Dear Christopher,

     You asked that I write a few words to describe my experiences of the past week with ASP. I must confess that at this time I find it very difficult to complete your request, but I will do my best...

     When I think back my minds eye is assaulted by a kaleidoscope of images, sounds, sensations, smells and raw emotions:

     I can still clearly see that fine old couple in their 19th century home in a 21st century world. They had no plumbing, the outhouse in back of their home was dirty and infested with insects and a tree limb had been propped against the downhill side to keep the rickety structure from falling over. They had no running water, a covered well, complete with a bucket on a rope, was just outside their front door.

     I can still hear the babble of voices at the ASP center getting ready for the day. The words of hope and optimism that we all shared as we got ready to go out and do it again. The cluck of the hens and the crow of the roosters, and the shouts of the young men in our crew as they attacked and killed another wasp nest. A nest that they discovered as the pests cam boiling out of the roof in response to a hammers blow on the wall. I can hear the old man's wheezy chuckle and his wife's quite voice as she talked to the young girls in our crew.

     I can feel the oppressive heat of the day as we labored in the Kentucky summer. We never really knew what the temperature was, it wouldn't have changed anything, we would still have gone back the next day to work some more. The humidity frequently hit the 100% mark as evidenced by the mist hanging in the air. When the rain finally fell it brought no relief, instead the air became heavier and more oppressive. I still have the racking cough of the illness that plagued us all, and I have not yet shaken the deep feeling of exhaustion that has settled into my bones.

     I can smell the mud, the dirt, the sweat. I still remember the disturbing odor that oozed from the clinging clay of the hillside. A smell we later recognized as the run-off of gray water from the sink inside. I can smell the saw dust, the Gatorade, and the mustiness of the showers we drove 15 miles to use at the end of the day.

     I frequently find my eyes filled with tears when I think of the family we labored so hard for. We wanted so badly to get it all done and we felt so horrible when we had to accept that it was impossible for us to do that. There is still one more crew due to show up at that home, I will keep them in my prayers and fervently hope that we accomplished enough for them to finish it in time for the winter.

     With all of this whirling through my head it is nearly impossible for me to sort through it all and tell you a coherent story. Not that I don't have stories from the week, it is just that small vignettes of what happened or anecdotes from the week do not do justice to the intensity of it all. I expected to see poverty. Intellectually I was prepared for it. The reality was something else entirely. Despite the obvious poverty they lived in, this fine old couple still made us a lunch of beans, corn and cornbread on Friday. They shared what little they had as a thank you for all we had done. Not a one of us there felt that we had done enough, but we ate what they offered and thanked them profusely for it.

     When Saturday morning came I was more than ready to kick the dust of Kentucky off of my sandals and go home. I wanted to see my wife and daughter so much that it was a physically pain. My life is forever changed. Things that were so important before seem trivial now. I find I am more thankful than ever for what I have and the life God has allowed me to live.

     My wife was a little surprised by the intensity of my feelings when I returned home, the strength of the hug I gave her and the tears in my eyes. She had made a wonderful meal in celebration of my return. The candles on the table were lit, the wine was poured and the steaks were fresh off the grill. When she passed me the corn I could not help but recall that last time I had eaten corn, just a day before, sitting on the porch of an old home, under a tin roof, in the oppressive heat of July in Kentucky. Once again I could see that fine old couple and the quiet dignity poverty could never take from them, and all unbidden, the tears came again.