Bring Back Big Families

I’ve been sitting with these thoughts for several days now, trying hard to find the right words, but they slip through my head every time I try to pin them down. The pain and suffering of the parents who lost their children in the recent central Texas floods is a weight I can’t fully grasp, a grief too vast for me to process. How do you articulate a sorrow so profound, a sorrow I can’t even begin to comprehend, a sorrow I pray I’ll never have to face? I’m still searching, stumbling through my own reflections, but I know I must try.

My house is a whirlwind of chaos. My kids, full of fire, refuse to slow down, dodging daily summer naps and quiet time with the special stubbornness and energy only children possess. Their laughter ricochets off the walls, and I catch myself getting frustrated with them, craving just a moment of peace during our summer together. But then my heart turns to the families in Kerrville and Hunt and other towns where the Guadalupe River’s relentless surge stole precious lives. Children and countless others were taken too soon, like those from Camp Mystic. Those parents now face a silence I can’t imagine, longing for one more giggle, one more cuddle, one more defiant refusal to rest.

I pause, ashamed of myself and my fleeting complaints. My children’s energy, their presence, is a gift I know I sometimes take for granted. These families, my neighbors just a few miles up the Guadalupe River, still grieving, their wounds fresh, likely to never fully heal, would give anything for one more chaotic afternoon, one more chance to hold their little ones close as they refuse to go to sleep. I offer my deepest respect to those innocent lives lost, their memories carried by the heartbroken families and communities banding together in sorrow.

As a father who cannot imagine losing any of my children in such a tragic way, I choose gratitude, even as I fumble to express it. I’ll embrace my kids’ restless spirits, their sleepless afternoons, knowing they’re here with me. To those who’ve lost their children, I hold space for your unimaginable pain, praying for solace in the days, weeks, months, and years ahead. Your loss will never be forgotten.

I’ll leave you with the image that’s permanently etched in my mind when I think of the floods and the devastation they have caused. To me, it’s more than just a photo; it captures the whole story of what happened in one frame.