Listen, let’s just sit in this for a moment.
The images are seared into our minds: the Guadalupe River, swollen and raging, tearing through the Texas Hill Country like a freight train, leaving behind a trail of devastation. Homes reduced to splinters, cars piled like toys, and the heart-wrenching stories of lives lost—over 100 souls (as last reported), including children at Camp Mystic, swept away in the night.

The grief is heavy, raw, and real. It literally makes me sick to my stomach to think of what those parents are going through right now. It’s the kind of pain that makes you clench your fists, stare at the sky, and ask, *Why?* And I think we should create some safe spaces to ask those hard-no-easily-answered questions.

Question: “Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?”

This isn’t a time to gloss over the hurt. The families who lost loved ones—parents, children, grandparents, friends—are carrying a devastating weight that feels unbearable. The stories are gut-wrenching: a mother clinging to a tree as floodwaters roared past, a camp director giving his life to save young girls, entire communities washed away in hours. Kerr County alone mourns at least 84 lives, with 28 of them children. The numbers are staggering, but they’re NOT just numbers—they’re names, faces, stories. This is a tragedy that demands we pause and feel the depth of the loss. To rush past that grief would be to dishonor those who are suffering. And yet, in the middle of these tears welling in my eyes and this ache, there’s a question that keeps surfacing, one that’s as old as humanity itself: *If God is good, why does He allow bad things to happen to good people?*

It’s the kind of question that can keep you up at night, staring into the dark-heart-heavy wondering if faith even makes sense anymore. Let’s not dodge it, as a matter of fact, let’s lean into it. Here’s the thing: the Bible doesn’t give us a neat, tidy answer to that question. It’s not a math equation with a clean solution. Job, a man who lost everything—family, wealth, health—wrestled with this same question, shaking his fist at the heavens, demanding to know why, his supportive wife (insert sarcastic font here) telling him to just curse God and die.

But what was God’s response? Not a formula, but a vision of a universe vast and wild, held together by a Creator whose ways are bigger than our understanding. “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?” God asks (Job 38:4). It’s not a dismissal of Job’s pain; it’s an invitation to trust that there’s a story bigger than the one we can see. The truth is, we live in a world that’s broken—beautiful, yes, but fractured. The same rivers that give life can turn deadly. The same skies that bring gentle rain can unleash torrents. And God, in His mysterious love, doesn’t always intervene the way we wish He would (and for most of us, that’s hard to understand).

BUT here’s where the encouragement comes in: God doesn’t abandon us in the flood. He’s there in the rescue boats, in the helicopters, in the hands of first responders pulling people from the water. He’s there in the churches opening their doors, in the neighbors sharing food and clothes, in the tears shed at vigils in San Antonio. The goodness of God doesn’t erase the pain, but it shows up in the people who refuse to let despair have the last word. Think about Jesus on the cross—nailed to a piece of wood, abandoned by His friends, mocked by the crowd. If anyone ever looked at a moment and said, “Where’s the good God now?” it was there. And yet, that moment of ultimate suffering became the doorway to resurrection, to life, to hope. The cross tells us that God doesn’t stand aloof from our pain; He enters it, bears it, and somehow, in ways we can’t always grasp, redeems it.

SO, to those asking the hard question, to those who are angry at God right now: It’s okay to wrestle. It’s okay to cry out. God can handle your doubts, your anger, your grief. He’s not afraid of your questions, I’ve asked many of these questions too during this devastating time. But don’t stop there. Look around. See the stories of hope rising from the wreckage—stories like Coast Guard Swimmer Scott Ruskan who wasn’t supposed to be in the area, and yet, managed to save a 165 children in those sudden flash floods. Stories of strangers becoming family, communities rallying, people giving sacrificially. That’s where God’s goodness shines through, not in erasing the tragedy but in weaving something new through it.

Here’s the challenge, and it’s not a small one: Don’t just pray for the families of the victims—though please, *please* do that. Their pain is unimaginable, and our prayers are a way of holding them up when they can’t stand. But let’s go further. Let’s be the hands and feet of Jesus in this broken world. Get out there and help your neighbor—whether it’s clearing debris, donating to relief efforts, or simply listening to someone’s story of loss. The NFL Foundation, the Dallas Cowboys, and the Houston Texans have pledged $1.5 million to aid victims. Local churches like Hunt Baptist are offering free water, The Salvation Army is on the ground with their Emergency Disaster Teams proving food, water, and clothes. You don’t need to be a millionaire or a megachurch to make a difference—just show up in so many different ways. This is our moment to change the world around us, not with grand gestures but with small, faithful acts of love. When we do that, we’re not just helping our neighbors; we’re joining God in His work of redemption, of bringing light to the darkest places. We’re saying, with our lives, that even in the face of a flood, hope rises. And that hope, that stubborn, defiant hope, is how we glorify God in the midst of the storm.

So, let’s pray. Let’s weep. And then let’s get to work, because the world needs us to show up now more than ever.
Grace & Peace EVEN in the Storms.
-Pastor Scott.