Sitting down to take in the enormity and horror of what happened in Kerr County and specifically, Camp Mystic, is too hard. It’s too painful for any human mind to grasp. 

But I have found when I am at a loss for words, the Psalms help to give expression to whatever seems utterly unexplainable.  And over the last few weeks, Psalm 46 has run through my mind over and over again: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling” (Psalm 46:1-3). In these verses, the psalmist is describing a situation in which things meant to be immovable, like mountains firmly planted in the earth, being violently tossed and shaken. 

The events of the early morning hours of July 4th felt like that. Things that were never meant to be moved were violently shaken – an almost century old camp, cabins full of young girls, cars, tents, campgrounds, homes, and precious lives, young and old. Flung into the heart of a raging river that consumed everything in its path.

But thankfully, Psalm 46 doesn’t stop at the shaking; it moves into the hope of a stable and secure place, the city of God: “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns” (Psalm 46:4-5). When all of life seems shaken, the psalmist tells us to close our eyes so that we can see, for what we see is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Was there a river that raged? Yes. Was there a storm that shook seemingly firm foundations? Yes. But was God in the midst of the storm, holding all things together? Yes.

And this is where it gets tricky. Why didn’t a God who is an immovable safe and secure refuge allow things like little girls in cabins and their counselors to be moved? And how does the same God who is over the storm and could have stopped the storm offer comfort to our storm-stricken hearts as well?

No answer is easy. And no answer I give, or anyone for that matter, will heal the wide open ache in grieving hearts. But what I do know is this: when things do not make sense and the same God who heals is the same God who wounds, we can follow in the footsteps of saints who have gone before us and show us a way in God’s Word through the storm.

Years ago, one of my professors at Wheaton College said that one of the greatest gifts we have been given as Christians is a sanctified imagination. While having fantasies can be defined as seeing what is unreal, using a sanctified imagination is learning to see what is unseen.

David says it this way in Psalm 27: “Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud; be gracious to me and answer me! You have said, ‘Seek my face.’ My heart says to you, ‘Your face, Lord, do I seek’” (Psalm 27:7-8). And Paul says in 2 Corinthians 4, “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18).

In addition to the Psalms, one of my favorite places to turn in times of grief and confusion is to the words of John Newton. In 1775 he wrote to one of his parishioners, “When you cannot see your way, be satisfied that [God] is your leader. When your spirit is overwhelmed within you, He knows your path; He will not leave you to sink. He has appointed seasons of refreshment, and you shall find He does not forget you. Above all, keep close to the throne of grace. If we seem to get no good by attempting to draw near Him we may be sure we shall get none by keeping away from Him.”

God may not feel like a comforting presence right now. We may have more questions for Him than comfort, peace, or answers. But what I know to be true about God is that our questions and asking and seeking are not only permitted but invited. He knows how people feel and pray and talk and think and shout and weep and wail when they are desperate.

God is not going anywhere – He is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18) and stays close to those who have suffered in the wake of a storm. He doesn’t leave His people in times of trouble; in fact, He draws closer still. And while I may not understand what it feels like to lose a child to horrific circumstances, He does. He weeps with us and covers the brokenhearted with His Son’s nail-scarred hands. 

If you or people you love are processing anger with God, that is ok. If you have questions for God, that is ok as well. He is up for our fist-shaking and question-asking. But while you may pound your fist on His chest, I would implore you, don’t walk away from Him. For what I do know, like John Newton said, is even when we do not feel His goodness or trust His nearness, it does not alter the fact that He is our greatest good. And if we walk away from Him, we only prolong the process of our healing and exacerbate our hurt. 

What we must remember, along with the psalmists of old, is that when storms occur, and unshakeable things are moved, He has made a way for us to rest safely in our eternal home. It may take days, weeks, and months of grieving; it may take a lifetime of having questions that will never be fully answered; but He is real, He is good, and the important thing is He is with us through the storm.

As you remember the events of July 4th, don’t imagine events without Him. Don’t assume He was far off. He was close, He was near, and He was the sheltering presence in the storm. Those children were not alone in the waters; Jesus held them close every step of the way. 

When we adopted our youngest daughter from China and brought her home, every ounce of me wanted to hold her close and have my presence represent safety and security. But at seventeen months of age, she had never received comfort from anyone. She was used to soothing herself and caring for her own needs. Unshakeable things in her life had been moved – biological parents who were supposed to be there for life had left her at four days old. Building enough trust to let us comfort, hold, and rock her took time. But I did not leave her to her own devices while she sorted things out. I did not punish her because she could not trust me. I gently placed her in her crib at night, squatted down beside her, and simply watched and prayed until she lay down and fell asleep. 

Dear friend, if you cannot cling to the Hand who holds you right now, that’s ok. He’s not going anywhere, and He’s near. Simply trust that the One over the storm is the One with you in the storm of grief right now, and He will patiently see you through.