A good one is lost

 I'm pretty sure that watching someone give to someone without thought of being paid back is one of the greatest things in life.

Last Christmas, John Servati came home to Tupelo, Miss., a little town up highway 80 from Columbus as most young men and women do at Christmas. He stopped by the house of his high school coach, Lucas Smith, and the two men who had forged one of those forever friendships over competition, went to the mall with Smith's daughters to buy gifts. Smith's 7-year-old daughter, Emma, had just returned from 11 days in the hospital with encephalitis.

That's the kind of guy he was. Selfless, when the accolades piled up from doing what he loved. They piled into Smith's car, and there they were. College athlete with 7-year-old. Friend with friend. Memory carved into Smith's mind that nothing will shake. This morning, that's what Smith has to hold on to.

The storm came up during the day, like a bat-crazy ol' aunt rolling in for a quick hit, knocking things over here and there, causing everyone to run for cover as as best they can. It rolled in from the Southwest, battling its way through Mississippi, where Servati's immediate family was saving themselves, before plowing into Tuscaloosa just like a larger, meaner tornado did three years and a day ago. More than 50 died in connection with that one.

There was time to prepare for battle, but just barely, like one of those old western movies when the natives attack and the army scrambled for rifles and such.

The skies darkened like someone pulled a curtain shut, and thick slabs of black bolstered by ribs of white light pierced the heart of the storm for long, soon-to-be deadly, seconds. While the sky was hip-hop dancing to the rolls of thunder, hell arrived, seemingly carted in on the arms of fallen angels.

In every one of these things, these death-delivering storms, there seems to be stories told and stories heard. Three years ago, 50 plus died as a train of storms swept up lives.

This time the loss of life wasn't as severe, but Servati's story is one of those that needed to be heard, even if stories like these are being told way too often in Tuscaloosa.

Servati, a three-time All-SEC swimmer, was one of the good guys, the kind that are becoming harder and harder to find. He was a good, bordering on great swimmer, when he wasn't studying so much he was a dean's list student. He was the kind of guy whose good looks and winning smile arrived before he did at campus functions. Everyone knew John.

Carson Tinker, an Alabama football player whose girlfriend died in 2011 in a storm that dug in at the beginning of the town and basically dragged its heavy food through the middle of Bear Bryant land till there was a row of devastation that was astounding, quoted Servati on Twitter saying, "The only thing in life worth chasing is the One who first chased us."

His coach said of him, "(he) was an extraordinary young man of great character and warmth who had a tremendously giving spirit. He will forever be in our hearts and a part of the Crimson Tide legacy."

See, Servati and his girl friend, who remained nameless the day after Servati's death, did the right thing Tuesday. They took shelter behind a retaining wall in the basement of a home in Tuscaloosa. That's supposed to be enough. It wasn't.

The wall began to fall over, and according to reports, Servati stood up and took on the wall like it was a race to complete. As usual, he did the exact right thing at the exact right time for the exact right reasons.

He held that dang wall up long enough for his girlfriend to escape.

Like many heroes, that rare breed who think of themselves last and worry about themselves the least, Servati didn't. The wall collapsed on him. "

Smith said helping others was Servati's calling. "It showed by the way he carried himself," Smith said. "You saw it in his actions. He was a servant."

Natalie Grant sings about loss, about living through the pain, "Why should we be saved from nightmares; we're asking why this happens to us who have died to live, it's unfair. This is what it means to be held. How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive. This is what it is to be loved and to know that the promise was that when everything fell we'd be held."

Sometimes the journey is hard. Sometimes circumstances are so difficult, we barely cope, like the two disciples on the Sunday night of the resurrection, crushed emotionally by the death of Jesus, devastated by their loss, wounded spiritually by what they saw and heard.

It's hard to see and feel being wrong. It's doubly difficult when it is a matter of life and death. They walked the road to Emmaus, when a stranger came alongside. They, the Bible said, weren't allowed to recognize the risen Christ as he walked with them. Then when they broke bread with Jesus, their hearts were set afire, as they knew who was eating with them.

John Servati was a swimmer. John Servati was a servant. John Servati was one of the good ones.

It hurts when we lose those like him. But sometimes we know deep within broken hearts that the promise is to be held, not to understand.