Even so no one knows the things of God except the Spirit of God.
1 Corinthians 2:11 NKJV
I don't know how far around the world the news has travelled about the devastating flood in Kerr County, Texas. That part of Texas is about 3 hours from where I live, so I was not in any physical danger... but my heart is another story. As a mother, my heart is splintered with the loss of lives, especially the children who died, and for their parents. Summer camp is supposed to be fun, not deadly.
Of course, the first question I always get from people is, "Where was God in all this?" I can only answer what I know to be the Truth, despite what people may think. He was there. To which the anguished cry has been, "Then why didn't He stop it?" Therein lies the struggle for everyone, even Christians.
I've been scrolling through news websites and social media, reading the reports, seeing the pictures, hearing the stories. So grateful for those who were rescued. And SO sad for those who were not... Today, I came across a post from a man named John Bo Nichols, who could be - should be - the spokesperson for the rest of us. A heartbroken soliloquy so intense you can feel the pain, and a profound statement of faith. Take a moment to read it here.
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Mr. Nichols writes: Those of you know me, know I rarely, if ever, post anything religious or political. I always try to stay positive in my expressions on social media; however, this is absolutely ripping apart the innermost fabric of my soul.
We
are sitting here—on our knees, with fists clenched, hearts broken, and eyes swollen with tears—and we are screaming into the heavens: WHY, GOD?! WHY THEM? WHY THESE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN?! WHY THESE FAMILIES?
They were so young.
They were their joy, their sunshine, their miracle.
And now they’re gone.
Snatched away by floodwaters that didn’t care.
And all we can do is cry out—WHY, GOD?!
We know You are good. We know You are love.
But right now…we are angry.
We are devastated.
And yes—we are confused.
Because none of this feels fair. None of it feels right.
And it hurts so bad we can’t breathe.
As a father of three children, I am holding back a storm inside me.
Trying not to rage. Trying not to collapse under the weight of what these families are facing.
God, if I feel this broken—how can they go on?
Lord, You said You are near to the brokenhearted.
Be right here. Right now. Be near to them in a way that defies reason.
Wrap them in Your presence like a blanket in the cold of this cruel storm.
Hold them when they scream, when they fall, when they cannot pray.
We are begging You—BE GOD to them.
Be their strength. Be their sanity. Be their breath.
When the sun rises and they are not there—be the one who carries them.
When the house is too quiet, too empty, too filled with memories—be the one who shouts louder than the silence:
“I am with you. I have not left you.”
Let them rage. Let them scream. Let them weep.
You can handle it, God—You have wept before.
You know what it is to lose a child.
Give them one drop of peace. Then another. And another.
Flood their aching hearts not with more sorrow—but with grace, with people, with comfort they didn’t expect and didn’t even know to ask for.
This is too big for us.
So we lay it at Your feet—smashed to pieces.
And we say it again because we have to:
But even in that question, we do not let go of You.
Because where else can we go?
We lift these grieving families to You,
in the name of Jesus—who screamed on the cross,
who wept at the tomb,
and who still walks with us in the valley of the shadow of death.
