Community Comes Together For Prayer Vigil In Hale County

Is there anything you can say after two tragic situations in Hale County have the entire West Alabama area grieving for two young people?

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A community prayer vigil is taking place outside Hale County High School on Wednesday night at 6:00 pm.

The Vine Church hosts the vigil in hopes that the community will gather in unity and faith, lifting up the community and believing for peace, protection, hope, and healing.

We want to share some thoughts and words from our friend Russel Estes, a frequent on-air guest and contributor, on the tragic loss in our community.

I’m thinking of them as I make my call to the Creator this morning. Usually, during this time, I’m going over a list of my sick friends, a few “thank yous”, and promising to act my age the next time I go to Bass Pro Shops. Most days, when I’m in prayer with the Big Guy, I’m changing the subject so often I even confuse myself.

Today isn’t one of those days. I'm staying on topic. One topic. I’m praying for the family of a young man whose life was cut short. I’m thinking of my own kids. I couldn’t imagine the hurt. My goodness, it must be something awful.

I’ve cried with, prayed with, and stood with friends who have had to bury their children. Too many times I’ve been told the story about how their world was ripped apart. You feel helpless standing with them. So you hug them. You love them. And you pray for them…over and over! So this morning, these moms, dads, guardians, siblings… they have my entire prayer time.

There are some pains in this life that don’t make sense — and losing a child is one of them. It’s like your heart got evicted without notice, like there’s an empty bedroom in your soul that nothing on this earth can fill.

I’ve been with these parents, trying to make it make sense. You stand there, holding memories instead of hands, hearing laughter in your mind that doesn’t echo through your home anymore.

You think about what it’s like up there. You start to wonder if Heaven has better swings, better snacks, and a better bedtime story — because God sure did take your favorite little person way too soon and you want the best for them.

But here’s what I’ve learned about Heaven: it’s not far. Really, it’s not. It’s right there… or more precisely, it’s right here. It’s just hidden. Sometimes, when the wind blows just right or the sun hits your face at that perfect angle, you catch a glimpse — a whisper that says, “I’m okay, Mom. I’m okay, Dad.”

We grieve because we loved deeply. But we also hope — because that same Jesus who caught your child in His arms has promised that He’ll hold you too. This separation? It’s not forever. It’s just a delay, a pause between two heartbeats that will one day line up again.

Until then, you keep living. You keep loving. You tell their story. You make people laugh. You serve others because that’s what your child would want — for you to keep spreading a little Heaven down here until you see them again up there.

I bet they’re doing the things they loved most — but without pain, without fear, without tears. There are no bullies in Heaven. Everyone sits at the cool kid table. Everyone is popular, great in sports, and you should see what they can do with a set of markers. Maybe they’re drawing rainbows with colors we’ve never seen. Maybe they’re baking cookies with Grandma who’s been waiting since forever. Maybe they’re organizing a kickball game with Moses as the referee.

Perhaps you're like me. Maybe you sometimes sit outside, hoping to catch glimpses of them. In the butterfly that lands right beside you like it’s delivering a message. The cardinal that always looks through the window. Perhaps you hear them in the laughter of another child that sounds almost too familiar. In a sunset so breathtaking that you can almost hear them say, “Look, Mom, look! I helped paint that one.”

On hard days, I picture my loved ones who’s gone before me still watching me. I see my Dad in so many things. I feel my Mom’s presence often. My brother… my sister… the same. Even when I can’t see them, I find myself feeling them. It’s a presence that isn’t sad… but calming. And maybe you do that too.

Perhaps you imagine your child, sitting at the edge of Heaven, feet dangling through the clouds, cheering you on. Saying, “You got this. Keep loving people like Jesus. Keep laughing — don’t let the sadness win.”

In Psalm 34:18 it tells us “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

I want to believe in that verse more than anything. I want to believe that the Lord holds the hearts of every parent who’s had to let go too soon. I want to believe that He helps them find laughter in the tears, hope in the heartbreak, and peace in knowing that Heaven is only a blink away.

But until then, I’ll keep praying for you. And I hope you are seeing them everywhere — in the light, in the laughter, in the rain, in the small moments… in the love that lingers.

Because even if Heaven holds them now, their fingerprints are all over your heart.

And that’s where they’ve always lived anyway.