Finding Hope in Shared Ground

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
— Romans 8:28 (NIV)

Disaster teaches your community and our country something we couldn’t have known otherwise: we are stronger than we realized. Not because it doesn’t hurt, but because we are facing it together. We show up together. Whether it's dropping off water for recovery workers. Sending up prayers for those who've lost loved ones. Fostering kittens or dogs so the animal shelters can focus on the displaced pets during a disaster. Donating gift cards for meals or rental housing for those who have lost their homes. Or posting prayers and thoughts online to help the collective grief and support show up stronger.

We discover that community isn’t buildings. It’s not streets or coffee shops or school gyms. Community is what happens when people show up for each other, mourn together, serve together, rebuild side by side - even from a distance. Even nationwide.

We see this truth echoed in Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” It doesn’t mean what happened was good. It means God can still bring goodness out of what remains.

And what remains is a surprising strength. A generosity that rises up. A shared breath that becomes shared ground. As Isaiah 61:3 says, God gives us “a crown of beauty instead of ashes,” and He is able to grow something sacred in the soil of sorrow.

You don’t have to call the disaster a blessing. But you might one day call the people who walked with you through it a gift. The mural on the rebuilt library. The garden where the old rec center once stood. The neighbor who now knows your story and shares theirs. The nation who held a community in her collective thoughts, donations, and prayers.

Recovery tries to bring back what was. Renewal builds something new with what’s left.

The impacted communities may never look the same. But with God’s help, it will be home again for those who live there.

Collective grief, when it's held with tenderness, becomes collective strength.

Not the fake kind that pretends nothing hurts. The real kind that says, "This is devastating, and we're going to walk through it together, and we're going to come out different but not defeated."

Some things will never be the same. Some losses can't be replaced. Some scars will always tell the story of what happened there.

But new things can grow in the spaces that disaster cleared. New traditions can take root. New ways of caring for each other can emerge from the rubble of what used to be.

This doesn't mean you have to call disaster a blessing. It doesn't mean you have to be grateful for what broke your heart, or other people's hearts. It doesn't mean you have to find a silver lining or pretend it was "worth it."

It just means that the God who promises to work all things together for good is still working, even here, even in this. Not by erasing what happened, but by renewing what remains.

You'll know it when you see it:

The new community garden planted where the old community center used to stand. The mural painted on the wall of the rebuilt library telling the story of before and after. The annual remembrance gathering that becomes sacred ritual. The way people check on each other now, with a tenderness that wasn't there before disaster, taught you how fragile everything really is.

Recovery and renewal aren't the same thing. Recovery tries to return to what was. Renewal creates something new from what remains.

Disaster-impacted communities can be renewed when covered by prayer and love. Different than before, marked by what people have been through, but renewed. Stronger in some ways because you've learned what you can survive. Gentler in others because you've learned what deserves protection.

The shared ground of grief becomes the shared ground of hope. Not because anyone has moved past the sorrow, but because everyone moved through it together.

And the God who walks with communities through disaster walks with communities through reconstruction, too. The same faithful presence that held hearts in the immediate aftermath holds the same hearts in the long work of becoming home to each other again. Whether you live near the affected areas or heard about the disasters online, the God who comforts shows up near and far, allowing our collective grief and collective healing to renew and restore life and love once more.

Breath Prayer:

Lord, grow something beautiful from the broken ground, in all of us who prayed for restoration.

Scripture-Based Prayer:

Lord, thank You for showing us that we are stronger together than we ever knew we could be. You promise to work all things together for good (Romans 8:28), not by calling destruction good, but by bringing renewal from what remains.

Help us to build not just safer infrastructure, but deeper compassion. Not just renewed spaces, but renewed commitment to caring for each other.

Thank You for being the God who doesn't waste our suffering but weaves it into something that serves love. Help us to be Your hands and feet to each other as we write the next chapter of our community's and our country's story. In Jesus' Name, we pray.

May this devotional remind communities walking through collective grief that their sorrow is seen, their resilience is real, and their shared journey toward healing is held in faithful hands. If you would like to read more on healing during grief, the author's book, Healing Collective Grief & Trauma, and other resources by Heather Hair can be found by clicking this link.