Twelve years ago on February 19, 2014, this blog began on a day our community did not want – the death of sweet Hailey Owens (link here).

It began in shock.
It began with tears.
It began with a town trying to catch its breath after the murder of a child.

Back then, we mourned the loss of Hailey Owens. We mourned innocence stolen. We mourned the realization that evil does not always stay “out there,” but sometimes lives among us. We gathered as neighbors, prayed as strangers, and searched for words that could hold the weight of our grief.

Today, we mourn again.

This time, our sorrow comes from a different kind of loss, yet the ache is just as real. Two Ozark law enforcement officers, Deputies Gabriel Ramirez and Michael Hislope, who grew up here, graduated from our local high school, and served the country in our military, have been killed by a criminal act. Our sheriff described it as the worst day in Christian County history. Families are shattered. Departments are grieving. A community once again finds itself stunned, quiet, and united in heartbreak.

Twelve years apart, two tragedies.
Different circumstances.
The same shared sorrow.
Evil has invaded our lives uninvited and with incredible impact through the hands of a criminal.

What We Are Feeling, Again

When tragedy strikes, it exposes both what we hate most and what we love most.

What we hate

We hate that violence continues to invade ordinary days.
We hate that routine moments – a child walking home after school, a routine traffic stop – can turn deadly.
We hate that families must receive knocks on the door that no one should ever hear.
We hate that children grow up sooner than they should.
We hate sin.

This week’s loss reminds us, once again, that the world is broken and that evil carries consequences far beyond the moment it strikes.

What we love

And yet, just like twelve years ago, we are reminded of what we love.

We love our community.

Yesterday, I attended the news conference. I watched family members drape themselves over police cruisers where their grief found something solid on which to cling. I listened as Sheriff Cole described offices filled with food, notes, and gifts. I heard him commend neighbors who showed up without being asked. Once again, people left the comfort of their homes to stand with those who serve and those who grieve.

We love our compassion.

You can feel it in the silence of conversations. You see it in the tired eyes of officers still reporting for duty. When you pause to consider these things, you sense it in the way this community slows down, softens its tone, and carries sorrow together. When one of us is wounded, all of us feel it.

We love our righteous anger.

Anger toward evil is not the problem. Scripture gives room for grief and indignation when life is taken unjustly. While anger must never become vengeance, it is right to hate what destroys lives and families.

We love our concern.

Twelve years ago, an AMBER Alert sent thousands to their knees. This week, that same posture returned as the BLUE Alert lit our phones. People were praying – this time for families, for deputies, for safety, and for wisdom. People all over the Ozarks waited as the manhunt turned into the wee hours of the morning. Our concern reveals love. Our prayer reveals dependence.

How Do We Respond, Again?

Twelve years ago, I wrote about how a community should respond in moments like these. Those truths have not changed.

We remember.

We remember that life is short.
We remember that none of us are promised tomorrow.
We remember that God understands the murder of the innocent, because He watched His own Son suffer unjustly.

Remembering does not erase pain; instead, it anchors it.

We recommit.

We recommit to living like today matters.
We recommit to honoring God in the way we speak, act, and love.
We recommit to being people who share hope – not slogans, not clichés, but real hope rooted in Christ.

Tragedy reminds us that spiritual indifference is a luxury none of us can afford.

We resolve.

We resolve to love our neighbors.
To notice one another.
To be present.
To be watchful.
To be kind.

Sometimes loving your neighbor looks like courage. Sometimes it looks like grief. Sometimes it looks like simply showing up.

We request.

We ask God for mercy and comfort – for the families of the fallen officers, for their coworkers and their families, and for a community trying to process loss again.
We ask for wisdom for leaders.
We ask for protection for those who serve selflessly.
We ask for peace where fear and anxiety threatens to take root.

We rest.

And ultimately, we rest – not because everything makes sense, but because God is trustworthy.
We rest in His character.
We rest in His presence.
We rest knowing He gives grace sufficient for today.

We Pause to Remember, Again

In homes all over our community, parents and grandparents talk with their children. Families have a discussion. Children learn what it means to grow up in an evil world. Yet, in these same conversations, we do not want evil to win. Instead, we focus on Christ.

That matters.

As adults we understand that moments like this shape how young hearts learn to grieve. They shape how adults model faith under pressure. Further, they teach us that the people of God do not face tragedy alone.

We pause to honor the sacrificial love of these officers, to grieve without hopelessness, to respond to violence with courage, and to choose a Christ-centered way forward.

Jesus told us, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

Moving Forward Together, Again

Twelve years ago, our community mourned together.
Today, we mourn together again.

But, we do not mourn without hope.
We do not mourn without faith.
And, we do not mourn without responsibility.

Let us pray for these families.
Let us support those who continue to serve.
Let us teach our children how faith speaks when words are hard to find.
Let us be a community marked not by fear, but by courage, compassion, and peace.

Evil may wound us, but it does not define us.
Loss may silence us, but it does not end our story.

We mourn together.
We stand together.
And by God’s grace, we move forward together.

Together.

Deputy Michael Hislope’s Police Vehicle

Deputy Gabriel Ramirez’s Police Vehicle

We mourn together. We stand together. And by God’s grace, we move forward together. Share on X Sometimes loving your neighbor looks like courage. Sometimes it looks like grief. Sometimes it looks like simply showing up. Share on X