Dear Appalachia,
Lately, so many voices have risen to sing your praise—those who cherish you, who proudly call you home. But none of us could’ve foreseen what was coming. Nothing could’ve prepared us for the storm that swept through your valleys, the devastation that stained your skies. I pray we never witness its like again.
Your hills, your hollers, have borne more weight than ever before, but it is your people who have shouldered the heaviest burden. People with worn boots, frayed jeans, and hands etched with the lines of honest toil. People whose hearts, though toughened by time, are tender and true.
We are a different kind of people here. Fierce in love, unyielding in spirit. We’ve shown that again and again these past weeks—our resilience, our resourcefulness. These hardworking souls, clothed in humility, have saved more lives, spread more good, than any tally could capture on this side of eternity.
The Bible Belt has cinched tight as it should, holding things together when everything else unraveled. Churches once quiet in their pews have awakened, their doors flung wide, their arms open, even when their own pockets were bare. They didn’t falter. They didn’t wait. They gave from their lack, and in doing so, showed the world what real faith looks like.
Yes, your valleys have wept with loss. Your mountains have trembled under the weight of sorrow, of evil. But amidst the ashes, so much has bloomed—so many hearts, stirred to love; so many hands, moved to serve. We’ve seen what pleases the Father—His image reflected in those who cared for the least of these, in those who became the hands and feet of Christ.
That is the true beauty of Appalachia.
So keep being the buckle that holds it all together. The God who shaped your rugged hills and hollers sees you. He knows. He cares.
And He is not finished yet.
Love always,
A little mountain girl
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