my brothers and sisters in Christ to watch, pray, show up, and give generously from the abundance of time, talents, and treasures God has given you. And when I’m finished writing, I’ll get on my knees and keep watch with those who are suffering the unimaginable right now. I’ll show up in the tiny ways I can even when it feels insignificant. I’ll stay engaged despite the temptation to look away. I’ll tie ribbons around my trees. I’ll buy lemonade from the little girls on the corner raising money for their missing friend. I’ll go to the prayer night, and I’ll weep alongside those who are even now sorrowful. I’ll show up and be present just as Christ himself and his people showed up for me.