2005
Transition/Search
Schedule
of Services
The
Eagle
Dear Friends,
A remarkably eventful day
is drawing to a close. I hope my skills of composition might do it
justice.
We arose, strangely amidst
yet another round of grumbling about the preposterous nature of the
hour, at 8.30. Margaret and Catherine treated us to scrambled eggs and
bacon. Sandwiches were made. Interestingly, everyone has asked for the
same kind of sandwich each day. No variation whatsoever. If I start
with PB&J on Monday, I’ll be eating it every day I am here. Most
reassuring to find that there are indeed things upon which one can
depend…even in the world of teenagers.
We arrived at the Center at
9.45 and began work at once. There was a considerable amount of
finishing up and odds and ends to tie up. One utility closet needed
painting. Laurel, Margaret, and Ashley took this on. The kitchen floor
was scrubbed within an inch of its life by Tucker and John and looked
like the day it was installed two years ago. Linnea and Catherine
finished their work in the Nursery Center. It sparkled and was in
better order than I suspect it has ever been. Sean spent time sorting
school supplies for our delivery later in the day and, by morning’s
end, had them allocated perfectly.
As the kids sat down for
their lunch, Premier Center truly sparkled in all of the areas in which
they had worked. The floors were spotless. The walls shone. Everything
was put back in perfect order. I think that they were a bit surprised
at all they had accomplished and, clearly, pleased with themselves for
having done it together. Their willingness and ability to work together
was lovely to behold…simple and unaffected…a shared task to
accomplish…not a contest…but a group effort.
After lunch, we set out to
distribute school supplies. One group went to the upper areas of the
Park and the other to the lower. To watch them approach a trailer,
knock on the door, be warmly received, deliver their packages, and then
talk and laugh and listen was a delight. They were serving those in
need…fulfilling their baptismal covenants…respecting the dignity of
every human being…seeking Christ in all persons…loving their neighbor
as themselves. It was a powerful interlude.
During the course of these
deliveries, Hilda stopped them to introduce a gentleman named Mack who
was wheeling a lawn mower up the middle of the road. In his fifties or
sixties, this was a man who had clearly had a less than comfortable
life. Somewhat lame, with only one eye, and a rough-hewn fellow, Hilda
asked him to tell them a bit about himself. He told a tale of a boyhood
of abject poverty, parental abuse, and the murder of his abusive,
alcoholic father by his fifteen-year-old brother right in front of him
when Mack was all of seven years old. He told of running away and
getting lost in the woods for over two weeks…of waking up one morning
amongst a nest of rattlesnakes…of polio later in life that crippled
him…of illnesses that almost killed him…of a son who almost died at the
age of two…and through the entire narrative…attributing with utter
conviction and ease…all from which he was delivered to his faith and
conviction that God would defend him when he was in distress. It was a
bit different from most Coffee Hour conversations at Trinity or Saint
John’s…but it was difficult to escape its power and conviction and the
fact that it was this faith that had kept a man, who might easily have
been bitter and hateful, decent and kind and the one, in PremierPpark,
who spends his days cutting the grass around his fellow citizens’ homes.
From here, we journeyed
even further from Litchfield County and into the vans to deliver school
supplies along the creek that runs down from Premier to Roderidge. The
first stop was at the “Farm” of Virgil and his wife and their son,
Jimmy. There is no manner adequately to describe the “Farm.” In fact,
the ascent to the “Farm” was horrifying. Virgil was in my utility van
and telling me where to lead the other two vans. We first turned from
the main road onto a wooden, and somewhat dodgy looking, bridge. Jimmy
cheerily informed me that I “shouldn’t get too near the edge cause it
was rotten.” We crossed unscathed and began up a grade of 10-15% on an
increasingly narrow dirt road. At its end, I was confronted with a V
intersection. The left fork looked reasonably passable…though it
ascended at an even steeper angle than the road I was already
ascending. The right fork was silly. Clearly, nothing with four wheels
could possibly get up. I inquired of Virgil which way I ought go. He
smiled and said, “The one to the right.” I swallowed hard and complied.
By the time we’d gone fifty feet, the brush had closed in and was
pressing on the truck hard enough to impede its progress. Another fifty
feet, and the wheels lost traction. I said, “Virgil, I cannot get up
this hill.” He smiled and said, “Well then, back down.” I am not all
that adept at backing trucks downhill, but all three vans got down to a
place we could park, and we walked up the hill to the “Farm.” A jumble
of utterly dilapidated buildings; perched at impossible angles on a
hillside; totally hemmed in by trees and discarded trash; and filled
with chickens, puppies, and a lame horse (the pony, we were told, was
eaten last month by a panther); no farm any of us had ever seen looked
quite like this. Virgil noted that he and his wife had lived in the
trailer (which looked completely uninhabitable to us) at the “Farm” for
some twenty years before the 2001 flood…after which he moved his son
and daughter-in-law into the trailer since their home had been washed
away…and he and his wife moved to Premier. He told us that his entire
life had changed some years ago when Hilda baptized him and his
family…that he had stopped drinking; that he had started helping other
people; and that he had started treating his family properly. Again,
not our normal Coffee Hour chat, but it is an inescapable witness to
the power of faith in the lives of these people. They have suffered
more than most of us might imagine. I wonder how we would fare in
similar circumstances…how strong our faith would be. God willing, we
will never find out…but, then again, I wonder.
Lots of deliveries along
the creek to pleased recipients on an afternoon growing oppressively
hot and humid…but sunny. At one point, one of the vans was pulled onto
the shoulder a wee bit too far and the wheel went into the ditch. It
wouldn’t budge. We all got out and pushed. Nothing. Hilda stood by the
side of the road and shouted in a very loud voice, “Angels…angels…where
the heck are you!!!!” The kids were puzzled. I was bemused. A bit more
shouting for angels. A car pulled over, and a man with arms as large as
legs emerged and walked over toward the car. One more shove before he
got there, and out came the car. An angel…hmmm?! One small moment of
consternation for the chaperones when a contingent of supply deliverers
disappeared for some considerable time. But, of course, they returned,
having become preoccupied talking to people and enjoying their time
with them.
After teary good-byes to
Hilda, the vans drove out along the road to Northfolk…where we had
worked two years ago. It passes through the most depressed areas of the
County and allowed the kids a chance quite closely to see those areas I
mentioned yesterday deemed “not viable” by the government. The vans
stopped at one of the houses on which we had worked and learned, sadly,
that the woman we had sought to help there had succumbed to despair and
drugs and moved away. Her Grandmother, who was talking care of her
children, said it was a very sad situation. We could see the house,
perched atop the cliff above town where we had worked so hard two years
ago, and felt a wave of sadness. Yet, all we can do is what we can do.
If we bring some small ray of light, perhaps that is all we can do.
Perhaps, someday, the daughter will remember the kindness offered her
and realize that there is cause to hope. Then again, perhaps not.
Back to the Parish Hall by
6.00 and a quiet time for writing in journals. Then off to “Subway” for
a non-home-cooked meal. Now songs are being listened to on headphones
and sung along to. I don’t understand how it works, but the kids seem
to think it works just fine.
Tomorrow morning we will
begin getting our bags ready for my departure. We will need to pack the
van before we go to bed tomorrow evening, for I need to depart by
2.00am in order to be back in Washington for a wedding rehearsal on
Friday evening, and my assumption is that the kids would rather put
their bags in the van before bed tomorrow evening than at 2.00am on
Friday morning. They seem to concur in this thinking. After the bags
are pretty well arranged, we will leave for some sightseeing. We hope
to go to Tamarack, a remarkable center featuring West Virginia arts and
crafts and a nice restaurant (where we will have lunch). We then plan
to go to the exhibition coal mine at Beckley, stop for a Dairy Queen,
and return here for chicken and fresh corn on the cob.
I mentioned my departure on
Friday. The kids and Linda and Frances will tidy up the Parish Hall in
the morning; drive over to Enterprise in Beckley; pick up drivers at
the car rental office; be driven to the Hinton train station; and begin
their journey home about Noon. They will call you from along the road
from the City to let you know when to meet them at the respective
parking lots (one hopes, depending on Amtrak, about 12.30am).
We will have Evening Prayer
in a bit. Please keep us in your prayers. You will be in ours.
Faithfully,
Bob
Ashley & Jimmy
From the Parish house
The road to the farm
Another home we painted in 2003
The Farm
The Learning Center