Marly Unmarginated

Central Texas is hurting. The recent flooding has left a path of destruction so deep, so raw, that it’s hard to put into words. Entire communities are underwater, homes gone, lives lost, families torn apart. Roads that once led us to friends and loved ones now lead only to heartbreak. It’s the kind of devastation that makes your chest ache and your eyes well up before the first sentence is even finished.

But it’s also the kind of devastation that does something else.

Tragedy has a brutal way of reminding us just how fragile life is. It shakes us awake from the everyday hustle and invites us to look around, to really see each other. To recognize that none of us are immune to suffering. And that in the face of mass loss, it’s not only okay to lean on one another, it’s necessary.

For many, asking for help is the hardest part. We’re a proud people. We like to be strong, to carry out burdens quietly. But when water rushes in and steals your home, your car, your memories, and sometimes your hope, strength comes not from pretending to be okay, it comes from holding a hand out and accepting the one that’s reaching back.

That is where humanity rises.

We see neighbors wading through chest-high water to rescue strangers. Volunteers working around the clock, delivering hot meals, dry clothes, and hugs that hold more warmth than the Texas sun. Families opening their doors to those who’ve lost theirs. Children drawing pictures to lift spirits in shelters. First responders showing up again and again, without pause or complaint. These are the flickers of light in the darkness, the undeniable proof that we’re still good, still compassionate, still one another’s keepers.

Mass tragedy will never make sense. It will never feel fair. But in it’s wake, it often leaves behind a thread that stitches us together. And in that stitching, we find connection. We find purpose. We find grace.

If you are reading this and wondering what you can do, do something. Anything. Donate. Cook. Pray. Write a card. Offer a room. Listen. Cry with someone. Be the hand reaching back.

Because when the waters rise, so must we.

Together.

With all heart and prayers, Marly.