Memorial

I keep a jotting of blog maybes: word studies, neighborhood noticings, touches of the Spirit, and pure quirkiness. I even had a plan for this one, yet the morning of July 5 called me up short. When the world is paying attention, so do you. For Texans especially, that geographic core known as the Hill Country is special. From four corners, native residents come to bask in nature instead of concrete cities and find uniqueness in small towns instead of places of multiple zip codes. Our family has a joint ranch in the area with horses. A friend and I gathered our six children for a long week-end in Ingram for several years. The boys even did the calf-scramble at the local wire fence rodeo. At the right years of her life, we sent our daughter to a summer camp, and as Boy Scouts two Smiths paddled canoes on the Guadalupe River.

Are we allotted only a certain number of prayers? If so, I may have drained the bank. You’ve read specifics and seen the details of unforeseen amounts of rain upstream and what havoc that wrecks in forty-five minutes. One prayer for families who waved good- by through a bus window and days later have waited hopefully for a helicopter to bring that face back in sight. Prayer two is for immense shade trees set back from a river upended and sprawled across the muddy stream. Prayer three is for houses and cars and chunks of road swept up and piled in a tangled mess that makes it even more difficult for assistance to arrive. A picture of creation in chaos.

Thank you who have let me do my private head shaking, tight breathing on a Sunday afternoon as if you are not going to still carry your own noted pain on Thursday. Some of you have names and hand holding connections to those who faced the worse. There have been, and continue to be, helpers. As Mr. Rogers says, “Look for the helpers. There are always helpers.” I don’t know what bottom looks like. I just count on this.

The eternal God is your refuge,
    and underneath are the everlasting arms.

Deuteronomy33:27