I spent a good portion of my childhood running wild in the hills around Branson, Missouri. Back then, it felt like a slice of paradise—small-town charm, endless adventures, more water and trees than any boy had a right to explore. To me, it was freedom. But even as a kid, I could tell there was something a little different about this place, something harder to explain.
Our school, for example, was divided clean down the middle. You had the kids whose families owned businesses on Highway 76—the strip lined with theaters, diners, and tourist shops. Some of those families would go on to become millionaires, even billionaires. And then you had the kids from the hollers of Kirbyville—families scraping by, living in trailers tucked so deep in the woods you couldn’t find them without a local guide.
It was a strange mixture: wealth and poverty sitting side by side, barely a mile apart, living in two different worlds.
Truth be told, not much has changed.
The Ozarks today, in a lot of ways, still wears the same patchwork. We’ve got boomers retiring here by the thousands, drawn by the inexpensive land, the slower pace, the sunsets that can make you forget about the rest of the world. I don’t blame them. Who wouldn’t want to spend their days fishing on Table Rock Lake or floating down an Ozark river?
But if you look past the real estate ads and the booming lakeside developments, you’ll still find it: the divide between the haves and the have-nots.
In the Springfield Plain—the flatter, more fertile part of the Ozarks—you’ll find major universities, Fortune 500 companies, hospitals that sprawl like cities. It’s the land of new subdivisions, Starbucks, and soccer tournaments. Some say it looks like the rest of America—and maybe it always has.
But head south or east into the Boston Mountains, or the Courtois Hills, and it’s a different story. There, the land rolls wild and broken, dotted with small towns hanging on by a thread. Generations have lived and died in those hills, their poverty as deeply rooted as the oaks and hickories. There are fewer jobs, fewer schools, and a deep, stubborn pride that says we don’t need much, and we’ll make do with what we have.
It would be easy to say that one part of the Ozarks is “prosperous” and the other is “forgotten.” But that would miss the heart of the matter.
Because what really defines the Ozarks isn’t money.
It’s faith.
It wasn’t that long ago that revivalist preachers walked these woods, setting up brush arbor meetings where whole towns would show up. The air back then was thick with singing and shouting and the sound of wooden benches creaking under the weight of people eager to hear the gospel.
Today, some folks call this part of the country the buckle of the Bible Belt. And I’m okay with that. Around here, churches still outnumber liquor stores. Sundays still matter. Faith still carries weight.
Springfield, Missouri, where I once was on staff at First Baptist Church, is home to the international headquarters of both the Baptist Bible Fellowship and the Assemblies of God—the two big rivers of Fundamentalism and Pentecostalism that have shaped so much of the religious life here. Smaller groups have their roots here too, scattered across the map like seeds: General Baptists in Poplar Bluff, Church of God of Prophecy down in Van Buren.
And whether you’re talking about big city congregations or tiny country chapels tucked in the hills, one thing is sure: Ozarkers don’t just go to church. They live their faith. It’s woven into the rhythms of life here—into how we raise our kids, vote in our elections, and bury our dead.
That’s the current I’ve been caught up in too. Saved by Christ at forty-two, I served in two big-city churches before finding my way back to the hills. First Baptist Springfield was born in prestige—an SBC pillar church with stained glass windows and a proud history. But somewhere along the way, it quietly slipped into decline. Today, it hangs on by a thread, a hollow shell of what it once was.
Now, I pastor a small country church down a dead-end road, miles from the nearest town center. No neon lights. No multi-million dollar budgets. Just a small band of believers doing the best they can to follow Jesus.
And let me tell you: this church is alive.
We are a mixed lot—some of us born here, others who packed up from bigger cities in search of a quieter life. But we share a common bond, stitched together by faith and a longing for something real.
The truth is, the Ozarks has always been a place of contrasts. Beauty and hardship. Wealth and want. Old ways and new faces. But through it all, Christ remains the unchanging thread—the one thing that holds this patchwork place together.
It’s not perfect. It never was. But it’s home. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
To learn more about my Ozark writings click here.
Recommended Resource: If you’re studying the Psalms, you won’t want to miss my in-depth review of The Treasury of David by Charles Spurgeon. This timeless masterpiece unpacks the Psalms with rich theological insight, making it essential for devotion, sermon prep, or deep Bible study. Read the full review here.
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