One moment, it was just another summer night in the Texas Hill Country, the next the river rose like an angry giant and tore whole lives apart.

According to AP News, the historic flash floods that ripped through Kerr County and surrounding areas have killed at least 51 people, including 15 children. Dozens more are missing, including 27 girls from Camp Mystic, a century-old Christian summer camp now reduced to splintered cabins, mud-choked bunks, and unanswered questions.

The numbers hit you hard. Helicopters circle the battered Guadalupe River, rescue boats weave through downed trees and twisted cars, and families stand on riverbanks waiting for news they are not ready to hear. In just 45 minutes before dawn on Friday, the river rose more than 26 feet, a wall of water that no warning siren could outrun.

Governor Greg Abbott declared Sunday a day of prayer for the lost and the missing, urging Texans to stand together in the face of so much heartbreak. “I urge every Texan to join me,” he said, “for the lives lost, for those still missing, for the recovery of our communities, and for the safety of those on the front lines.”

In a place known as Flash Flood Alley, these storms are nothing new. But locals say this one was different, a once-in-a-century burst that slammed an entire camp while kids were sleeping, ripped families from attics, and stranded neighbors clinging to trees for dear life. Some parents found their kids, wet and shaking, but alive. Others are still praying they will.

Parents, friends, and church communities have plastered social media with photos of the missing, grainy snapshots of laughing faces that now break your heart to look at. One mom drove five hours from Dallas when she heard her daughter’s camp had been hit. She found her. Others drove the same road and found only silence.

Officials say more than 850 people have been rescued so far, but search crews keep going, combing miles of battered riverbanks and debris fields with drones, dogs, and old-fashioned grit. Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem and Governor Abbott promised every resource would be poured into the hunt. But for families standing in school gymnasiums turned reunification centers, hope is running thin.

Questions are starting to bubble up as the floodwaters recede. AP News reports that the National Weather Service and private forecasters issued flash flood warnings hours before the worst hit. Did local camps and families get enough notice? Could the tragedy at Camp Mystic have been prevented? Officials admit there will be finger-pointing in the days ahead, but for now, it is about the search, the prayers, and the heartbreak.

Down along the river, folks are still pulling waterlogged teddy bears and bunk mattresses from the trees. They are pulling neighbors from roofs, too. One family rode the current into a stand of barbed wire, the father clutching his 9-year-old boy to his chest, telling him it would be okay while his own fear screamed otherwise.

Texans are no strangers to storms, but even the toughest old-timers in Kerr County say they have never seen the river come for them like this. It was supposed to be just another July 4th weekend, backyard grills, sparklers, and kids yelling in the creek. Now, it is empty camp cabins and funeral home parking lots that overflow with grief.

Governor Abbott called it a long, toilsome task ahead. That is an understatement. Whole communities will spend months digging out of the muck, replacing what can be replaced, and mourning what cannot.

So keep the prayers coming for the Hill Country. For the parents still waiting by the riverbank. For the kids who never made it back to their bunk beds. For the folks who stand shoulder to shoulder tonight, ready to fight for every last person still missing in the water’s cruel wake.

When Texas floods, it does so with a fury. But it is the way Texans hold each other up afterward that reminds you hope may bend, but it does not break.