A Blog About The Summer Camp Flood : Please Pray For The Missing Kids

Texas summer camp was the place of dreams forever. Each year children of the neighboring towns and even far-off places came here and spent a few weeks of happiness. The camp was located next to a calm river; there were big pine trees, blue skies, a smell of wood and fresh air in the cabins. Parents were secure in leaving their children here.

They waved off and had smiles on their faces as they knew their children would come back sharing their campfires, song and the magic of summer. The children looked forward to it. To others it was separation the first from home. To some it was an annual affair that they longed to see every year. There was lots of laughter through the campgrounds, the kids running through the fields barefooted, playing tag around the cabins and singing by night under the star lights.

One day in the camp, I had a different feeling the fifth day. Least of all was it cool in the morning, and in the afternoon one might have thought the air was heavy, and that the very sky was concealing some secret. and there was a quick gathering of dark clouds which cast their shadows on the trees. Initially and to the counselors, it appeared like just another Texas summer storm. The weather was stormy and the children frequently got good enjoyment out of watching the rain through their cabin windows. Yet, in a moment the thunder loudened, and shook the ground.

It was not a gentle falling rain. It was beating down in torrents, soaking everything in a few minutes. The trees moaned at the wind and bowed their branches as toys before the wind. The stream which wont so peacefully swelled, and rose in its waves as it goes, still rising with increased impulse. The children became fretful. Others stood leaning against the glass trying to get a look in silence and some held on to their counselors wondering when the storm would stop.

Towards afternoon the river ceased to be a river. It had become a raving mass of water, borne along by logs, and mud, and bits of broken earth. The counselors soon understood the risk. They yelled to all of them stay together, hold hands, do not panic. The all people were scared yet the children trusted them. They obeyed orders as they were able, and held on to one another. The cabins started rattling with the pressure of water. Mud found its way through the wooden floors.

The safe and happy camp was transformed into a trap with the anger of nature on all sides. The counselors attempted to guide the children to a place of safety but all the ways were soon engulfed by water. The river rose so suddenly, just like an unwanted visitor with his/her heartless intentions. And in a few minutes a quiet river bed was a furious sea. And some of the children shed tears. Others prayed. The counselors made an effort to keep cool and in their eyes fear was there too.

The night was spent in the storm and the camp was thrown into chaos. The cabins were in darkness and power lines were down. There was only the lightning to light up walls of water on the outside. The counselors gathered the children in a huddle and tried to say things of encouragement that they hardly believed themselves. There was a roar that was deafening, the roar of the flood was that of thoughtlessness. Far-off parents had no clue as to what was going on.

They were at home watching TV perhaps reading a book with the belief that their children were safe at camp. Would that they knew. Within the cabins the children would weep themselves to sleep in wet clothes, their little bodies trembling not only in the cold but in the fear. Others clasped their hands and would not release them, as though they could hold the storm off by their contact.

At daylight the storm at length subsided. The river gradually subsided, and the damage, however, was incurable. Cabins lay in ruins, trees had been uprooted and the camp was scarcely recognizable. Rescue teams came along as soon as practicable but the roads were obliterated and it was difficult to get to the camp within a short time. The rescue party came with boats, flashlights and blankets. They sought survivors, shouting the names into the silence.

Others were discovered in groups of cabins and were frightened but alive. Others did not fare that well. Too much, too fast the flood had swept. The rescuers walked around with small bodies under blankets as they could not be identified by their faces, yet they were silent than any cry. The situation shattered the heart of the parents when they arrived. Women shrieked, men got down on their knees. The laughter that should have been in the camp was gone and replaced with tears.

It was much-quarried news. Everywhere the headline was set as, Texas Summer Camp Flood. And to the town it was news more than anything. It was intimate. These were children, friends, neighbors of theirs. Schools closed. Churches were opened to pray. Individuals who had never prayed before went on their knees, they asked God why, why had this young life had to be taken.

The community united in sorrow, had vigils, lit candles, and stood shoulder to shoulder as they were silent. The tragedy was a burden to every family. Those who had not lost a child experienced the loss of a child as though they had since, in a small town, all children are everyone. The nights echoed with crying. Empty chairs at dinner tables were a painful reminder of what used to be.

The flood was still in the hearts of everyone in the ensuing weeks. Other families could not afford to walk along the river once again. Others put flowers by its sides that had been a kind of honor to the children taken away. Every night at the church people had met together praying not only about the children who were lost, but also about the force to continue to live. The pastors reiterated to them that God had not left them, despite how it seemed.

They answered, with the world needs God now more than ever. And gradually folks started to take comfort in those words. They supported each other, put hands in hands and told about the children and their laugh, their smiles, the little things that were so special about them. The flood may have washed away lives but not love.

Today the Texas summer camp flood is still a story being told years later. This is not only talked about as a tragedy, but as a lesson. It is a reminder to us all that life is so delicate, things can turn around so fast. It also reminds people of the strength of the community, of prayer, of love. Rebuilding of the camp never took place.

The land is still, almost reverential, almost a time-stopped land. However, each summer, the families will go together to the river, and not to camp, but to remember. They burn candles, sing and pray in the memory of the children who never returned home. And their voices break, but they believe. Since even in the blackest of flooding, hope is the light that does not want to die.