Of Course You Can Bring Your Teddy Bear: On Texas Tragedy and a Heroic Man

In the worst times, heroes arise.

This is what has just occurred in Texas. Before the day dawned in the San Antonio area on the Fourth of July, flash floods struck along the Guadalupe River. The floods ascended to towering heights within thirty minutes, destroying buildings and sweeping many people into a rushing river. According to the Wall Street Journal, over 80 people have been reported as dead, with many more still missing several days later.

The weight of grief surrounding this natural disaster is palpable in America. This is in large part because many children were involved in it. Camp Mystic is a Christian summer camp in Hunt, Texas that draws hundreds of girls each summer; it was quite literally in the eye of the storm. Dozens of the 750 girls attending Camp Mystic were swept into the floodwaters, with 28 of them dying by the latest count. The tragedy here is staggering; words truly fail when encountering photos of the precious girls—many of them less than ten years of age—who lost their lives in the Texas floods.

(UPDATE: I just heard about a good way to give to support Christian relief efforts in the flood area. Kerrville Bible Church, a faithful congregation shepherded by Scott Christensen—a gifted author of numerous excellent books, including a renowned title dealing with how evil fits with the sovereignty of God—is working closely with Samaritan’s Purse to coordinate giving and relief. I’m personally thankful for both the church and Samaritan’s Purse.)

Amidst this surge of grief has come an unexpected story of heroism. Scott Ruskan is a 26-year-old Coast Guard rescue swimmer from New Jersey who was leading a thoroughly normal life just a few days ago. As of the morning of July 4, however, he was suddenly called into action. Rising from sleep, Ruskan quickly got ready, flew in harrowing conditions for six hours to Hunt, Texas, and immediately began “triage” operations to provide aid.

On the ground, Ruskan set up landing zones on Camp Mystic’s archery and soccer fields. He comforted and encouraged the many children who were on scene, lost and distraught. He helped coordinate 12 rescue helicopters that were ferrying evacuees to safety. With many compatriots from the Army National Guard and other outfits, Ruskan saw over 850 people rescued. It is not too much to say that the weight of the tragedy in Texas is matched by the weight of the heroism showed by Ruskan and his colleagues.

In terrible darkness, light shines all the more. So it is in Texas through the ordinary heroism of Ruskan and others. The New York Times related an anecdote that caught my eye as I read numerous reports of the tragedy:

At Camp Mystic on Friday, Mr. Ruskan shuttled campers to the helicopters that would lift them to safety — sometimes carrying two girls in one arm. As he took some evacuees away, he assured the others that he would come back for them. Some asked if they could bring stuffed animals with them. “Of course,” he told them.

This piece of reporting stopped me in my tracks. Ruskan, a 26-year-old, displayed great strength and wisdom in his survival response. Without knowing his spiritual condition, I can say that he did what men must do: he formed a plan, sprang into action, and did his job tirelessly. He showed serious courage and presence of mind, qualities of biblical manhood we value at great price. He used his considerable physical ability to ferry girls to safety, putting their comfort before his as men do.

Clearly, what we call strong manhood has not died in Ruskan’s generation. Yet Ruskan’s clear-thinking capacity is balanced by an obviously empathetic nature. The same man who showed real strength under fire also showed touching kindness to the precious girls he helped save. While I don’t know Ruskan’s heart, here is a second echo of biblical manhood. Men of God are not only tough in hard circumstances, figuring out a plan and executing it with ruthless determination. Men of God are also kind. Tender. Loving. Gracious. Approachable. Compassionate.

In the Bible, godly men are not all steel with no sweetness. Think of how Matthew 19 shows Jesus engaging little children when they are brought to him:

Then children were brought to him that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples rebuked the people, but Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” And he laid his hands on them and went away.

What a marvelous passage. It’s one of my favorite sections of Scripture. It shows us that Jesus’ heart is indeed “gentle and lowly” (Matthew 11:28). Jesus was not a fire-snorter. Jesus was not wild-eyed. Jesus was not an angry Savior. No, Jesus was and is loving. Jesus was and is approachable. Jesus was and is tender. Jesus was and is compassionate. The people around Jesus were tempted to be cold to children, but Jesus was warm to them. They were not scared of him; they wanted to go to him, and did so instinctually.

We need a fully balanced picture of Jesus today. As I’ve written about in my book The War on Men, with the legacy of feminism in our midst, we’re tempted to overreact to this movement and others. We’re tempted—very tempted—to become angry men. Ranting men. Cold-hearted men. Unkind men. Unloving men. Men without tenderness. Men whom children don’t want to approach (nor does anyone else).

A major temptation of strong men is to be a cold man. These are men who may hold to sound ideas, even sound doctrine, but they are not gracious men. They may honor God in wanting to know and love right theology, but they do not honor God in their manner, demeanor, and presentation. Cold men are men who have a lot of sanctification left, in truth. They are proud men, men who may well think themselves mature (because they define maturity solely in terms of doctrinal knowledge), but they are actually remarkably immature, for they lack love.

This is not what the gospel produces, so we’re clear. The gospel forms us into warm men. Though we’re all-too-imperfect in all sorts of ways, the gospel makes us a loving man. It makes us draw near to our families. It makes us kind to our wife (Ephesians 5:24-25). It makes us want to live with her in an understanding way (1 Peter 3:7). It makes us the kind of man who children run toward, not away from. It makes us the sort of man who can reconcile, who can be a peacemaker, who can calm down tempers when they’re boiling, who can find solutions in the wreckage of trials.

Every man fails at this. Every Christian man must regularly hit “restart” in his life. When the Lord exposes areas of sin and weakness in his walk with Christ, he must start again, forming new patterns of godliness by the Spirit’s power. But we must not miss the point: it is wholly possible to be a warm man by the power of God’s grace. We can be the kind of men who grip little girls fiercely, ushering them to safety in great calamity, while calming their terrified nerves. Of course you can bring your teddy bear, sweetheart.

The surprising case of Scott Ruskan called all this to mind recently. What is still playing out in Texas is a tragedy of major proportions. We continue to pray for the rescue work in San Antonio; we continue to pray for the grieving; above all, we continue to pray for the advance of the gospel even in tragic conditions like these.

And we should thank God as well that strong men still walk among us. Despite all the depictions of assertive and aggressive manhood as “toxic,” we continue to witness a steady stream of examples of strong men who are—in their moment of testing—anything but toxic. The common grace of God is real, we are reminded. It is a very strong force indeed in our world, sin notwithstanding. How we should thank God for it.

Even more than this, though, we should not give up the hard work of forming strong men of God. This is our greatest calling with regard to boys and young men—not merely to see them become virtuous in general terms, willing to step up in hardship, but men of Christ, men of the gospel, men of grace, men who put themselves on the line as an act of worship.

These are men who run toward the fire, not away from it. These are men who form plans when everything swirls with chaos. These are men who extend strong arms, scoop up precious little girls, and smile at them with deep tenderness. These are men who hear those same little girls ask in the most terrified moment of their lives if they can take their stuffed animal with them, and look down at those little girls without a touch of shame or a moment of hesitation, and say in a calm and gracious voice:

Of course you can bring your teddy bear, sweetheart.

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(Image: North American Rescue, Instagram