Held by Camp: A Letter on Faith, Floods, and Resilience
Camp is the best place she can be.
That’s what one mother told me as she picked up her daughter from Angels Cabin—where our youngest campers stay—just days after the floods decimated the Guadalupe River in the early morning hours of July 4.
Those were not the words I expected to hear, given what was happening at camps just 30 miles away. Mothers mourned. Families grieved. Communities saw the long road of recovery ahead of them.
July 2025 is a month we will never forget. We will carry our sorrow with us.
In those first few days after July 4, our sense of normalcy immediately gave way to something more fragile. While the Frio River saw nothing near to what happened on the Guadalupe, LLYC parents were nervous, of course. So, when they arrived at the close of the session that ended on July 12, I made it a point to be there—not just to greet them, but to listen.
Many had spent the past few days wrestling with whether to pull their campers out early or let them stay through the week. With massive destruction unfolding for neighboring camps and communities, their anxiety was understandable.
What I heard from so many moms and dads that day was gratitude. Gratitude for clear communication. For the calm presence of our staff. For the fact that, somehow, even with so much heartache and loss nearby, their children were still laughing, playing, drawing close to one another, their counselors, and God.
“All my friends kept asking me why I didn’t go get my daughter,” one parent said. “I just told them—she’s in the best place she can be.”
That phrase grabbed ahold of me. Not because it would’ve sounded bold in a normal year, but because of what it meant in this one. After a week where “camp” had been linked to tragedy, how could she feel that this was the best place?
Her child wasn’t just at camp. She was held by it. Held by counselors, by rhythms that offered structure and joy, by a community grounded in trust.
And yet, I understood. It wasn’t just her daughter was physically safe—though our team works tirelessly to ensure camper wellbeing. This parent wasn’t thinking about logistics and protocols. Her child wasn’t just at camp. She was held by it. Held by counselors, by rhythms that offered structure and joy, by a community grounded in trust.
During the pandemic years, my friend Andy Crouch told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said that while the Frio Canyon is stunning, our most valuable asset isn’t the land—it’s trust. The trust people place in us to do what’s right, especially when it’s hard.
As we move forward, we are not only grateful—we are also committed. We are actively reviewing and strengthening our safety protocols, including expanded flood procedures, so we can steward your trust even more faithfully. We are committed to keeping guests in our care as safe as possible—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
To every family who entrusts their child to us: thank you. Thank you for your trust, your prayers, your presence, and your partnership. We never take it lightly. Especially in a summer like this one, you reminded us again that what we’re building here isn’t just a camp. It’s a community—of faith, courage, and love—that holds strong.
With deep gratitude,
David Rogers
