Truth be told, when our senior youth group became involved with a mission program in Appalachia, I didn’t want to go. Instead, I was perfectly content working behind the scenes and making sure our volunteers were well-prepared their adventure; but as so often happens, He had other plans for me.
When one of our adult chaperones backed out, a replacement was quickly needed. Suddenly, I found myself working with teenagers from my congregation, beneath a dilapidated trailer, 700 miles from home. I was hot and I was tired; my clothes were filthy and sticking to my skin, but much to my surprise, I was thoroughly enjoying the experience.
We’d joined a ministry the purpose of which was the eradication of the substandard living conditions found throughout sections of Appalachia. To accomplish this, existing homes were refurbished and made warmer, safer and dryer for their occupants. Eventually I’d become better acquainted with this ministry on future excursions; however, it was during one particularly sultry summer trip that I happened to reflect on the possibility of God’s presence while we toiled for our Appalachian family. Several months would pass before I’d revisit these reflections and ultimately arrive at a conclusion concerning them. Strangely enough, all it took for me to achieve my own personal epiphany was the sudden chill of a late November’s wind.
My crew and another from our church were assigned adjoining jobsites—two trailer-homes. There was a third in this hollow and between them lived 16 children. The work we needed to do was fairly basic and yet so vital to those living in these homes. An addition was begun on one while insulation was added to the floors and lower walls of the other. In the end, the fruits of our week-long labors would produce significantly improved living conditions for home’s extended family. What mattered most to me, however, was the impact that our efforts might have one day in the lives of the children.
On our next to last night in Appalachia, during an evening gathering, one of the staff members posed an interesting question: “Have any of you experienced a God Moment this week?” He described this as the moment when we felt His presence and when we truly understood our purpose in Appalachia. I considered my long week and quickly realized I had a plethora of potential experiences to choose from—any one of them capable of fulfilling at least one of the requirements needed to achieve the moment. Still, no single experience cried out seeking special recognition; and besides, the big qualifier—experiencing His presence, was the one requirement I’d failed to achieve—or so I thought.
One by one they shared their stories. Many involved simple things, too—the smile of a child tasting an orange for the first time; of new-born puppies and kittens held close; the satisfaction felt after making a difference in someone’s life. Each story, lovingly recalled, simply reinforced the concept. As my turn neared, I still had nothing to share. Then at the last possible moment, I had my answer…well, sort of.
My response to the God Moment question was simple. I hadn’t experienced one, however, I suggested that it still might come. I said that someday, maybe in the coming months and when the coolness of a late autumn afternoon gives notice of the approaching winter, I’ll recall a hot and dusty week in July, and I’ll remember being sweat-covered and struggling with itchy insulation. I’ll think about our jobsite, and then remember all the children. As the cold air begins to seep through my jacket, I’ll find comfort in the knowledge that 16 kids were living in much improved conditions because of what we accomplished months earlier. I concluded by saying when this happens, I might then experience my God Moment.
It happened just after Thanksgiving. While walking across my backyard for firewood, a chilly wind whipped the fallen leaves into a swirl about me. All at once, a flood of Appalachian memories came rushing back. I remembered the family we’d helped and all of the children—certain they were warm now because of our efforts last summer. I was certain of something else, too: He had been with me then, and He was with me still, right there, in my own backyard. Suddenly, and after so many months, there it was—my very own Appalachian God Moment, realized at last.
