BIG CREEK | Madison

Big Creek: More Than a Mission 

Big Creek wasn’t just a mission trip; it was a few days of seeing the world in a way I hadn’t before. Days of realizing how much people can endure, and how much love and hope can still thrive in the hardest places.

Our first full day at Big Creek started with visiting a local church. The service was full of warmth and energy. The pastor’s enthusiasm was contagious. He wasn’t polished or rehearsed, he was raw, present, and alive in a way that made everyone around him feel safe and important. After church, we helped with a huge box giveaway at a nearby school by handing out 370 boxes filled with food, cleaning supplies, and water. The line of cars seemed endless, but we worked nonstop loading, smiling, waving until the very last box was gone. The hardest part came when we ran out. People were still waiting, hopeful, and we had nothing left to give. I will never forget how no one got angry. Instead, they thanked us for being there and said they’d just come earlier next time. That small act of grace taught me more about gratitude than any sermon or classroom ever could.

Day two was hands-on in a whole new way. We helped a family with yard work and plumbing. I started off digging and somehow ended up crawling under the trailer, holding pipes while learning how to glue them together with Robert Ross, or “Bob,” as everyone called him. He taught me about fittings and angles, explaining everything with the kind of patience that comes from a lifetime of helping others. It was messy, tiring work, but also incredibly rewarding. By the end of the day, my hands were covered in dirt and glue, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

Day three brought another perspective. I spent time at a local nursing home, for a quieter day, but one that left the biggest mark. I painted nails with Eliana, listened to stories, and met residents who just wanted someone to talk to. One woman didn’t want us to leave her room. She kept asking what things were, forgetting the answers, and then asking again. Each time, we smiled and answered as if it were the first time. When she said, “Don’t leave me yet,” I felt something ache inside me. When we finally did leave her room, Eliana and her dad sang to the other residents. Watching them reminded me how healing a simple act can be. That day taught me that sometimes helping isn’t about fixing something, it’s about being present. It’s about giving someone a moment of company in a world that can be lonely.

That night, our last night, we sat outside sharing stories from our days there. Some were funny, some emotional, but all carried the same message: goodness is contagious. 

All week long, I watched how people carried themselves: the volunteers, the families we helped, the kids running around barefoot and happy despite having so little. There is this quiet strength, rooted in belief. You could feel it in the air, in the way people prayed together or shared stories about how Big Creek had changed their lives.

In Kentucky, I saw that faith wasn’t about preaching or proving something. It was in the woman handing out food with a smile even though she didn’t get a box herself. It was in Bob patiently teaching a group of teenagers how to fix pipes. It was in the pastor who laughed at his own mistakes during a song, turning the whole room into one big, joyful mess. Faith there wasn’t loud, it was lived. And even though I didn’t come home claiming to have all the answers, I came home knowing that what I witnessed was real. You can’t fake that kind of hope. Looking back, Kentucky isn’t just a memory, it’s a reminder of what happens when people show up for each other. It’s proof that service doesn’t have to be grand to be meaningful. And it’s proof that belief in God, in people, in kindness, can move mountains, even if just one shovelful at a time.

Madison Snyder, Big Creek 2025