When Waters Rise: Camp Mystic's Love, Loss, and the Light that Never Goes Out
The Heartbreaking tragedy and Heartwarming heroism at Camp Mystic
Uggghh!
I have a pit in my stomach that won't go away.
Since Friday morning, when news broke of the catastrophic flooding at Camp Mystic, my heart has been heavy with a grief that feels almost unbearable. Every news update, every photograph, every family's statement has only deepened the ache. I keep thinking about the parents, especially those who had sent their daughters to camp for the first time, eagerly awaiting stories of adventure, friendship, and summer magic. Now their daughters will never come home.
How do you process such a devastating loss?
How do you comfort parents facing an empty bedroom, an unused backpack, and dreams that will never unfold?
I don't have easy answers. I only have a broken heart and an unwavering trust in a Heavenly Father who holds us all in the midst of unbearable circumstances such as these.
The Unthinkable Loss
On July 4th—a day meant for celebration and joy—the Guadalupe River became an instrument of unimaginable sorrow. In the pre-dawn darkness, catastrophic flooding swept through Camp Mystic, a beloved Christian summer camp that had been a place of joy and laughter for nearly a century. Twenty-seven precious campers and counselors lost their lives. Across the region, 82 souls were taken.
Each name represents not just a statistic, but a daughter, a granddaughter, a friend whose absence will echo forever:
Sarah Marsh, 8, from Mountain Brook, Alabama. A vibrant student at Cherokee Bend Elementary, described by her grandmother as a "beautiful spunky ray of light." I can't stop thinking about her parents, how they must have smiled when they dropped her off at camp, never imagining it would be goodbye.
Lila Bonner and Eloise Peck, both 9, best friends from Dallas who shared a cabin. They died together—these little girls who had found such joy in their friendship. Their families now united in grief that defies words. "We ache with all who loved her," Lila's family wrote, and that aching has become our aching too.
The Harber sisters—Blair, 13, and Brooke, 11—students at St. Rita Catholic School. Blair, described as "a gifted student with a generous kind heart." Brooke, "like a light in any room," bringing laughter wherever she went. Their father will never again hear that laughter echoing through his home.
Janie Hunt, 9, from Dallas, connected to the Kansas City Chiefs family. Her relatives expressed "profound devastation"—words that feel inadequate for such loss.
Renee Smajstrla, 8, captured in a photo her uncle shared from the day before the flood, smiling and "living her best life at Camp Mystic." That photo, meant to bring joy, now breaks our hearts.
Linnie McCown, remembered by her father as "shining." A light extinguished far too soon.
Chloe Childress, 18, a counselor who had just graduated from The Kinkaid School. She was headed to the University of Texas, her life stretching ahead with promise. The Kinkaid School wrote: "Chloe had a remarkable way of making people feel seen... she made space for others to feel safe, valued and brave." She died doing exactly that—making space for others to feel safe.
Katherine Ferruzzo, 19, still missing as I write this. Another counselor, another UT-bound young woman who chose to spend her summer caring for young children. Her family waits in a agony I cannot fathom.
Dick Eastland, the camp's longtime director, who died attempting to rescue the girls in his care. A man who had dedicated his life to these young people, who knew every camper's name, who died as he lived—putting others first.
Ten more girls remain missing. Their families exist in a limbo of hope and dread that I pray none of us ever experience.
When Faith Becomes Our Anchor
I'll be honest—this tragedy shakes me to my core. I have prayed for the missing girls and families throughout the weekend, often with a lump in my throat. I have been hit once again with the stark reality of a broken world where beautiful children die and parents face unspeakable loss.
But it is precisely in moments like these that my faith becomes not fragile, but essential. Not weakened, but the very thing that makes such heartbreak bearable. Without the hope of Christ, without the promise of heaven, without the assurance that this is not the end of their story, this tragedy would be nothing but senseless devastation.
The Bible doesn't promise us a life without sorrow, but it does promise us that sorrow is not the final word. It acknowledges that we live in a world groaning under the weight of sin and brokenness (Romans 8:22), but it also assures us that redemption is coming. Even Jesus, who had power over storms, wept at the tomb of his friend Lazarus. He didn't explain away death—He defeated it.
So today, I believe Jesus weeps with these families while simultaneously preparing eternal homes for their daughters. He grieves over the pain while holding the promise of reunion. This isn't contradiction—it's the beautiful complexity of a God who entered our suffering to give it ultimate meaning.
The Psalmist knew this tension between earthly devastation and eternal security: "Though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea... God is our refuge and strength" (Psalm 46:1-2). The foundations of our world may collapse, but our Foundation cannot be shaken.
"The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe" (Proverbs 18:10). When camp cabins flood and the safest places become dangerous, we have one Tower that stands forever. It's not denial of the tragedy—it's the only hope that gives tragedy any meaning at all.
Heroes Emerge: Light in the Darkness
Yet even in this devastating tragedy, extraordinary light broke through—heroes who remind us that God's image still shines in broken people doing impossible things.
Chloe and Katherine, both counselors for the Bubble Inn cabin housing the youngest girls, positioned themselves between danger and the children in their care. Chloe gave her life; Katherine remains missing. These young women, barely adults themselves, chose courage over safety.
Emma Foltz, a Louisiana Tech senior and longtime Camp Mystic counselor, guided 14 campers to safety through rising waters and chaos. Her steady leadership under unimaginable pressure saved lives.
A 19-year-old counselor woke to water at her chin, pushed her campers out a window, and shouted encouragement—"Don't let go!"—as she herself was swept away. Her final words were not for herself but for the children she served.
Glenn Juenke, the night security guard, placed young girls on mattresses to ride out the rising waters, later telling parents, "I witnessed firsthand the courage and faith that your daughters displayed during some of the most terrifying moments of their young lives."
Dick Eastland died as he lived—trying to save the girls he loved. His grandson wrote, "If he wasn't going to die of natural causes, this was the only other way—saving the girls that he so loved and cared for."
U.S. Coast Guard Petty Officer Scott Ruskan saved nearly 200 people during his very first rescue mission, working for hours as the only triage coordinator while surrounded by 200 scared, cold children. See Scott’s interview here.
Across the region, over 1,000 first responders were deployed. Helicopters plucked survivors from trees. Volunteers used horses to reach areas where vehicles couldn't go. A Coast Guard crew saved 15 campers from Camp Mystic itself, contributing to over 850 total rescues.
Songs in the Darkness
Perhaps the most piercing moment of grace came from the rescued campers themselves. As they were driven past the flood devastation—these children who had just lived through unthinkable terror—they began to sing:
🎵 "It only takes a spark to get a fire going, and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing..." 🎵
🎵 "Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true..." 🎵
Their young voices, breaking through the devastation with songs of worship, became that very spark they sang about. In their darkest hour, they chose to worship. They chose to believe that God was still good, even when their world had been turned upside down.
If these children can sing hymns in the aftermath of trauma, if they can find their voices to praise God after losing friends and counselors, what does that say about the faith that Camp Mystic instilled in them? What does it say about the hope that transcends circumstances?
The Only Hope That Sustains
Paul wrote to the Thessalonians: "We do not grieve as those who have no hope" (1 Thessalonians 4:13). This doesn't minimize our grief—it transforms it. The pain is still excruciating, the loss still devastating, but underneath the heartbreak runs an unshakeable stream of hope.
It's my faith in Christ that makes this tragedy bearable at all. Without the promise that death has been defeated, without the assurance of heaven, without the hope of reunion—this would be nothing but meaningless suffering. But because of the cross and the empty tomb, these precious lives have eternal significance.
I can picture Sarah's spunky light now shining perfectly in the presence of her Savior. I imagine Lila and Eloise, best friends forever, exploring the wonders of God's kingdom together. I see Chloe making everyone feel seen and valued in the presence of the One who sees and values perfectly. Dick Eastland welcomed as a faithful servant who laid down his life for others.
This isn't denial of the tragedy—it's the only truth that gives tragedy ultimate meaning. Only the hope of heaven, only the promise of resurrection, only the assurance that "death has been swallowed up in victory" (1 Corinthians 15:54) can speak to loss this deep.
Yes, these families are walking through the valley of the shadow of death, and that valley is dark and painful. But they do not walk alone, and death is only a shadow—not the substance. The substance is life eternal with Christ.
My wife has been following an artist on Instagram named Sarah Otts. Sarah seeks the Holy Spirit’s guidance as she puts brush to canvas, and she definitely was moved by these events. She shared the following painting and words in dealing with her emotions regarding this story, hoping her painting might also inspire hope and comfort for others:
sarah_otts_ : My tearful prayers throughout the day led me here… to this vision of ‘a hope that won’t fade’. And then I went to my studio, urgently, to paint this scene He showed me of a childlike “Land of Glory”. Like I had to. I had to get it out of my minds eye and into the world. I need this sight to be seen by many more than just me. Lord, I will keep painting the wonders you show me behind my closed eyes if that’s what my gift is for. If this vision of “home” could balm the hearts of the hurting, and inspire childlike faith in many more, then I’ll keep painting for the rest of my time on Earth. And that will be why. 🎨 (https://www.instagram.com/sarah_otts__/)
Walking Forward in Hope
Camp Mystic's statement on their website captures both heartbreak and unshakeable faith: "Our hearts are broken alongside our families that are enduring this unimaginable tragedy. We are praying for them constantly... May the Lord continue to wrap His presence around all of us." Hearts broken, but still trusting. Still believing God's presence matters, especially when tragedy strikes.
To the families of Camp Mystic—we grieve with you and for you with a heartfelt pain that seems unbearable. We can only imagine the brokenness of your hearts in this loss.
Your daughters' lives were priceless and meaningful, and certainly they have eternal significance.
Their deaths, while devastating to us, are not a defeat. They are safely home with Jesus in a Land of Glory - reminding us that this agonizing separation is temporary for those who trust in Jesus Christ.
To the parents still waiting for news, we wait with you and pray for you while you remain stuck in the limbo of waiting and dread.
May God hold you in His hands while you long to hold your child. We faithfully entrust you into His perfect love.
To the survivors and heroes—your courage reminds us that God's image shines brightest in the darkest moments. Thank you for choosing love over fear, others over self. You reflected Christ Himself.
To the Camp Mystic community, your children's songs of worship in the aftermath of trauma will echo in our hearts forever. Their faith in their darkest hour challenges and inspires us all.
To the greater Kerrville area, our hearts are with you. We have watched and prayed with you all weekend, celebrating every rescue and mourning every loss. Hopefully, in some way, you have felt the loving prayers of a greater global community that stretches far beyond the borders of Texas.
We will continue to pray. We will give generously. We will support however we can. But mostly, we will hold fast to the truth that makes tragedy bearable: this is not the end of the story.
In a world where waters rise and mountains fall, we have a Strong Tower that cannot be shaken. Our faith doesn't minimize the pain—it gives us a hope that transcends it.
"Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?'" (John 11:25-26)
Yes, Lord. With unwavering faith even in the midst of heartbreak, we believe.
We know this is not the end.
We trust in Your goodness even when we cannot understand Your ways. Comfort these families with the hope that sustains us all.
Until that glorious reunion day, may we live worthy of the courage these counselors showed, the faith these children sang, and the love that Camp Mystic embodied for nearly a century.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
It never will.
The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe. (Proverbs 18:10
Thank you for this post, hard to read, but so comforting I hope to the families. This broken world is hard to navigate without the Lord and your scripture reminders and the heartwarming descriptions of the children, counselors, and all those involved needed to be spoken and shared.