Editor's note: Follow the story of Bruce Mundell and his team of on mission volunteers who went to West Virginia to provide Disaster Relief - and got more than they bargained for in the way of adventures, lessons in life plus love and gratitude from the people they served in the name of Christ. In this one he becomes philosophical about the lessons he has learned from the culture of coal-mining, hard work - and, frankly - hard times. This is an ongoing series. In the next story, he will tell of more experiences with volunteers who went with him to West Virginia and helped residents who were washed out by floods.
LET TEARS WASH AWAY THE DUST
By Bruce Mundell
I didn't realize when I started my trips to West Virginia all the great lessons I would learn from these dusty mountains and cluttered valleys. I didn't realize the lessons that can be "caught" from these mountain people who never knew they actually taught them. I didn't realize that the fun I was having had such an important role in the whole scheme of things. The coal that's played such a pivotal role in the history of this area has left a figurative dust so thick that you don't recognize the dirt when you see it. It's hard to imagine what it would take to wash away all that dust. No, I didn't realize what lay ahead of me, but I was truly excited about the opportunities that were waiting.
You can't always see it or smell it, but somehow you sense it. If you stop what you're doing and slow down, it's there. But what is it? Is it poverty? Is it coal? Is it the claustrophobic mountain existence? Or is it just the touch of nausea from the constant back and forth motion of traversing the roads and tracing the rivers and forks through the valleys of this compact wilderness. I'm still not sure I know what it is, but I'm learning. The mountains in West Virginia are pushed together like the buildings in New York City. If New York is called the "concrete jungle," then southern West Virginia could be called the "coalfield jungle."
I picture in my mind a giant bulldozer - you know those huge machines with steel tracks on both sides and a big blade in front for pushing stuff? - starting a trek eastward from, let's say, Illinois and Indiana. This blade extends from the Great Lakes on the north to Memphis on the south. pushing ever so steadily eastward. It drops its blade there and begins gathering soil. It continues through Iowa and parts of Kentucky on a path through Ohio toward the Atlantic coast. As it approaches West Virginia, it begins to slow down. The pile of soil in front is huge by now, and the gigantic tracks are beginning to lose their grip. Finally, this monster can go no further. The mountains in front have bunched up, and they stretch all the way into western Virginia and North Carolina. They extend up the Appalachian Trail clear to Maine and down into Georgia, but it seems West Virginia and Kentucky have collected more soil than they can contain. These mountains are jammed so tightly together, it seems you could run and jump from one peak to another. In New York City, you feel the constant pressure of concrete, buildings, people and automobiles; in West Virginia, you feel the constant pressure of mountains, trees, the ever-present river and railroads.
The heaviest pressure, however, is poverty. You wonder: How could these people - right here in America - lose track of time? Most of the buildings were built prior to 1960, most of the highways were established to access the precious coal or allow it to be exported, and most of the families have a coal scar somewhere in their history. It could be an injury, a black-lung death or a long time with no job because the coal industry has weaned many of the hardest working and most loyal workers out of the mines. Back in the hey-day of the'20's and again in the '40's, it took 150,000 miners to harvest the millions of tons of coal out of these hills, but now it takes only 15,000 to extract the same amount. What a paradox. Coal has been West Virginia's largest economic asset, and the state is rich with the mineral, yet the people there suffer from one of the nation's poorest economies.
This is a hard country. These folks are often made fun of and shown little respect by the rest of the world, but what a great service they've provided to all of us. The electricity we've enjoyed throughout our lives for the most part has been made possible by coal miners. Even today more than half of the electricity in the U.S. is produced from coal-fired power plants. Much of the steel produced in America down through the years was provided by the use of coal-fired blast furnaces, and the coal came from under the feet of these mountain people.
But, for the hard working people of this area, I say it's almost been the curse of coal, not the blessing. Sure, coal produced many a wealthy land owner, but most of them were absentee citizens. Even today 90% of the land in McDowell County is owned by out-of-state interests. Sure, coal brought railroads and highways into these honeycombed hills. It established towns and villages. It built schools and churches. It carved tunnels through impassible mountainsides and built bridges over impossible gorges. But, oh, what a wasteland it's left behind. These hills are littered with some 100,000 abandoned mines and condemned tipples. The used-to-be and once-were buildings are falling down around the aging population.
And there's still more coal left under these mountains than has been mined in the 100+ years of mining, but what has it benefited the residents? What can they expect from it in the future? These mountain folk have been left behind and discarded like shale in a mining car. They're just a part of the process. It's kind of like the modern process of underground mining called "longwall mining." Coal is located underground in layers or what's known as seams. Depending on the geology of any particular area, seams can be a few feet underground to several hundred feet. In longwall mining, a powerful continuous mining machine attacks a seam at a path that's 800 to 1500 feet long, seven feet high, and a few inches thick. This vicious coal-digesting, modern dinosaur consumes the coal and spits it out of the mine. The action continues for up to two or three miles along the seam. The roof is supported by strong hydraulic jacks while the harvesting is taking place. As the process goes on, the roof supports are moved with the machine, and the overburden left behind the machine is allowed to collapse, not regarded anymore. This overburden parallels the mountain miner of yesterday. The coal companies used them to harvest the coal and when it was done they weren't necessary, not regarded anymore. I believe not only the companies left them behind and forgot them, but for the most part so did the country.
In spite of all of this, there's a pride that filters through the dust and dirt. The culture of these mountains almost demands that your head be held high. This little spot on the globe produces what the world needs. The world needs electricity and steel. Coal produces these. For many years coal has kept industry operating - power plants, steel mills, plus, for a time, heat for houses. The world would not be what it is today if it wasn't for coal. In some ways the little speck on the atlas called Southern Appalachia has had a greater impact on the world than many much larger and seemingly influential areas. Yet so often the world would like to forget it, because "the world" is embarrassed by the people and their outdated ways.
I found myself trapped in the thinking that this is an area full of hillbillies and backwards people. I didn't do this intentionally, I just kind of fell into the mindset that was portrayed to me. I mean, isn't this where the Hatfields and the McCoys came from, and isn't this the area where you see pictures of families dressed in old, tattered clothes standing in front of one of those cookie-cutter houses supplied by the coal company? The house always has a screen door tipped on one hinge and a limp clothesline loaded down with drying clothes. There may be a baby close by or a barefoot child with torn, coal-stained overalls clinging to the hem of momma's skirt. The media helped propagate this impression.
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I won't deny that there's definitely a different culture here. Its history is of hard-working, God-fearing, dedicated men who really believed in what they were doing. Their coal-stained hands testify to the hard work offered in exchange for an existence in Coalwood, Coal City, Coal Mountain, etc. The women were just as hard working and committed as well. Why would you go several hundred feet down in the ground and work all day bent over, because there were very few spots with the head room to allow you to stand? Why would you mine coal if there wasn't a reason? The world would have shut down if it wasn't for West Virginia coal, or at least that was their thinking. They felt a responsibility, and they stepped up to it! When you consider it from that perspective, what a noble work they did.
Yet, as other sources of energy became available and machines were built which could do the work of many men, why did so many stay behind, even as the economy soured - or, better stated - never really improved? One thing this experience in West Virginia has convinced me: We weren't designed to understand completely the thinking of man. I have trouble trying to understand my own thinking, so I decide not to try to understand the thinking of others. All I know is: This is where they are, this is what they are, and it doesn't matter what I think. I've committed to do what I can to help them right there where they live, where God has led me to go.
The culture in which this generation is stuck is not altogether bad. The '40's, '50's and '60's were times of hard work and determination, but I know this mindset has suffered with the passing of time. Now, hard work is measured by the number of hours spent and not necessarily the amount of sweat released.
I can remember growing up and watching my parents demonstrate some of this same mindset. They gained their character and convictions during this same generation. I recall lessons they taught me, although they never called a class to order or formally sat me down to explain them.
My dad never preached the merits of hard work. He didn't have to - he lived it. His life was the definition of it. Early every morning well before the break of day, he would head out to a job. He worked long hours operating heavy equipment and often returned after dark. Part of my mom's accepted role was to prepare meals for the family, whether that was way before sunrise to launch a day's activity or every night to put on the dinner table. The freshly cooked meals were always there, and what was obvious was that each one was prepared with a lot of effort and a pinch of love. What an excellent model of family love and example of how it's expressed.
Our house had a driveway that went completely around the house. We would come in on one side and leave on the other. Every time a family member would leave the house for whatever reason my Mom would be standing at the window to wave us off. It wasn't until much later that I realized she was actually praying for us as we went by. Thousands of times she reminded the Lord that one of her family was leaving and asked Him to watch over us.
Although my growing up was in New York State, this is the picture that comes to my mind when I think of people in the mountains of West Virginia. Theirs was the way of life for the era of my upbringing, and in a large part still remains today in the coal-mining country where I've been going for years with volunteers devoted to helping people who were flooded out and sharing Christ. For the people we serve, hard work is all they know. But the difference is profound: they don't expect change. I don't think they dream dreams of someday defeating the mountains and leaving them (although maybe they dream of learning to live more comfortably and equitably with these mountains that seem to be their destiny).
Hollows in the cracks between these mountains contain generations of families who never saw the need for anything else. Who am I to say they need something away from here that I deem necessary? As I look around to contemplate what must be in their minds, I realize these mountains provide their shelter, their protection, their livelihood and all they can ever foresee needing.
Truth be told, however, the mountains also have let them down. What a paradox the mountains are for them! They've been their security, protecting people from the perceived harm of an invading world influence, yet the mountains have squeezed them in so tightly, they've hardly allowed any room to plant a crop or raise livestock. It's as if the mountains rule - they have the upper hand. They've provided the means for the fathers to scrape out a living in the mines, yet they act as a fortress - caging the families in, not allowing them to escape. They chase menacing storms away and then invite others in to flood their manmade intrusions. It's no wonder mountain people are afraid to expand and grow - they've been beaten into submission by the very thing they take pride in, their mountains. It's almost a spiritual thing. They must be content with what they're allowed to have and enjoy, otherwise the mountains might take it away. You can't aim too high, you can't dream too big, you can't plan too far, or someday you'll see it all floating down the Tug Fork, the Guyandotte, the Elkhorn, or some other noted water route. I look around and I think: How many of us would behave much differently if we lived here?
Sometimes it's hard to understand the culture. The guidelines and boundaries that we invent to navigate our lives are not present in these hills. The true north on their compass does not point to a direction that leads past the mountains. This is a self contained environment. They welcome outside help but don't actually invite them in to set up housekeeping. Oh, they're not cruel or even rude - they just know it takes years to make a mountain man or woman, and the mountains decide whether you succeed or not. They don't idolize or worship the mountains - they just realize they'll never beat them. The best they can hope for is to learn to live with them. Some people have left the mountains in recent years. I usually try to help in McDowell County, and, indeed, many have left that particular area. I've heard the population was more than 100,000 in 1960, and now it's dissolved to barely over 20,000. They've lost four out of five people.
Leaving the mountains is not an easy transition. The roots of mountain families go as deep as their coal seams. The separation has to be surgically precise and is a very delicate process. Some folks can't afford to leave, others leave and return, while still others can't be driven out. Most of those who remain need help. Much of my work has been flood related, but it's obvious that the needs extend far beyond flood recovery. The mobile home trailers and 80-year-old framed houses are common place and very prevalent in these hills. The ghost town coal camps left many a hollow and river branch lined with domino-looking houses hugging the narrow road and mountain stream. These roads and streams continually crisscross like wet spaghetti noodles draped among Hershey Kisses.
Poverty is widespread throughout McDowell County, and the picture that comes to mind when you think of poor areas of the world is right on target here. The common thought that visitors to the area come away with is How can they live this way? The common thought for the native Appalachian is How can we live any other way?
What keeps them here? In the short time I've had to learn from these people, I can list a few reasons they stay.
The lack of money. How can you leave when you don't have the money? You own your house and you can't sell it - who would want it? The lack of skills. Many mountain men don't have the skills needed to make a living outside the mountains. Nor do they have the education to pursue anything else.
Friends and family suck you into these hills. This is the unseen thread that ties their ankles and pulls them back when they try to progress outside the castle walls of the mountains. Family connection is strong here and allows very little room for exploring beyond certain limits.
The fear of failure is beyond imagination outside these hills. Sure, they have TV and other media to describe the rest of the world, but taking it from that plastic box in the living room and applying it to your life are two totally different things. We as Americans accept a little risk proportional to our surroundings, but to these Appalachians risk has always been just plain survival, not advancement. I'm sure there are more reasons, but these are just a few that I've picked up on.
I traveled from Georgia to West Virginia recently to set up another mission week to help with needs of a few more folks. It's the beginning of February, and a sprinkling of snow is settling on the ground. Of course, the leaves are gone from the trees, and the mountains appear almost naked. I've never noticed the barren look that I observe this trip. I see a lot more abandoned buildings and used-to-be enterprises. A warehouse here and a once-was building there dot the side hills of the mountains as we drive through. They sure stand out without the covering of the leaves. It looks like the life is gone.
McDowell County's livelihood was bled out on steel rails, loaded onto 100-ton coal cars. The shadow of the train trestle spills down on the ancient houses below. The light snow changes to a misty drizzle, and the rain looks like tear drops on the windshield, reminding me of the sad state of this part of the country. The rivers and streams are ridding the mountains of their excess water. The whole area seems depressing. It's hard to find anything that visually encourages you.
But, you know what? I don't think the residents even notice the sad condition. They go about their business seemingly ignoring the abandon buildings, the trash in the river, or the mix of mud and snow covering the ground.
One morning as I drank a cup of coffee and looked out the window from the little restaurant in Ieager, I noticed all of the two- and three-story buildings across the river. Most have either boarded-over or broken-out windows. As I watched the snow flakes float to the ground, I thought about how beautiful things look after they're covered with snow. The thought came to me: Wouldn't it be great if the snow could fall enough to cover the old buildings, to cover the trash, to cover the years and years of mining and toil that retreated 50 or 60 years ago - wouldn't it be nice to start fresh and new? Snow leaves a monochromatic view of things, but the landscape always looks cleaner - I learned that growing up, and what I saw that day confirmed it. Then I realized the poverty would still be there. Under the covering and beneath the cleansing of the white, white snow there would still be no means for them to pull themselves out. Like making it out of a mine cave-in, you've got to have help from the outside.
A couple of men in a booth close by were sharing rumors and opinions. They weren't talking to us, but they were talking loudly enough for all in the restaurant to hear. I'm sure they could give a few lessons to any wagging tongue society. They started with the local gossip, drifted to politics, added a few complaints about taxes, and then I heard: "No wonder folks are leaving this state." Surely they thought they had it all figured out. I wondered what they were doing to help with the conditions they so easily complained about.
You know, I don't have all the answers but I have learned a few things in my life. Not all giants are defeated by armies, as in the case of David and Goliath. Not all heroes come from royalty, as in the case of the rescue workers at the World Trade Center attacks. Not all great accomplishments come from a genius, as in the case of Sgt. Alvin York in WWI who captured 132 enemy soldiers single handedly. No, giants are defeated, heroes are exposed, and great accomplishments are delivered when ordinary people encounter unusual obstacles and realize the only way around them is to take the very next step in the right direction. I am determined to continue taking those steps as my way to help deliver this area of the Appalachian Mountains from the depression in which they reside.
Do I think I can accomplish this alone? Not on your life, but I can certainly contribute. Like the old saying goes, "The only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time." I'm satisfied to know that there is a man in Roderfield, West Virginia, who has many health problems, but, because we made the effort to reach out to him and share the news of Jesus' gift, he accepted it and will spend eternity in heaven. I'm satisfied to know that a lady up Carswell Hollow now has a safe sidewalk and a floor under her washing machine that's not falling in like we found it. And she knows Jesus loves her enough to send us to her to help. I'm satisfied because Ruby and her Down syndrome son needed encouragement one August day in 2002, and God used us to provide it. I'm satisfied because there is a family up Horse Creek who no longer has the rotten floor that had washed out with the heavy rains. They know Jesus still knows them, and He is intensely interested in the details of their lives.
They watched the hands of Jesus through our dedicated team as we repaired and rebuilt their badly damaged home. I'm satisfied because there's a man up Coon Branch who knows God is concerned enough to send us to help him. I'm satisfied because little Dillon from Gilbert Creek knows that Jesus has a free gift for him, and, if he chooses to receive it, he will go to heaven as He promised. I'm satisfied because there are people in West Virginia who see God touch a few people in Georgia and through them they see the heart of Jesus. I'm satisfied because these people have seen God's love through us. I think we've encouraged Irene and family, Ruby, Janice, Christine, Vincel and family, Brennan, Leo, John, Mike, Harry, Tom, Sammy and family, CeCelia, Joshua, etc. etc. The names go on and on. To be honest I have no idea how many there are. Then there are our teams of Katie, Reba, Tom W, Tom L, Tom Q, Bill, John, Kevin, Mark, Darel, Pam, Jeff, Glenn, Sherrie, Debra, Joseph, Donnie, and those who sent us from our churches. Our friends who help by giving, praying and taking care of things while we are gone. How huge the list becomes really quickly! I've said all this to show that one little step of obedience does not go unnoticed - no, not by a long shot - and the influence is immeasurable. How can we stop such a great endeavor? The book of Hebrews in the Bible says in chapter 12 that, considering the great cloud of witnesses that are around us, let us cast out anything that might hinder us and run the race that we've been given.
Oh, we kick up dust running our race. We kick up sawdust with Tom's saw and the drywall dust from Glenn's trowel. We kick up concrete dust from Sherrie's mixing and the gravel dust from Jeff's shoveling. We kick up pencil dust from Kevin's planning and the sweeping dust from Reba's sweeping. All of this dust is added to the coal dust and the just plain old dust from things left to themselves for so many years.
But often when working with people's hearts, emotions are released through tears. Many times a heart that is touched by God bleeds tears of rejoicing.
So, let the tears from those who have come to know the Lord wash away the dust. Let the tears from those who are reminded of the Lord's concern for them wash away the dust. Let the tears from those who see God meet their needs wash away the dust. Let the tears from those who see God answer their prayers wash away the dust. Let the tears from those of us who see God use us wash away the dust. Let tears of joy wash away all this settled dust, and let us be thankful for having been given such an important part in such a phenomenal endeavor. Seeing God reach to encourage those He knows and reach to invite those who don't know Him. When the dust is washed away, you see all the beautiful things God had planned all along. No more need for snow.
Do you feel the tug from God encouraging you to go? Do you feel a call to help with this great endeavor? Cast out the things that may be hindering you and jump in the race. God needs obedient hands connected to a willing heart.
Editor's note: Click HERE for Bruce Mundell's next story, MINISTRY VS. MISSION.