July 27, 2025
Yesterday, I said “see you later” to my smart, funny, trusted friend Charlotte, who died in the flood. (The picture is a group of friends who were loved well by that same Charlotte.) This morning, I got myself up and went to church.
I bawled the entire service. I went through no less than five tissues. I felt like a blubbering idiot, but the tears had a mind of their own and refused to stop pooling in my eyes and streaking down my cheeks. I realized I wasn’t just grieving for my friend; I was experiencing collective grief.
The Texas Hill Country in July of 2025 is a difficult place for empaths. I was in a room full of people who were praising God while simultaneously carrying the fallout from unimaginable loss. It was powerful and humbling. It was faith holding hands with questions. It was a nervous energy making us all want to do something … to make a difference … to make the pain lessen, while also wanting to close our eyes and curl up in our Heavenly Father’s lap for consoling, like the helpless children we are.
How do we reconcile our belief in God—a good God who wants good things for us—and tragedies like this devastating 1,000-year-flood and the loss of so many innocent lives? How do we start to recover and rebuild while holding space for those who are not yet ready to do the same? How do we let go of the pain while still clinging tightly to memories of our loved ones and favorite places?
First, I think we have to remind ourselves that we live in a fallen, imperfect world. This isn’t Heaven. Bad things happen here because we collectively bear the results of one another’s poor choices. And not just poor choices, but choices made with the best of intentions but a limited knowledge and perspective. Only God can see the whole picture. We’re all down here just doing the best we can.
Second, remember, the opposite is also true: we collectively bear the results of one another’s good choices. Love and kindness ripple out in circles like a pebble thrown into a still pond. Mercy and grace, when freely offered, multiply exponentially. We see this in the helpers who show up, without fail, in tragedies like this. We will all grieve and process this trauma differently. Be kind. Extend mercy. Allow people to make mistakes, over- or under-react, behave abnormally, cry a lot, melt down, get angry quickly, or act stoic. Offer grace.
Third, listen. Take time to sit and listen to one another. Share stories of loved ones who are greatly missed. Tell tales of the generosity you have witnessed. Listen to one another’s needs.
Friends, I get it. This burden–this grief–is so heavy. But it’s lighter when we carry it together.
Yours, as well as His,
Nicki
Expressively HIS ... 