Fredericksburg, Texas — One unforgettable summer evening
Under a wide Texas sky still aching from recent storms, George Strait stepped onto the stage—not to open with a hit song, but with something deeper. This was not a concert in the usual sense. There were no fireworks, no booming intros. Just a crowd gathered in quiet reverence, bound by grief, resilience, and a shared love for their community.
“We’re just so thankful y’all came out tonight,” George began, his voice steady. “You—people like you—are the heart and soul of Texas. And that’s what makes this state great.”
Beside him stood longtime friend and philanthropist Tom Cusick, who for over 14 years had teamed up with George to raise more than $20 million for wounded veterans. But tonight’s cause was painfully close to home.
“On July 6th, my wife and I were out of town when the news of the flood hit. We couldn’t sleep,” Tom shared. “So I called George. And just like that, he said, ‘Let’s do it.’ No hesitation.”
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.