Where is hope found?
It’s in the good.
Where God is.
In people. In community. In love.
Since the night Central Texas was swept by a midnight tsunami, a flood that came without warning and in a flash of a nightmare stole away homes, keepsakes, and many precious lives, I’ve struggled to process the weight of what’s happened.
Like so many others, my heart aches with questions too heavy for answers. How could this be? How do people carry on?
I yearned to be there, to listen, to witness, to serve, but I didn’t want to intrude. Not on grief this deep. Not in moments too raw to define. But I know what comes when people come together. Hope starts.
Because hope lives in community. The kind that shows up before dawn, hands outstretched ready to help.
“What can I do next?”
Hope looks like this:
A woman washing the stuffed animals and quilts pulled from the muck.
Another woman who narrowly escaped with her own life, now stopping the rest of the world to spend day after day serving food to neighbors who lost more, or to strangers who showed up to work.
Micro communities of church volunteers, diver teams, K-9 units, aerial recovery groups, a couple of moms coordinating volunteer logistics and donations. Everyone giving from what they have to help.
Here, right now, there is no branding- no requests for credit.
Just a trailer full of generators dropped off for whoever needs them. A family that drove through the night to show up with tools, meals, and an eagerness to get to work.
A sign for free tacos here. BBQ over there tonight.
An offer to print photographs. Replace prescriptions.
Time. So much time, given freely.
And behind it all, there’s a heartbeat to the recovery. Coming out of every local church, school, fire station. A business that was a hotel a week ago is a supply store now, where you come and take what you need, share a story, a quite sob, and a hug before returning to face the unfathomable.
Tool repairs happening beside IV hydration stations. A chiropractor offering adjustments next to a table of walkie talkies and volunteer sign-up sheets. Fresh cookies laid out by a local farmer. The walls lined with signs from the community offering their help. A prayer circle forming just outside the front doors.
This is where healing begins.
In families who have never met each other, sitting down at a table together at the end of the day and processing the unthinkable over a meal that was given with so much love.
In love poured out without conditions.
I pray for Hunt. For Center Point. For all of Central Texas. That as homes are rebuilt, hearts will be too. That every shared meal, every held hand, every tear and every laugh becomes part of the healing to come. That joy, somehow, finds its way back.
God is here.He is in the rebuilding.
In the volunteers who drove hours just to ask, “Where do you need me?"
In the whispered prayers of strangers hundreds of miles away.
He is still present, even if you’re angry. Even if you can’t feel Him.
God is still. God still heals.
Even before I arrived yesterday, I prayed I’d hold space well. That I’d be where I was needed-and then, shortly after arrival, I met a team who had been praying for someone to come and tell their story. I pray for a million more alignments like that. That every need will be met as soon as it’s spoken.
This is just the beginning.
In the months ahead, families will need continued support, rebuilding, grieving, and navigating next steps.
Now, is the time for coordinated response.
But very soon, there will be room for more hands.
More help. More healing. More hope.
So please, continue.
Pray. Share. Show up.
Not just today, but in the long months and years to come.
Anna Angenend Photography
