APPALACHIA

 BY WALLACE CALEB BATES

As I sit here tonight, looking out at a snow-covered Tulsa, my mind is not here. It is nearly 700 miles away, back home in Breathitt County, where the water is rising again.

My heart aches in a way I cannot quite put into words, one that comes from knowing my people, my home, are suffering, and I am not there to help.

I think about Jesus's words in Matthew 5:45, how the rain falls on the just and the unjust alike. I know this world is broken and that suffering comes to all, but I still find myself asking, “Why my people, Lord?”

Why does it seem like the most heavy burdens are always laid on the shoulders of those who have already carried so much?

Appalachia has been wrung dry by generations of struggle. And yet, the waters rise. Again. And again.

I know God is a God of justice. I know He is a God of liberation. He led the Israelites out of Egypt, freed captives, and healed the broken.

But when I look at the swollen creeks and rivers, I cannot help but ask, “Lord, when will You lift this burden? When will my people get to rest?” And yet, even in the hurt, even in the questioning, I know this: We do not face this alone.

If there is one thing about the people of eastern Kentucky, it is that we care for one another with a love anchored in faith.

When the waters rise, so do the hands stretched out to pull each other from the wreckage. Neighbors rescue neighbors. Strangers show up with warm meals and dry clothes. Churches open their doors. Folks with little to give still find a way to give something because that is what we do.

We are our brother’s keeper. It is not just a saying in the mountains; it is how we survive. Even as the weight of it all settles heavily on my chest, I remind myself that love endures.

Love does not wash away with the floodwaters. Love does not break under the weight of tragedy. It is there, steady as the mountains that have cradled us for generations.

I think about the men who will use their boats to rescue anyone who needs help. I think about the grandmothers in kitchens who make sure no one goes hungry.

I think about the tired firefighters, the linemen, and the volunteers who will work until they drop, just trying to bring a bit of normal back to a place that feels anything but. That is what love looks like in eastern Kentucky.

We were never promised an easy road. And the Lord knows we have walked a hard one. But we do not walk it alone.

Even now, I know that across the hills and hollers, people are showing up. They are wading through the heartbreak, through the wreckage, through the doubt because that is who we are.

We do not let our own down. We do not allow our neighbors to suffer alone. We bear each other’s burdens because that is what Christ calls us to do.

And so tonight, even from nearly 700 miles away, I will do what I can. I will pray. I will reach out and remind my people that they are not forgotten.

I will hold on to the truth that no matter how high the water rises, love will rise higher because we are Appalachians. And we take care of our own.

When I get home on Monday, I will roll my sleeves up and get to work. There is no question about it: no matter where this life may take me, my place is with my people, and my home is always with me.

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