http://tungsongs.vietut.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/08/5p12a2-FAITH-IN-THE-FLOOD-George-Strait-and-Max-Lucado-Lead-.jpg
Under a wide Texas sky raw with the memory of recent, devastating storms, a somber crowd gathered on what would be an unforgettable summer evening in Fredericksburg. It was a gathering born not of celebration, but of shared tragedy and a desperate search for hope. The air was thick with unspoken grief, a heavy blanket covering a community still reeling from the destructive power of a historic flood. This was not a concert; it was a vigil, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.
Country music king George Strait walked onto the stage, not with the swagger of a superstar, but with the heavy heart of a neighbor. The usual roar of the crowd was replaced by a quiet, profound reverence. He looked out at the faces before him, seeing his own pain and love for Texas reflected in their eyes. “We’re just so thankful y’all came out tonight,” George Strait began, his voice a steady anchor in the emotional storm. “You—people like you—are the heart and soul of Texas. And that’s what makes this state great.” The words, simple and true, hung in the air, a balm on a collective wound.
Beside him stood his longtime friend, philanthropist Tom Cusick. For over 14 years, the pair have been a powerhouse of charity, raising millions for those in need. But this cause was different. This was personal. Tom Cusick’s voice cracked as he recounted the moment he heard the news. “On July 6th, my wife and I were out of town when the news of the flood hit. We couldn’t sleep,” he shared, the memory still vivid. “So I called George. And just like that, he said, ‘Let’s do it.’ No hesitation.” The story painted a picture of two friends, helpless from afar, who knew their only option was to act, to bring solace to their community in its darkest hour.
Providing a spiritual foundation for the evening was renowned author and pastor Max Lucado. He spoke of a different kind of strength, one not measured in resistance to the storm, but in the faith that binds people together in its aftermath. “In these moments of devastating loss,” Max Lucado passionately declared to the hushed audience, “we witness the true, unbreakable spirit of our community. It is a spirit of unwavering faith, not in the absence of tragedy, but in the loving presence of one another. We will rebuild, brick by brick, and prayer by prayer.” His words offered a powerful message of hope, reminding everyone that even when the waters rise, faith can be the high ground upon which they stand. One elderly woman, clutching a photo of her submerged home, was seen weeping silently. “He’s right,” she whispered to the person next to her. “God is all we have left.”
Video
What followed was a logistical miracle. Without a year of planning or dozens of committees, the benefit event came together within days. Tom’s four daughters, his wife Diane—whom he lovingly credited for “working like a horse”—and dozens of local businesses and sponsors all rallied behind the mission.
“I told George we could raise $5 million. He said, ‘Let’s raise six.’ And friends—we’re almost there.”
The night wasn’t about perfection. It was about presence. Even delays at the gate and last-minute adjustments didn’t dampen the spirit of the gathering. What mattered was that they were together.
Then came Max Lucado, beloved pastor and author, invited by George himself.
“George asked me once, ‘What if we cuss around Max?’” Lucado laughed, breaking the tension. “I told him, don’t worry—I’ve heard it all before.”
But Max’s message was no joke. He turned the evening into something sacred.
“In the back of our minds,” he said, pausing, “we all know why we’re here. Our hearts are still heavy. And we still have questions.”
Max offered a metaphor: a stitched bookmark, its front chaotic with threads and knots—but when flipped over, the backside read clearly: “God is love.” That, he said, is how we must learn to view tragedy—from God’s perspective, not our own.
“Life is hard. Life is brief,” he continued. “The Bible compares it to grass that fades, or smoke that vanishes. But even in suffering, Paul wrote, ‘These brief and momentary troubles are not worth comparing with the glory that outweighs them all.’”
Max didn’t dismiss the pain. He acknowledged it deeply. But he reminded the crowd that hope has not left us—and neither has God.
“On the night before His crucifixion, Jesus said: ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God… I go to prepare a place for you.’”
And then, softly but firmly, Max said what no one expected but everyone needed:
“With all my heart, I believe that those young girls in Mystic Cabin—when they saw the flood, they saw Christ. Because He walks on water. He enters the storm. And He meets His children in the valley of the shadow of death.”
The air stood still. No applause. Just silence—and tears.
When George Strait returned to the microphone, he didn’t need to sing a single note to move the crowd. His presence, like the event itself, spoke volumes.
This wasn’t just a benefit concert. It was a moment of healing. A promise of unity. A night where country music met courage, and where the truest lyrics were written not in rhyme—but in love.