Appalachia: The power of service

Breaks National Park

Every time someone asks me how my mission trip to Appalachia was, I honestly can't even begin to explain it. Words can only do minimal justice.

And I'm not exaggerating. It was one of those experiences that is so vivid, tangible, and life-giving that every time I even attempt to describe the impact it had on me, I fumble around with words like "amazing, awesome, incredible" which don't even begin to grasp the actuality of it.

First of all, I am an absolute sucker for nature and practically use it as an allegory for everything that happens in my life. Soooo, I was ecstatic to be in the mountains and was in a constant state of awe. I also took about a million mental images every time we went out driving.

The town we stayed in was also an absolute dream. I felt like an outside reader who just happened to pick up a timeless novel that page after page helped me to tangibly admire the lives of real-life characters and their stories. And the setting took place in a quintessential Southern town called Clintwood, Virginia.

Winding roads, hidden creaks, misty mountains, fresh air, billions of stars, and all the like. My heart has never felt more unified with nature.



The early morning mist, Binns Counts

But the funny thing is, the presence of nature served merely as a catalyst for the relationships and connections I made. It was as if being away from my responsibilities at home and the constant updates from social media and my phone allowed my senses to be brought back to the present, to living intentionally.

The people and the way of life is almost surreal over there compared to the hustle-bustle rapid speed with which many of us live our daily schedules. Puzzles, tea, hiking, visiting, praying, eating meals, simply living. They were all communal activities that enabled me to converse and connect with the people around me.

One of the older men I met down there really impacted me in a way that hit me deeply. His name was Clyde. Clyde is 64, almost 65. He is a stout little man with a quiet demeanor and a and humble appearance. He never said many words on the trip, but I felt I connected with him the most out of anyone I met. He helped my work group fix up a trailer home for a man named Roy.

Throughout the week, I discovered that Clyde is absolutely brilliant when it comes to tools and construction. He basically built the whole infrastructure of the porch roof that we made for Roy. We just hammered a few nails and screwed in some screws.

But the love and humility with which Clyde worked was visible from the inside out. He was a man of few words, yet he carried an air that oozed wisdom and strength. Through the scattered conversations I had with him, I discovered that he was a father of four boys and had buried one son due to a fatal car accident, he used to be an alcoholic, and he had six other siblings besides himself that still lived within 10 miles of his home.

One of the days, Clyde and I were sitting on top of the porch roof we were finishing up when I asked him about how he quit drinking. He laughed a little at my forwardness and said in a deep and thick southern accent, "I used to go to work drunk, come home drunk, and be angry when I was sober. One day, about 15 years ago, I woke up and told myself I couldn't do it anymore. So that was it. I quit and never looked back. I believe you can do anything if you have the will and the want. Anything."

That evening, our community had a potluck dinner with some of Clyde's extended family. I got to see Clyde hold and kiss his great-grand daughter, eat dinner with his wife, and enjoy the atmosphere of music and food. It was simple, but so incredibly moving and beautiful. He even gave me a hug when he left and invited me to come back and stay with his family during my summers. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses and he's going to call me on my birthday and me on his (our birthdays are two days apart :))



Me & Clyde

I think Clyde taught me the most about humility. Here was a man who had been through the intense darkness of multiple storms, yet found a way to the light. His attitude towards his family and his work were of simplicity, gratitude, and resilience. That to me is a man who truly knows how to live.

I came back from the trip and deep in my core felt a sense of longing to return. I wanted to go back to the calm, graceful atmosphere that I felt in Clintwood. But then (and even now more than ever), I realized how foolish it is to want it back when my life is here.
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Love isn't a place, a person, a gesture, or a thing. It is a connection. It is putting others before ourselves, no matter our emotions. I think service really allows us to foster those connections because the reality is, we are longing to be loved, accepted, and secured. If we actively seek ways to put that love into action, we are more than likely going to be on the receiving end of a heap of grace and love.
However, we don't have to drive 10 hours to Virginia to find that opportunity to serve. Those opportunities surround us every single minute, hour, and day in our own day-to-day encounters and activities.

Serving others doesn't always mean repairing a house or feeding the homeless. Those are great ways to further broaden our horizons, but true and lasting love and service come from giving of ourselves to the people who surround our daily lives. I had a friend tell me the other day, "A home is a place where we feel safe and secure. We need to nurture and make our environments safe and uplifting so that everyone we meet will feel at home when they're with us."


Read the license plate :)

"It is through the service of others that we find our truest selves" -Ghandi.

I couldn't say anything more true than that.