I made it to Kentucky. Through a summer of office work; through 2 hour drives to Chelmsford and then back; through endless questions of what I will be doing and am I excited. Only one person asked me, “What if I hate it?” but I paid no heed. I never thought about it…until I was squashed in a car headed south. Endless debates of “Do we follow the map or the GPS?” and “Which diner or fast food place do we want to stop at?” were nothing compared to the small voice inside me saying, “What on God’s green earth do you think you’re doing? Why are you leaving everything behind? Why, how, what, GO BACK WHILE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE!”
If you ever get the chance, take a drive through Maryland, Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky…the ride is beautiful and you see this landscape that sucked the first immigrants into this land. Hills and mountains, yellow and purple flowers dancing together, beautiful land. This gave me hope, reminded me a bit why I was going to Kentucky: to get away, a bit, from the noise that is “city” life. To go to a place more peaceful and slow-going than a lot of what my life has and will be. And why am I slowing down? For God. I keep having to go back to the Source – the Source of my desire, of my motivation, and of literally everything, God. Yahweh, Allah, Brahmin, the Tao whatever – the SOURCE. The being and force to which my grandmother had returned to a week before my departure. The being and force about which I wanted to learn, in which I wanted to submerse myself. A desert year, as my dad might call it. Jesus did it, and though I’m not claiming to be in his league (who is, really), I am trying to follow that path and discover what he did, and countless other mystics, saints, prophets, and spiritual seekers have found.
Of course these reasons are easier to say than to really mean and feel and I certainly was giving them only lip-service in the weeks and hours prior to my move. It’s hard to answer the question, “Are you excited?” even under the best of circumstances (what am I supposed to say, ‘no, I’m dreading it’?) but in the weeks before my move, I had begun to dread: what if I DID hate it? It is incredibly rural here; what if I get bored? What if I don’t make friends? What if’s were everywhere and they were so in my way, I had failed to remember why I chose Kentucky, chose Appalachia, chose rural life: I felt called to it. And I felt that it was necessary for me to give a year of service and contemplation back to a God and to a life that has given me more than I could ever want and say thanks for.
When I got here, nothing was alleviated. I thought maybe seeing the house, my new room, the new forest would soothe my troubled heart, but I think it did the opposite. I get no cell reception in my house and this may make me seem petty, but upon discovering this I was devastated (no texting? no late night phone calls? how do I call my boyfriend Matt when I can’t sleep? or text my sister silly jokes and pictures?). This devastation was compounded by my deep shame over the fact that I passed humble homes and trailers, passed porches filled with trash, knew of the poverty and isolation and yet could not stop worrying about my cell phone. Wireless, TV, a big kitchen, everything else provided for…but my cell phone. I was a wreck. (As Matt put it: You’re joking right? It was that hard to believe). Had I even thought this year of service through? I wasn’t expecting to be in the land of milk and honey but I was expecting cell phone reception. Welcome to Appalachia, Kate.
As I unpacked I cried to myself, but tried to keep my brave and excited face for my parents who I know are nervous for me. It was no use. I cried and hugged and cried and hugged them, my father sharing his own experience of feeling depressed in his first weeks with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps out in Montana. My mother helped me to make my room my own, and my father did what he does best and Googled a number of options for me to have better cell coverage to stay in contact with people (especially them) back home. They left the next morning, kissing me goodbye at 8 in the morning while I still was in bed. When I finally woke up and got started on my first full day in Kentucky, I felt a little better. There was really no going back. I had made the commitment to the organization, to the kids, to God – and most importantly, to myself. Now I’m not saying I am more important than any of those things because I certainly am not; but the organization would run without me; the kids have the programs whether I’m there or not; and God can be served and met in any moment and any place. This year was a commitment to my own growth, my own peace, my own sense of being. I couldn’t really do that – not fully – while going back to school or starting full-time work at home.
Each day it is getting better and has its own moments of grace and moments of emptiness. I’m learning to be patient with each and patient with myself. I’m even looking forward to the things I’ll get to do, like read a million books, write a lot, and perfect my knitting skills. Oh, and service and worship and explore and meditate and do something different that I would never do at home. Amazing things will begin to happen when we are patient with ourselves the way God is with us, when we love ourselves the way our Creator does. So here’s to a year in the mountains and to the love that surrounds me.
Kate B. is a brand new long-term volunteer at CAP's Eagle Child and Family Development Center. She is a member of the McCreary Volunteer Community.
