Tonight I sat alone in church
listening for His voice
A tranquility interrupted by the wailing horn
of a northbound coal train winding its way down
the Big Sandy Valley
Its soulful wail entered my subconscious
The same sound that’s carried in the mind of every coalfield kid
like a pack of Nabs
A sound that’s part of the cacophony of mountain life
like crickets
like birds chirping and thunder
It’s a sound familiar to anyone who’s lived here the past hundred years
It’s what connects my daughter to me
and to her grandparents and great-grandparents,
most of whom she’s never met
But this sound is part of what weaves us together into
one long continuous line,
just like the coal gons of that old train
I thought how my grandchildren will not recognize
that familiar sound,
like I never heard the sound of a boat whistle
so familiar to my grandparents. The shrill whistles
of the boats up and down the Big Sandy
had faded long before I was born, yet somehow
I still know them
That train is just like life,
it rumbles down the track and passes by a place and then
all you have left are the tracks and the memory
of the sounds it made
Those sounds are like my faith passed on to me
by people in that line,
some of whom I’ve never met
Soon the train passed on
headed for parts unknown, its sounds fading into the summer evening
like a passing rain storm
I was left with silence, waiting for God to speak
when it occurred to me
maybe He just did.
Guest post by Russell J.