"Do This Hour": Camp Mystic Counselor London Smith’s Story of Faith and Courage

On July 3, 2025, London Smith went to bed expecting a typical night at Camp Mystic, a Christian camp for girls in the Texas Hill Country. The region had seen days of steady rain, and the air was thick with humidity and the buzz of gnats by the river. "In the letters I had written home that day, I even mentioned how bad the gnats were," London remembered. "The sun hadn't come out in days, which was unusual for July."

That night, the storm intensified. Wind howled against the cabin windows, and thunder rolled across the hills. "My co-counselor and I would take turns getting up and telling the girls to go back to sleep every twenty minutes," London said. "Then one girl called me over to her bed and pointed to her window. The water was already creeping up close to the windowsill."

It was dark, and it was hard to tell how high the water really was. London reassured her girls, still believing they were safe. But moments later, she peered through the window and saw something she would never forget. "I saw the canoes that were normally docked by the river floating past my cabin," she said.

Within minutes, two girls from another cabin ran across the rain-soaked field toward the office, followed by flashing car lights outside. When London stepped outside, she was met with twenty young girls, crying and clutching pillows in the pouring rain. The camp directors were already outside, directing campers to safety.

"I asked one of the owners if I should take my girls, and he said he had never seen water this high," London recalled. "That's when one of the directors shouted for everyone to go to Rec Hall, a tall building up on a stage."

Moving quickly, London woke her co-counselor, put on her shoes and raincoat, and turned on every light in the cabin. Together, they lined up their girls, her co-counselor at the front, London at the back, and began wading through the rising water. "By the time we reached the Rec Hall, the water was already past my knees," she said. "When I climbed the stairs and felt the current pulling on my legs, that was the first time I was truly scared." 

Inside, about a hundred campers and a handful of counselors gathered as the water began to rise inside the building. They ushered all of the girls up the stairs to the only elevated space available, the indoor balcony. "The balcony was just big enough to hold all of us," London said. "And then the power went out." 

The building went dark as the storm raged outside. "When I saw the lights outside flicker and then shut off, I was terrified. I hadn't really panicked until that moment, because I realized that nobody was coming to save us."

Peering out the window into the blackness, London could see the water continuing to climb. Across the way, she spotted other girls stranded on a rooftop. She shouted to them that they couldn't stay there, desperate to find a way to help. "In my mind, I started thinking that if the water rose any higher, maybe we could jump out the window into the water," she said. "At the time, I didn't realize that could have killed us. I was more afraid of being stuck in the building." 

In those moments, London remembers feeling as if no one outside would even know what was happening. Yet, even amid the fear and chaos, she and her fellow counselors began to pray and lead the campers in song. London sang "Good, Good Father" by Chris Tomlin, a song that had comforted her through grief after losing her grandfather. She recalls that night as a moment she will never forget.

Somehow, by the grace of God alone, the water stopped only a few inches below their feet, and though it receded quickly, the counselors remained stranded in the Rec Hall for most of the day, taking turns venturing out to find one another until they were finally rescued around 4 p.m. 

In the days following the flood, London found herself trying to process what had happened. "In the initial days after the flood, I believe I was more in shock than anything else," she recalled. "Something I did not realize was that the flood was not only traumatizing, it was humbling."

Coming home to find that she no longer had even the simplest things, her clothes, her personal belongings, or the items that made her feel like herself, was a difficult reality to face. "It took me a while to feel like London again," she said. "This taught me that I will never be the same person I was before July 4, and that's okay."

As she began to heal, London also wrestled with feelings of guilt. "In the following days, weeks, and months, I walked through an overwhelming sense of guilt that I could have done more that night," she shared. "Over time, I'm learning that I did all I knew was best. But when you lose so many people you love, you can't help but wonder what more you could have done."

Even in those painful questions, London says God met her with peace and purpose. "Months later, one of the most beautiful things the Lord has taught me is that this earth is not our home," she reflected. "While we are here, as believers, it's our duty to serve God well and glorify Him in everything we do."

Her thoughts often return to her grandfather, Forrest, whose faith shaped her own. "A few months before my grandfather passed away, he told me that he couldn't go yet because he still 'had more work to do,'" she remembered. "In this flood, I believe my grandfather passed the torch to me that night to continue the work he wanted to keep doing, and to carry on his legacy by serving God and His people."

When asked what she hopes others take from her story, London doesn't hesitate. "My hope and prayer is that my story would guide others to Christ," she said. "This life is not promised. Our breath every minute is not guaranteed. Because of that, we shouldn't take life for granted; we should live it well."

As London continues to heal and reflect on that night, she carries those lessons with her back to Dallas Baptist University, where her faith first began to take deep root.

"When I first stepped onto DBU's campus, I felt something I couldn't quite explain—peace," she said. "It was the only school I toured. I immediately knew this was where the Lord wanted me. It felt safe and peaceful." 

Now a sophomore studying Early Childhood Education, London's story is one of quiet strength and deep faith. Raised in Plano, Texas, by her mother and grandparents, she grew up in a Christian home, but her walk with Christ deepened after losing her grandfather, Forrest, to cancer. "He was my father figure, mentor, and hero," she shared. "In losing my father figure on earth, I gained my Heavenly Father. Through my grief, I found peace that surpasses understanding."

At DBU, London has found another kind of family. She's an active member of Zeta Chi, a student worker, and part of the close-knit community within the College of Education. Among her greatest influences have been Dr. Debbye Garner and Mrs. Lee Ann Shamblin—mentors who have guided and encouraged her every step. "Mrs. Shamblin has become like a second mother to me," London said. "She and her family even welcomed me into their home over Christmas break."

She shared that numerous other professors in the College of Education have also shaped her journey, each reflecting "so many beautiful characteristics of Christ and what it means to truly live out my faith." 

From the classrooms of DBU to the cabins of Camp Mystic, London Smith continues to live her faith one day, one moment, and one hour at a time, trusting the Lord in every season, and doing each hour with courage and grace.