An Appalachian Beauty

There is a beauty in eastern Kentucky, and I’m not just talking about the mountains. Living in the valleys and hollers in between the misty mountains is a people with whom I have fallen in love. They are a people who understand community better than any I have ever known. To this people neighbors aren’t simply those who live near you but family. And family isn’t just those you’re related to, but flesh and blood. Here in Appalachia, blood runs deeper than the coal beneath the mountains.

I’ve spent the last few weeks in Pike County, Kentucky working with some new friends to show the love of Jesus to these beautiful people. We like to use jobs like fixing leaky roofs and painting school buildings as excuses to hang out with people and meet them where they are, like Jesus did. You can tell our main goal isn’t just the construction stuff because the people we ask to come help are middle and high school kids. We kinda hope we can love them a little while they’re here too.

The plight of Christians here in Pike County is not a lack of local churches, believe me there are plenty. The problem is that few of them are doing very much to love people. There’s no intentionality to seek the lost. Instead most of them just have their weekly services, half-heartedly hoping that broken people might wander inside. Granted there is exception. I know a few churches in the area who are doing awesome things, but they’re in the minority. We tell groups that come here that the people of eastern Kentucky know all the right answers. They know what faith sounds like, but few know what it really looks like. The result is a startling statistic of 80% unchurched in Pike County. They know what Jesus says, but they’ve never seen what He does. So we came to show them.

The first week I led a team out to Mrs. Gladys’ house. Mrs. Gladys is a lady in her late seventies who has lost ninety percent of her eyesight. She lives in a trailer in Pike County with water dripping through a leaky roof whenever it rains. Years of leaks caused the flooring to rot away in her hallway and bedroom to the point that it was unsafe to walk on. Mrs. Gladys has been sleeping on her couch for months, too afraid to set foot in her own bedroom because she might fall through the floor. So we came to her house and painted her roof with a rubber paint to stop the leaks. Then we tore out the old flooring and put down new plywood on the existing joists all the way down the hallway and in her bedroom. For good measure we straightened her front porch on its supports and put a new roof over it. After a reinforced handrail for the stairs and some window caulk to top it off, the only thing Mrs. Gladys’ house lacks is some new carpet that will be laid next week and a little ceiling paint.

The thing is, we didn’t go to Mrs. Gladys’ house to fix her roof or to replace her flooring. That was just our excuse for being there. Our real purpose was to build relationships with Mrs. Gladys and to show her the love of Jesus Christ. If you were to walk into Mrs. Gladys’ bedroom, one of the first thing you would see is her certificate of baptism dated a few decades ago, framed and hanging on her bedroom wall; the same wall that was sinking down through a rotten floor. Mrs. Gladys was living in a house that was falling down around her, and her vision has all but failed her. The only time she ever even leaves her house is for doctors appointments to have painful injections put in her eyes. Mrs. Gladys was feeling like God had abandoned her, so we came to show her otherwise. Before each workday started we stood on Mrs. Gladys’ front porch and prayed with her. The entire time we were there, whenever anyone was working, there was always someone sitting with Mrs. Gladys, just talking with her, listening to her stories, and trying to show her in a physical, tangible way how much Jesus loves her. Her response was beautiful. Over the course of a few weeks I watched as her spirits lifted. And as students came and went, I don’t think a one of them returned home without a hug from Mrs. Gladys.

We do more than just home repairs. This summer we’ve been spending time at a few low-income, government housing projects. We’ll show up every Monday night and hang out at the playground and basketball court, just playing games with kids, striking up conversations with parents, and spending time with people. Every other week or so we’ll go and have a cookout, where we do most of the same things as the Monday nights, but add free hotdogs to the equation. It’s been nights like these that I’ve had the chance meet a girl named Kara. Kara is fourteen years old. When she’s not destroying losers like me on the basketball court she’s running around chasing after her little brother Shawn. Without so much as a sentence on the subject, Kara has taught me leaps and bounds about relentless, pursuing, gracious love. No matter where he goes Kara is there to watch over her little brother, and trust me when I say, that is a task. Shawn will run off and leave his half-eaten hotdog behind to go play foursquare, or sprint after a basketball rolling downhill towards the river. But when Shawn eludes his sister’s grasp and opts to go his own way, she follows him. Even when he decides that what he wants is more important than what she knows is best for him, she pursues him and brings the prodigal brother back into her arms. When he runs, she pursues. When he rebels, there is grace. Relentlessly. As I watch all of this unfold all over again every week, it looks a lot to me like the love a heavenly Father has for His rebellious children, and it is beautiful.

Four weeks of groups have come and gone, bringing students from Tennessee, Ohio, and Indiana. Each group has left looking a little different than when it arrived. I’ve seen passion awake from indifference, selfless love grow for a foreign people, and changed lives return home to live out a lifestyle of worship. While I love the mission and ministry that is happening here, I’m in love with the bride of Christ, and my favorite part of this summer has been the opportunity to serve her youth and leaders who come to work with us if only for a short week at a time. I get to see the church stand from her padded pews, exit her air-conditioned sanctuaries, and leave comfort behind in order to be the hands and feet of Jesus to broken people in a city not her own, and it is beautiful.

There is a beauty in eastern Kentucky. I see it in the morning mist that rests on the mountaintops, and in the valleys and hollers in between. I see it in the railroads and rivers that carve through the land, and in the deer and the elk that graze the grassy hills. I see its reflection in the eyes of students who gaze in wonder. Then I turn and see the wonder that catches their eye isn’t just the mountains, but the beautiful people that live in between them.