The morning fog stretched below me as I looked out across the hills. When they had first assigned us this mountaintop cabin, it seemed a struggle to climb up to the cabin from the main camp area. My heart raced and my breath came up short as I climbed up the gravel path switching back on the trail in order to cut the steepness down, but as I sit here on the porch of the Eagle's Nest cabin, I am grateful for the solitude of this place. This part of Appalachia is characterized by low mountains with winding roads that often narrow as they stretch into the hollers. In fact, they tell us that the people who keep residence in this part of the state measure distances by the number of bends in the road. This morning, as with many mornings, the fog has settled into the hollers, and the sun is hidden behind the sprawling hills. It makes a glowing entrance as it rises into view. It reminds me of a crown that royalty would wear as the tall spires of golden and pinkish hues emerge above the mountains, stretching high into the morning sky above, as if reaching for the heavenly host that surely is gazing down and loving this place. I can hear the birds chirping out their morning song, and a squirrel skitters past me, saluting with a twitch of his tail.

Spending time in prayer and reflection is an integral part of my life, and sitting here on the porch of this Eagle's Nest cabin high above the mission camp was awe inspiring and deeply moving to me. For the last twenty years, this mission has been a haven for my soul, and these mountains have found a way into my heart that is unexplainable. There is something very special here, a spirit that is undeniable, uplifting, and refueling. In many ways, coming here has been like plugging my spiritual cord back into the universe in order to recharge my battery. My mind runs over the fears and trepidation that accompanied me that first year I came to this work camp, but there was something sacred in this place that beckoned me back and back and back ... a place that rejuvenated a harried soul in a way that couldn't be explained, but became a necessary part of my spiritual life.

As the sounds of girls getting ready for the day came spilling out of the cabin and the smell of bacon wafted from the dining hall below, my mind wandered back in time, and in my thoughts I wondered ... How did I get ... here?

The call to mission is answering God's call through fear and trepidation and overzealous bouts of helper high.

How does a person decide to serve the Lord? What does it mean to serve? I can remember times, as a child, thinking it would be difficult to do God's mission because He would be calling me to go out into the world. For some reason (please bear with me, I was only ten years old), I always thought that that meant that I had to go to Africa, and I wasn't sure if that was possible for me. At that time, Africa was referred to as "the dark continent," and all I knew was what I saw in magazines. It looked like a treacherous and dangerous landscape with no homes that were familiar to my mind, and there were spears and killing implements to defend against strong and exotic animals. I wasn't sure I would be strong enough or brave enough, and I was fearful. I knew God would help me, but I feared He would ask me to go there. So, I wanted to steer clear of actually accepting His call to mission, which was, in my mind, synonymous with going to Africa.

As I matured, it became evident that there were many ways to serve the Lord and that He uses us in the capacity in which we can best serve His mission of expressing His love and light in this world. Consequently, at this point in my life, I would go anywhere He called.

Historical Perspective

I can hear the girls showering ... soon we will be in motion and headed down the hill ...

I look back over the years, and I think about my parents. They were my first models of service. My parents belonged to the United Methodist Church and were also members of a peace fellowship group in the greater community. Through their involvement, they modeled acceptance of a variety of cultures and races, and this became a part of my thought process at an early age. The peace group met regularly, and my family went to a variety of homes and locations, where they looked at films and slides of impoverished areas that group members had visited. I learned early on that there were many people in the world who were living in dire circumstances. One family involved in the fellowship brought amazing awareness in the greater regional community for those living in poverty and for the homeless. Their mission included several commitments (one being a community school) to the homeless and less fortunate that continue today. In the words of the founders, "The school operates under the same philosophy from forty years ago — love can change the world" (Go Erie, 2008).

Other than spending time with this family as a youngster, my personal involvement with these commitments to the underprivileged began during my high school and college years. My mother had volunteered me, and I helped with a Bible school that these individuals were conducting in the inner city. My favorite recollection was of their son playing the piano for the singing sessions. The request was "They'll Know We Are Christians by Our Love." His fingers flew across the keys, and the floorboards rocked as the children swung into that song with gusto and praise. They raised their voices to the rafters and proclaimed God's Spirit in that place and in their lives. I will never forget the enthusiasm and the feeling of that moment, and I will always feel the love and will always know that we are one in the Spirit, forever.

On a daily basis, I helped some of the children with reading skills, I read to them, and I also helped transport children home at the end of the day. I had my Dad's car, and it was a convertible at that time. The children all wanted to ride with me, and they wanted to put the top down. The headmaster would put the children into my car, and I was to deliver them to their homes. I did not know the city very well, and I wandered around sometimes. I didn't know that one street had a huge factory in the middle of it and another street was actually the railroad track, but everyone got home and I took another group home the next day. One day, as I sat at a corner waiting for a light, the little girl in the front seat looked over at a building that was a local bar and remarked, "That's where Yolanda got shot last night." As I look back on it now, I probably should have been more fearful, but I just trusted and did as I was asked. It was an amazing introduction to the differences in culture and opportunity and need.

Community Need

In addition to being exposed to the poverty in the city, my parents were also the community contacts for a group of migrant workers who harvested potatoes for a local plant in our town. Mom directed a preschool experience at our church for the children of the migrant workers. I remember going to our church and seeing my mother reading to the little children as they found it difficult to sit still and interrupted with questions about situations in the story This gave them some exposure to experiences outside the camp, as well as social experiences with other children. As a young person, I remember accompanying my parents out to the migrants' modest...