Down from the mountain and into the valley below.

My daughter and I spent the week high in the Cumberland area of the Appalachian mountains. As I drove the behemoth ClifFORD the Big Red Van (15 passengers) up and down twisty, rutty, nearly invisible lanes to pick up and deliver children, I discovered the real meaning of UP and DOWN the road.  Not until Friday, when we had a couple of hours to explore, did we find an overlook that revealed just how high up we were.

Mountain T. O. P. (Tennessee Outreach Program) combines a day camp experience and work projects for families living in the most threadbare circumstances. Our group staffed the day camp. Other groups completed construction and repair projects at various homes throughout the county. Most volunteers were between the ages of 13 and 17; two adults accompanied each day camp or work team.

Mountain T.O.P. likes to have a one-to-one ratio of teen volunteers and day campers so each child has the personal attention so many of them crave. I watched sophisticated, "with it" teens just melt as a child grabbed and hung on for dear life. Parting on Friday was very difficult.

My job was to pick up 8 children each morning and return them each afternoon, a 2-hour one-way van route (our team totalled 5 teens and 2 adults, so we filled every seat of that 15-passenger tank.) Children emerged from rusting trailers and small, tired houses excited for a week filled with crafts, games, explorations, service, and hearty lunches. For many, the lunch we served was the only meal they had that day. I empathized with the parents' obvious love for their children - they may do without in creature comforts, but their children were clean, well clothed, and beautifully mannered.

One day we had lunch at the home of one of our daycampers. This was a big deal for the parents who agreed to host us. We provided all of the food and they welcomed us into their homes (or yards, if they preferred). Our child was initially very anxious about having us visit her home. But her mother had stayed up past midnight (after working an afternoon and evening shift) to make us cupcakes and had set a blanket under a shady tree in the yard for us. Our very loud appreciation (sugar!!! shade!!!) eased her into happy pride.

Another day was spent in service - the children discovered that they, too, could serve others in need. We sorted donated clothing for the Appalachian Women's Guild while another team planted shrubs and pulled weeds around the Grundy County Courthouse.

Many, many memories resound . . . Jacqueline, who proclaimed in a rich Tennesse accent that "my daddy says Ford is evil, but it's okay for me to ride in your Ford."

Jacob, whose gravely rendition of "Little Red Wagon" gave me great pain as I tried to control my giggles. (You can't ride in my little red wagon! The front wheel's broken and the axle's draggin'. Chugga, chugga, chugga, chugga, chugga.)

Anna Beth and Emily, two teen volunteers who know the words to every single chant, cheer, song, jump rope rhyme, and more and who repeated them over and over again to the children on demand.

The slimiest, grossest bath house ever - let's just say that Mountain T.O.P. puts its fundraising to work for the families in its community, not in its own camp facilities (as they should).

The inevitable prank, when unknown teens set out two ten-person tables in the middle of the camp's three-acre activity field, complete with plates and silver, water cups, and napkins.

The Greutli-Laager Dairy Barn, bliss at the end of a 2-hour van loop, just before returning to camp.

Outdoor worship services surrounded by trees, lit only by candle and starlight.

The Mountain T. O. P., sung loudly and enthusiastically by the 152 volunteers serving this past week.

That song is stuck in my head.

Now I'm back . . . to air conditioning, a grocery store within 2 miles of my house, a van to take us whenever and wherever we need or want to go, a job, and all the take-for-granted elements of life here in Dunwoody.

Little of which is an option in Grundy County, Tennessee.

Packing up.

My daughter and I are traveling to the Cumberland area of Tennessee's Appalachian Mountains for a mission trip with St. Luke's Presbyterian Church. Half of our group of 30+ will do repairs and light construction on homes in this very poor area; half will conduct a day camp for 20 or so children. We're in the Day Camp crew, and I'm very much looking forward to meeting the children in our charge. I'm driving a 15-passenger van for the first time in many, many years and will be responsible for picking up, shepherding, and delivering each child in my charge to and from their homes.  I'm sure the backing up part will get better with each day's practice.

The organizers of the various mission trips we have each year figured out that trying to stow a wide assortment of luggage shapes and sizes was the biggest headache at the beginning and end. So they ordered one duffle bag for each participant. Everything . . . clothing, bedding, tools, toiletries, amusements, pillows, rain gear, shoes, Bibles, etc. . . . must fit INSIDE THE BAG. Since ours is the first mission trip to use the bags, we're the guinea pig of sorts for how much better things go.

The extra-large bags are huge. Nonetheless, packing to fit the available space has been both a challenge and an opportunity. Do I really need this extra pair of pants? Can't I make do with one pair of shoes all week? Will I have time to read more than one book? Can I use a small backpack instead of a purse? Should I go au naturel and not blow dry or style my hair all week - hence, no dryer or hair stuff? Do I leave vanity at home and take a servant attitude instead?

The basic routines of my daily life seem superfluous when confronted with such limitations. Perhaps our organizers understood that limiting us to a single duffle bag would be both a spiritual and a practical lesson.

They're pretty smart that way.

Extra effort.

What does it take to do something really, really well?

That irritating thing parents say to their kids is quite true: if you want something badly enough, you'll work harder to get it. There's no guarantee of success, but at least you'll gain some satisfaction in knowing you tried your best.

Take knitting. A novice can stay in the garter-stitch scarf mode forever. Never advancing technique to purls and yarnovers, avoiding stranded colors and slanted decreases to create cardigans and totes and socks and lace that are challenging to knit and a joy to finish and wear.

Or school. A' Mock Trial team meets for two hours, twice a week, a schedule that is just demanding enough to balance with school work. The teams he's scrimmaging with practice three hours a day, four days a week, in the months just prior to competition. Will the result be a more polished, confident team at competition, one ready to pick apart the nuances of the opposing counsel's arguments?

Or volunteering. In every situation where I've recruited volunteers, there are a handful of people who do more than just show up. They go "above and beyond," seeing needs and filling them. While they're filling shoeboxes with gifts and personal items for the kids at CHRIS Homes, collecting books for the 100-book library at a school served by Mountain Top, or cleaning one of the Interfaith Outreach apartments for homeless families in transition, some volunteers look around and see what else they can do. Then do it.

Extra effort does not promise success. It isn't always apparent. But extra effort leads to an inner satisfaction that is indescribable. And the best result of all.