We went to serve. To serve those in need, to be a drop in the bucket. But a small force when bonded together can make a difference. We built homes and worked hard, but since I have returned, I haven't mentioned the long days of physical labor. Instead, unintentionally, when asked how I spent my week, I explain how we built relationships, strength, faith, hope and an unexplainable desire to return to Jackson County, Kentucky.
We had studied eastern Kentucky. For generations, families fell victim to rural poverty labeling the counties we served as some of the poorest counties in the United States. We hadn't been in Kentucky more than two hours to realize that eastern Kentucky wasn't poor. They were rich -- rich in spirits, community, family, faith, strength and hope.
We arrived on a Sunday, hungry and tired. So we stopped at a small diner just outside of town. Greeted by a dozen or so elderly couples dressed in their Sunday best and all inquiring why we had come to their part of the country. One white-haired, pleasant, Southern lady approached us as we waited for our take-out, questioning if we were "in town to play ball" in her sweet Southern drawl. We informed her that we were traveling to McKee, Kentucky. Her face lit up with a combination of concern, compassion and joy. “That’s way up in those mountains, honey. Go and help my people,” she said. It was real. We were heading up to those mountains. To help her people. We grabbed our take-out and were on our way.
We worked long days under the guidance of a white-haired, cowboy hat-wearing, beer belly-bearing, older gentleman who shared his wisdom with us in a monotone, yet outstandingly interesting voice. John explained precisely and concisely not only how, but why we were doing things. We roofed for eight hours - laid boards as reinforcement, vapor protection and finally metal roofing that would provide the family longterm protection. It was roughly four o'clock, and after many hours of hard work and chaos, it was time to call it a day.
There is something to be said for chaos. That's what Tuesday was, organized chaos, but productive nonetheless. The true turmoil began when the school bus barreled up the winding Kentucky roads unloading four kids ranging from eight to 14. Backpacks were off, boots on and bus gone as they joined us in the clean up, grabbing what they could. Then distraction took over. Dogs were free, kids were running and I was chasing all of them. My crew members joined in the chase. It was awesome. It was chaos. But I realized, in that moment, Kentucky is not that different from home. There are dogs, kids, families and love. An abundant amount of love. It followed you, it chased you.
In the blink of an eye, our last day had arrived. I aimed to finish building. Building the family's home, building relationships and building a foundation for the family I had come to know so well in the previous five days. Our last lunch together had come and Beth and Joe, our homeowners, cooked homemade lasagna for us as a thank-you for our service. They were gracious, thanking us endlessly, but I should have been thanking them, thanking them for the opportunity.
I was only a drop in the bucket. One person can only do so much, but if each of us is a drop in the bucket, the bucket can fill the pond, and the pond will fill the river and the river rushes on.
Be the drop.
