06/14/2026
Freewheeling Blog: Worst Days and Aftermaths
Perched at the very top of a hackberry tree during last year's Hill Country flood, Aaron Parsley wondered if he would get out alive and if his loved ones would survive. Within just a few moments, he and six family members had been ripped out of their vacation dwelling by raging waters. Everyone survived except his 20-month-old nephew, Clay.
Parsley wrote a Pulitzer-prize winning article for Texas Monthly about his harrowing experience. This month, he has updated the magazine's readers with a piece titled, "After the Flood," about his family's journey since that worst day of their lives.
His article caused me to think about aftermaths. Sara and I pray periodically for the ones whose lives have been devastated, but the news cycle moves on to new tragedies. Yet these earlier tragedies - from earthquakes, fires, war, accidents - either continue or take years from which to recover. People experience the worst days of their lives; the rest of us feel brief sorrow and carry on.
To observe Memorial Day, Sara and I visited the Medal of Honor Museum in Arlington, Texas. The most striking thing to me was how Medal of Honor winners see their heroic days very differently than we do. To them, the action occurred on the worst day of their lives. They lost friends and colleagues; their stress level rose to the level of long-term trauma; they often were compelled to take many other lives in order to save their own. The medal winners remember those things more than their warrior glory.
In the aftermath, many struggled with PTSD, survivor guilt, and depression. Being awarded the Medal of Honor vividly resurrected the memory of their worst day.
The prophet Jeremiah envisioned his worst day, the fall of Jerusalem, before it happened. He wrote in Jeremiah 8:21 (NIV):
===Since my people are crushed, I am crushed; I mourn, and horror grips me.===
Yet in the destruction's aftermath, Jeremiah retained hope in the Lord, writing in Lamentations 3:22 (NIV):
===Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.===
Sara and I experienced adjacent worst days of our lives. My worst day was realizing that Sara's ambulance-summoning medical issue of the night before was actually her first su***de attempt; I was compelled to take her from ER straight to a psychiatric ward. For Sara, her worst day was the day before, when decades of internal anguish and depression forcefully came to light. The aftermath has continued for 23 years now.
That story starts my book, "The Next Thing: A Christian Model for Dealing with Crisis in Personal Life." Deeper in the book, in a section on grief, I share how to deal with aftermaths, using the model of trees.
You see, we never fully recover from a crisis; we are fundamentally changed. Trees innately realize this. When wounded, the tree uses a process called compartmentalization to deal with the injury.
Looking at the damaged tree in the accompanying picture, the injured tissue is not repaired. Trees do not heal; they seal. If you examine an old tree wound, you will notice it does not "heal" from the inside out. Eventually, the tree covers the opening by forming specialized "callus" tissue around the edges of the wound. New wood growing around the wound forms a protective boundary preventing infection or decay from spreading into new tissue.
Compartmentalization allows trees to continue to grow and develop, even if they always carry the wound with them.
This strategy can be usefully applied to aftermaths. While we may never heal, or can feel guilty about healing as we mourn loved ones, new growth can continue. The wound is still there. It will always be there. But like the tree, with God's help, we are able to seal the damage and bear its mark while growing in new directions.
===If you're curious about my Christian Indie Award-winning book and small group video series, "The Next Thing," you can learn more by visiting CecilTaylorMinistries dot com and selecting Books&Videos.===