We Are West Texas
I’m about to tell you a story.
One that most people reading this are a part of.
This story is not shocking. It’s not hidden. In fact, it’s a story that plays out in towns all across America every single day. But it’s a story that feels especially real here, in what I would call the hidden gem of Texas — a very small speck on the map of the whole world.
I’m talking about the South Plains of Texas.
An area that is part of the greater West Texas family. West Texas stretches across a vast piece of land — from the Panhandle to the South Plains, down through the rich oil fields of the Permian Basin, out toward the rugged beauty of Big Bend, and across the Concho Valley and portions of the Big Country.
It’s a wide place. Wind-swept. Dusty at times. But it’s filled with something you won’t find just anywhere. As Stan Leech said at the recent Brownfield Chamber banquet, it’s the People… People who work hard… People who tell the truth… People who don’t always say much, but when they do, they mean it. And maybe most importantly… people who show up for each other. Because on the South Plains, we’re not just neighbors… We’re family.
Let me tell you a little about where I come from.
I grew up in the northwest Lubbock County community of Shallowater. I’m a third-generation citizen of northwest Lubbock County. My paternal grandfather grew up in the County Line community during the Great Depression. My parents and nearly all my aunts and uncles grew up in Shallowater as well.
My roots also run deep here in Terry County. My paternal grandmother — my Mee-Maw — grew up right here in Brownfield. Her father did the same, and my great-great-grandparents were part of the Brownfield community in the early 1900s.
So when I say West Texas is home, I mean it… This dirt is in my blood.
Last Friday evening, tragedy struck my hometown.
The Shallowater head baseball coach’s 8th-grade son died after shooting himself. As of right now, I have no idea whether it was accidental or intentional. And honestly, for those of us who don’t personally know the Paris family, that detail doesn’t really matter.
A child is gone… A family is grieving… A community is hurting.
The other heartbreaking situation involved Shallowater’s head basketball coach, Jay Lusk. He, his wife, and their son were involved in a terrible accident while traveling back from San Antonio, where they had just watched their senior daughter play in the Class 3A Girls State Championship.
In just a matter of hours, one small town was hit with grief from two different directions. And when something like that happens in West Texas, the whole region feels it. Because here, news doesn’t travel through headlines. It travels through hearts.
Scripture reminds us of a truth that becomes painfully real in moments like these:
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
When tragedy strikes, we don’t always understand it. We search for answers that often don’t come. But what we do know is this: God is near to those who are hurting. And if you’ve ever lived on the South Plains, you know something else, too. So are the people.
If you’ve never lived here, it might be hard to explain. People in big cities sometimes think West Texas is just cotton fields, oil pumps, and Friday night football. And yes, those things are part of who we are.
But the real story of West Texas isn’t found under the stadium or gym lights. It’s found in the people sitting in the stands… It’s found in the casseroles that show up at a grieving family’s door… It’s found in the quiet prayers whispered in church pews… It’s found in the hugs that last a little longer when someone is hurting.
Because on the South Plains, when one of us hurts, all of us hurt.
Sports are a big part of life here. They bring our towns together. They give our kids something to strive for. They teach discipline, teamwork, and pride in representing your community.
But moments like this remind us of something bigger. Humanity outweighs sports. A scoreboard can be reset. A season can start over next year. But people matter more than any game that will ever be played.
And yet, in a strange way, it’s often through sports that we see some of the best parts of humanity. We see teams praying together… We see rivals embracing… We see communities rallying around families they may not even know.
In those moments, the game becomes something more than a game. It becomes a reflection of who we are.
And who we are, out here on the South Plains, is simple. We’re gritty… We’re hardworking… We’re plainspoken people who believe in telling the truth.
But we also carry a compassion and passion that runs deeper than most folks realize. When tragedy strikes, we don’t just talk about helping… We do it.
The Bible reminds us how we’re supposed to respond in times like these:
“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” — Romans 12:15
Right now, our neighbors in Shallowater are mourning. And across the South Plains — from Brownfield to Shallowater, from Levelland to Littlefield, from Tahoka to New Deal, from Muleshoe to Idalou, from Lubbock to Plainview, and beyond… people are doing exactly what West Texans have always done. They’re mourning together… They’re praying together… They’re standing together.
Because that’s the story of West Texas. It’s not about the size of our towns… no no… It’s about the size of our hearts.
And in places like Shallowater and Brownfield, where generations have grown up together, and roots run deep, tragedy reminds us of something we sometimes forget: that life is fragile, people are precious, and community is one of God’s greatest gifts.
Another scripture says it this way:
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2
That’s what West Texas does. We carry each other’s burdens. When someone falls, we help them up. When someone grieves, we sit with them. When someone needs strength, we lend them ours.
That’s the story of the South Plains. It’s a story of pain at times. But it’s also a story of faith… Of resilience… Of neighbors becoming family, and of communities that refuse to let anyone walk through tragedy alone.
Because out here in West Texas, we may be a small speck on the map of the world, but we stand together—and when we stand together, we are stronger than any tragedy that comes our way. On the South Plains, we understand something the rest of the world sometimes forgets: life is fragile, people matter more than anything else, and no one should ever have to walk through tragedy alone. We may be separated by miles of cotton fields and long stretches of highway, but when one of our towns hurts, the entire region feels it. We pray together, we cry together, and we carry each other through the hardest days. That’s the West Texas way. Tragedy may visit our communities from time to time, but it will never define us—because our faith, our compassion, and our commitment to one another will always be stronger.