There are moments in life that stop us cold. Moments when the headlines hit a little too close to home. Moments when the news isn’t just news – it’s personal.

The recent floods in Texas – especially the gut-wrenching tragedy at Camp Mystic – have created one of those moments. The loss of young children who had their lives cut short by something so sudden and senseless… It’s a kind of heartbreak that feels too heavy for words, the kind of grief that makes the air thick. The kind that makes us stare at the sky and wonder, “God… where were You?”

We don’t like tragedy. Obviously. We don’t even like talking about tragedy. It’s uncomfortable, disorienting, and honestly, it’s terrifying. Because tragedy shatters the illusion that we’re in control. That life is safe. That if we just do things the “right” way, nothing bad will happen.

But that’s not real life.

So what do we do with a tragedy like this one? How do we even begin to make sense of it?

We Must Give Ourselves (and Others) Permission to Grieve

Grief is not weakness. It’s not faithlessness. It’s not something to apologize for or rush through. Grief is sacred. It’s holy ground. The shortest verse in the Bible – “Jesus wept” – is also one of the most powerful. The Son of God, the One who knew He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead, still stood at the tomb and broke down in tears.

Why? Because the pain of loss matters. It hurts. And regardless of whether or not, or if, or when Jesus fixes what’s broken, He feels it first. And that means he understands how you feel. He knows the pain because he felt it himself.

When we grieve, we’re not abandoning faith; we’re practicing it. We’re saying, “God, this is too much for me to carry alone.” And He says, “I know. Let Me carry it with you.”

We’re saying, “I’m not strong enough to handle this.” And God says, “I am.“

Grief is not the enemy of faith. Pretending you’re okay when you’re not is dangerous. Faith is raw. It’s crying out in the dark and choosing to believe someone hears you.

We Must Resist the Temptation to Try To Explain the Unexplainable

We love answers. When something tragic happens, we need answers. So our instinct is to grab for control by tying it all up with a theological bow:
“God has a plan.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“They’re in a better place now.”

Are those statements technically true? Maybe.
But are they helpful in the first moments of unimaginable grief? Usually not.

No, definitely not.

Here’s the truth most people don’t say out loud: Some things just don’t make sense. Maybe they will someday. Maybe they won’t until eternity. But trying to explain tragedy in the moment often does more harm than good. It creates spiritual noise when what people really need is sacred silence.

The Bible never says, “When you pass through the fire, you’ll understand it.”

It says, “When you pass through the fire, I will be with you” (Isaiah 43:2).

God doesn’t promise answers. He promises His presence, and that’s where peace is found. A faithful God is far better than an explanation.

We Must Anchor Ourselves in the Bigger Story

Even in the face of the worst kind of tragedy, the story of God refuses to end in despair.

That doesn’t mean we pretend everything’s okay. It doesn’t even mean we have to make ourselves believe everything is ok. We don’t have to put on a mask, suck it up, push through it…

It means that underneath the grief, beneath the rubble, there’s still a bedrock truth holding us up: Death doesn’t get the last word.

The resurrection wasn’t just a happy ending for Jesus. It was a promise for us. It was a declaration that even the worst things this world can throw at us won’t have the final say.

When we look at the cross, we don’t just see pain – we see love. We see a God who stepped into our suffering, who bore our sorrow, who was with us in our grief and for us in our redemption.

And when we look at the empty tomb, we’re reminded that whatever happens to us or our loved ones or anyone else in this world is not the end.

Not for those kids. Not for their families. Not for anyone who belongs to Jesus.

God will restore all things. He will make all things new.

And one day, the tears will be wiped from every eye, not by time, but by Him (Revelation 21:4).

We Must Show Up for Each Other, Even When We Don’t Know What to Say

Sometimes we think we need perfect words or theological insight to help someone in pain. We don’t. We just need to be there.

When Job lost everything, his friends did one brilliant thing: they sat with him in silence for seven days. Then they opened their mouths and everything went downhill from there.

Let that be a lesson to us. Presence matters more than platitudes.

In tragedy, love isn’t shown through eloquence. It’s shown through dropping off a meal, sending a simple “Praying for you” text messages, shared tears, and relentless presence. Just show up. Keep showing up. Don’t forget when the news cycle moves on. Don’t check out after the funeral.

We Must Keep Trusting, Even in the Tension

If you’re struggling with faith in the face of this or some other tragedy, you’re not alone. Maybe you believe in God, but the season you’re in has made you wonder about His goodness. Or maybe you believe He’s good, but this has made you wonder if He’s paying attention.

Faith in tragedy is not certainty. It’s trust in the character of God when you don’t understand the actions of God.

It’s holding onto the hem of His garment while you’re emotionally or mentally or spiritually bleeding out, whispering, “I believe… help my unbelief.” It’s choosing, even through tears, to believe that God is still who He says He is, even when life doesn’t look like what we expected, even when life is totally unrecognizable.

So where does that leave us?

It leaves us here, mourning children whose lives were cut short. Maybe it leaves you knocked off your feet, mourning the life of your own child. Or your spouse. Or a parent. Or a friend. Maybe it’s another kind of tragedy. Maybe it leaves you sitting with someone who would give anything to turn back time. Asking God questions that seem to echo into silence.

There may not be clear answers or reasons or explanations… there may never be, this side of Heaven. There may not be a neat, tidy ending to this chapter of your story. There may not be healing today, and it may seem like healing might never come.

But there is always hope. Because when we stand, or sit, or fall on our faces in grief, we lay in the shadow of a cross, and we look to the promise of an empty tomb and a God who refuses to let death be the end of the story.

May God comfort you. May He carry you.
And may He give us all the strength to hold onto Him when nothing else makes sense.

If you’re walking through tragedy, you don’t have to do it alone. Reach out. Be honest. Be real. You are seen. You are loved. And you are not walking in the dark by yourself.