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KERRVILLE 鈥� A crowd gathered at Antler Stadium on Wednesday night, but they were not there to see the Tivy Antler football team run drills or host rival teams.

Instead, the parents, teachers, students and others who filled the bleachers solemnly looked ahead at the Kerrville Independent School District鈥檚 football field. They grappled with a grief caused by a devastating flood that swept away people young and old in the early hours of July Fourth.

As hundreds trickled in for a vigil for the flood’s victims that night, people hugged. Some smiled when they spotted a friend, striking up a conversation. Many cried for the Texas Hill Country, which was struck last Friday by the state鈥檚 second-deadliest flood. Among the victims lost to the deadly currents of the Guadalupe River was Reese Zunker, who had coached soccer for 12 years at Tivy High School, home to about 4,700 students.

鈥淥ur community was struck with tragedy literally in the darkness,鈥� one speaker said. 鈥淏ut as the sun rose, the light came.鈥�

In the aftermath of the tragedy, the deeply religious Kerr County community turned to gospel Wednesday night. Residents channeled their grief through prayer for the more than 100 lives lost and 161 victims from the region who remain missing.

Questions remain about whether residents were given enough time to evacuate the areas that flooded, including Camp Mystic, the all-girls summer camp and a beloved tradition at the epicenter of the catastrophe. Twenty-seven girls, the camp confirmed, died, as did its director, Richard 鈥淒ick鈥� Eastland.

This act of remembrance, residents said, was their way of coming to terms with the senseless destruction the flood left behind.

鈥淚 think it鈥檚 a way of moving on,鈥� said Leah Westra, a coalition coordinator for the Hill Country Council of Alcohol and Drug Abuse and mother of three, two of whom attend Tivy. 鈥淲e move on, not because we forget our grief or forget the tragedy, but because we have to. We get to move on and rebuild.鈥�

Pete Calder贸n, who sits on the school district鈥檚 board of trustees, said he tells his students about what God promises 鈥� and what he doesn鈥檛 鈥� to quell their grief.

鈥�(God) doesn鈥檛 promise that we鈥檙e not going to have injury or death or sickness,鈥� he said. 鈥淲hat he does promise is that he鈥檚 going to be there for us 鈥� and you鈥檝e got to lean on that.鈥�

Scenes of the community鈥檚 faith presented themselves repeatedly Wednesday evening. Turning bleachers into pews, mourners sang in worship, with one verse saying: 鈥淚t鈥檚 your breath in our lungs.鈥�

A high schooler had his arm outstretched, his palms up.

Two friends embraced each other, their arms interlocked across different rows of the stadium. Another woman held her toddler tighter. Her son is so young that he can鈥檛 quite grasp the magnitude of the death.

鈥淧eace, peace,鈥� one man whispered to himself.

One girl adjusted her red glasses to wipe away her tears. Every time she did, her cheeks just got damp again.

Many wore blue, the high school鈥檚 colors, while others pinned green ribbons to their shirts, the color for Camp Mystic.

For over an hour, through song and Bible verses, Dan Beazley, who stands at about 5鈥�7鈥� tall, held up a wooden cross nearly twice his size. Abigail Smithson, a student at the high school, joined him.

Beazley had driven 24 hours from Michigan with the cross in the bed of his truck. Earlier in the week, he had held the cross up at the site of Camp Mystic while first responders dug through debris looking for survivors.

He brought the cross 鈥渢o make a little bit of difference, to help them grieve, to bring a little bit of hope,鈥� said Beazley, who added he can鈥檛 stop thinking about what victims went through before they passed away.

The night ended with footballs and frisbees tossed around, an effort for the community to find some joy. Lively music, laughter and conversation filled the stadium.

鈥淲e set an hour to play. There is healing in play and laughter,鈥� said Josh Smithson, the father of Abigail Smithson and a minister with YoungLife. 鈥淭hey were able to let go of some of the heaviness.鈥�

This article originally appeared in is a member-supported, nonpartisan newsroom informing and engaging Texans on state politics and policy. Learn more at texastribune.org.

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