“If I stay silent, the stones will scream.” – after 19:40. [*]
July 2025. The Guadalupe River near Hunt, Texas, surged nearly 29 feet within an hour, overtaking the mysterious summer sounds of roads, cabins and camps. At least 90 lives have been lost.
Some counselors will recognize how quickly the water is coming and write their names on each child’s arms to ensure that if they are separated or, even worse, their identity is not lost.
Ukraine crossed the sea and endured the largest barrage of drones and missiles since the start of the war. Over 550 weapons have collided with cities and villages of Kyiv, Kharkiv and Huliaipole. The apartment building collapsed, the family-filled basement was once again terrified, and the already rebuilt home was reduced to tiled rubs. Sadness continues in loops rather than lines.
I keep thinking about something else – but not unrelated: On June 19, 2018, MSNBC’s Rachel Madow tried to read the AP bulletin that immigrant babies were being sent to “bidden age” shelters when they were usually composed of accurate. She barely gave the first sentence before she stopped the cold. “I think I have to hand over this,” she said. She then apologized online and said she couldn’t calmly bring the news. But the moment was stuck. It wasn’t a performance. It was a rift in everyday life, and it gave me a glimpse of someone overwhelmed by facts rather than opinions.
Poet Charles Bukowski, known for his gritty and vulgarity, once wrote about the “Bluebird” that he once hid in his chest. He locks it during the day and only turns it off at night. “Otherwise, my poems won’t sell,” he explains. “It’s nice to make a man cry, but won’t I cry?” he asks – not to blame, but also invites readers to admit that they carry soft things, whatever they use for powerful passing.
The Bible says, “The hope you can see is not hope.” (Romans 8:24) True hope does not involve confirmation. It starts without guarantees – in darkness, floods, shelters, war zones. It survives, not because the odds are good, but because it bothers someone somewhere to act as if the odds weren’t final.
Take this into consideration. As Guadalupe passed the Cypress tree, Camp Mystic director Dick Eastland ran to the cabin, lifting the girl onto the roof and shoving it into the arms of the meeting counselor. He saved dozens. He then disappeared to the electric current. His final act was the decision not to leave while the child still needed him.
Or this. After a missile strike in Kiev earlier this year, surgeons at the Children’s Hospital transferred patients and equipment to unfinished wings and resumed surgery. When the power failed, they tapeted their flashlights to their foreheads and continued to complete their heart surgery in the darkness. The child’s heartbeat does not wait for the morning, so it shakes with memories and instincts.
And one more thing. During the sentencing in El Paso’s courtroom that the man who killed 23 people in a Walmart parking lot in 2019, Yolanda Tinajero, whose brother died, refilled and hugged the shooter. The judge granted it. She did not provide a speech. She wrapped her arms around the man who never forgot to take everything from her family, but made sure that hatred didn’t end the bullet had begun.
These actions do not erase fear. They do not respond to work – patients present, merciless questioners – or cancel floods. They do not promise that the goodness will win. But they prove that goodness has not left the building.
I can’t give a satisfactory answer to my job. His friends are talking too much. God answers in a storm (38:1). The monsters remain. However, the story is not ultimately about monsters. It is about the inexplicable fact that after we think destruction has the final word, good continues to manifest something that is present, unpaid, and not always noticed.
I honor the counselor who picked up Sharpies when they couldn’t do anything else. I honor the surgeon who was tied up by a flashlight and continued bone ties because the child still needed a chance. I respect Maddow for failing to counterfeit, not break down. The crack was the key.
These moments do not offer closure. They do not solve the mystery of suffering. But they argue that something better than despair is still possible.
Trying to go outside crying was never a goal. Maybe you just leave with your humanity. The blue bird stays here. Madou and the poet are shedding tears.
Notes and reading
[*] “If I stay silent, the stones will scream.” – after 19:40. Originally a repentance to those who silence praise, this line represents something universal. When the human voice is rested by overwhelming sadness, injustice, or adoration, the truth inevitably finds another medium of expression. If we’re not talking, something else, cracked news anchors, sharpies in children’s arms, flashlights in surgeon’s forehead, etc. –
How to help flood victims in Texas – Claire Moses, New York Times (July 7, 2025).
Charles Bukowski -Bukowski captured the underside of American life with brutal integrity and Deadpan Wit, undoubtedly writing in his own voice.
Sea Door: Where was the tsunami god? – David Bentley Hart (2005). “It is not the question of evil that we should first draw our thoughts, but the mystery of good.” This slim yet powerful book explores the existence of inexplicable good in a world filled with suffering and evil. Hart stands up to theology with philosophical and theological depths rather than a simple answer, claiming that the act of free good points to something beyond natural explanations.
“suffering” Gravity and bounty – Simone Weil (1947-48). Weil’s Paradox: Suffering is not a coincidence. It removes illusions and reveals the hidden red presence of grace. Her insights provide a contemplative counterpart to Hart’s claims Good appears free of charge in a broken world.
Approx. 2 + 2 = 5
Source: 2 + 2 = 5 – williamgreen.substack.com
