What Happened in Texas Touches Us All

 Today, my heart grieves for Texas.

As of July 6, 2025, at least 67 people are still missing—including 27 girls from Camp Mystic, a Christian summer camp, and others like campers and visitors unaccounted for in the holiday chaos—after a devastating July 4 rainstorm turned the Guadalupe River into a raging wall of water. Fifty-one lives have been lost. Homes vanished. Families shattered. A community overwhelmed by sorrow.

When I was a kid in Rio de Janeiro, I saw what a flood can do. One afternoon, rain hit hard, and water came rushing down the hillsides, turning streets into rivers. My family got trapped in a tunnel as a mudslide came down. I remember the darkness. The fear. The silence that followed. We made it out. That moment never left me.

So when I read about Texas, it’s not just a news story. It hits a nerve. I know what it feels like when nature turns fierce, fast, and unforgiving.

Now, sitting in Fredericksburg, Virginia, I picture the Rappahannock River rising 26 feet in 45 minutes—flooding Sophia Street, Old Mill Park, River Road. And in Buena Vista, Colorado, where my family has a place, the Arkansas River runs fast through a narrow valley. If a mountain storm stalls, water could surge through town—flooding trails, neighborhoods, and parts of Main Street. Worse, it could overtake U.S. Route 24, the only major road connecting Leadville to Salida. That road is the town’s lifeline. If it’s impassable, Buena Vista could be cut off—no way in, no way out. With limited resources and narrow escape routes, a flood there wouldn’t just disrupt—it could devastate.

This could happen to any of us.

What Happened

In the early hours of July 4, a slow-moving tropical system stalled over the Texas Hill Country. Up to 15 inches of rain fell in hours. The Guadalupe River surged 26 feet in 45 minutes. Towns like Hunt, Kerrville, Comfort, and Center Point—mostly in and around Kerr County—were blindsided. Mud-covered cars piled against bridges. Homes were swept away. Camps overtaken. Families had no time.

Camp Mystic was overwhelmed before dawn. Kerr County alone mourns 43 dead—28 adults and 15 children. Four more died in Travis County, one in Kendall, and three in Burnet. At least 67 remain missing—many children, campers, and holiday visitors.

More than 850 people have been rescued—some from rooftops, some from trees. Thirteen-year-old Elinor Lester escaped by clinging to a rope. Her cabin mates were airlifted out. Brian Eads survived by holding onto a tree—but lost his wife, Katheryn. A 70-year-old man pulled a woman from the river after she floated nearly 20 miles. The courage is staggering. So is the loss.

How Could This Happen?

The Guadalupe River runs 430 miles from its headwaters in Kerr County to the Gulf of Mexico. By comparison:

• The Rappahannock River in Virginia runs 195 miles.

• The Potomac River spans 405 miles.

• The Arkansas River, starting in the Colorado Rockies, stretches ~1,469 miles—passing through towns like Buena Vista before continuing through Kansas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas.

All these rivers cut through populated areas, with low-lying zones vulnerable to flash floods.

Like the hillsides in Rio, the Guadalupe’s narrow valley couldn’t handle the deluge. Drought-hardened soil turned rain into runoff. A gauge near Camp Mystic failed at 29.5 feet—the second-highest flood stage ever. At 3:30 a.m., Kerrville reported no flooding. By 5:00 a.m., the river had risen over 25 feet. No time to act.

The National Weather Service issued a general flood watch, but the storm’s intensity was missed. Kerr County Judge Rob Kelly admitted, “We do not have a warning system.” Camp Mystic, in a FEMA flood zone, had no chance to evacuate.

Rivers Like the Guadalupe: A National Threat

The U.S. has over 11,000 named rivers and streams. An estimated 1,000–2,000 pass through towns and cities with flash flood risks—due to steep terrain, urban runoff, or thin soils. From the Blanco River in Texas to the Winooski in Vermont, we’ve seen water rise faster than communities can respond. Over 80% of Americans live near a river or floodplain. Storms are getting stronger. Less predictable. The threat is real.

This Could Happen Anywhere

Hunt, Kerrville, Comfort, Center Point—just over an hour from San Antonio, two from Austin—are towns like ours. They were caught unprepared.

I’ve walked the trails along the Arkansas. Stood on the banks of the Rappahannock. It’s not hard to picture the water rising fast. And when it does, there’s no time for what if?

What We Must Learn

Texas wasn’t just hit. It was caught unprepared.

We need:

• River gauges that don’t fail

• Alerts that reach people in time

• Evacuation plans that work

• Smarter zoning and stronger flood infrastructure

But more than systems, we need heart. The kind that acts. That loves. That shows up.

What You Can Do

Pray: For the 67 missing, especially the 27 girls. For the 51 gone. For parents waiting in Kerrville. For rescuers still fighting. Pray for healing and hope.

Give: Support the Red Cross or Kerrville Fire Department. Help fund shelter, food, and reunification.

Lift Up: Share accurate info. Check your town’s flood plan. Advocate for readiness in your community. If you’re in Texas and trained, connect with the Texas Division of Emergency Management. Be the solution.

This Is the Moment

Texas is hurting. I know the fear of being trapped, the relief of rescue, the weight of survival. We’re not meant to stand by.

Lift up Hunt, Kerrville, Comfort, and Center Point. Respond like it’s our town. Because it could be.