Memorial Day Weekend 2005
While living on the farm, I still kept in touch with my friends from South Carolina. The one I talked to most often was Courtland. He and his sister had trained as missionaries with New Tribes Mission, and we frequently discussed his impending departure to China. Around that same time, a story connected to New Tribes gained national attention—the kidnapping of Gracia Burnham and her husband Martin, missionaries serving in the Philippines. In May 2001, they were abducted by Muslim terrorists and held hostage for more than a year. In June 2002, during a rescue attempt by the Philippine military, Martin was tragically killed. Gracia later wrote two books about the ordeal—In the Presence of My Enemies and To Fly Again—both of which moved me deeply.
I read an article mentioning that Gracia did speaking engagements, and I thought it would be incredible to hear her speak in person. I checked her schedule and discovered the closest event to me was in Wichita, Kansas, on Memorial Day weekend. I called Courtland and mentioned it. We had talked before about him visiting the farm, but this time the idea grew into something bigger. Not only would he come to West Virginia, we would take my newly purchased Ford Focus on a road trip to Wichita to hear Gracia Burnham speak.
The plan was simple: Courtland would arrive midweek, we’d leave Friday, and we’d reach Wichita by Sunday in time for her presentation at Immanuel Baptist Church.
We picked him up at the Pittsburgh airport and headed to Fairmont for dinner. While he was in town, we visited John and Barb’s and hung out with the alpacas. We gave him the full tour of the farm. Blackjack and Oreo, in particular, seemed fascinated by him.
Friday morning, we began our road trip. My parents let me take the video camera since it was a holiday weekend and they didn’t expect any trouble from the neighbor. We packed our gear and hit the road.
West Virginia to Illinois
The first leg took us from the farm to Effingham, Illinois. We stopped at every Cracker Barrel we saw. I set up the video camera in the back seat, so we recorded hours of footage. We hit rain around Columbus, Ohio, but otherwise made it smoothly to Effingham.
Effingham to Wichita
Another sunny day across the Midwest. Courtland had never crossed the Mississippi River before, so sharing that experience was fun. The trip was uneventful—until three miles outside Wichita, when I got a flat tire. After changing it, we limped into the hotel.
Sunday in Wichita
Immanuel Baptist Church wasn’t hard to find; the 110-foot cross above the foyer made sure of that. The plan was simple: attend the service, hear Gracia Burnham speak, then head to Walmart for a new tire.
I was not prepared for what we walked into. The “church service”—a loose term—was a full-blown patriotic production: military-themed skits, red-white-and-blue balloons, and a rousing political stump speech by the pastor about America being God’s country. I understand acknowledging Memorial Day, but it felt more like a rally than a worship service.
Gracia Burnham’s presentation afterward was the complete opposite. She spoke softly and honestly about suffering in the jungle, the harsh realities of captivity, and the faith that sustained her and Martin. She held up a simple sheet used as a privacy cover when she had to use the bathroom in the jungle—such a stark contrast to the prosperity-flavored nationalism of the pastor’s sermon.
Afterward, we met Gracia, had our books signed, and left. I was still frustrated by the service. I have no issue with acknowledging Christ as King over all nations, but what we witnessed felt like it crossed a line. We headed to Walmart.
Getting the tire was the easy part. Waiting three and a half hours for them to put it on was not. We wandered the store, grabbed Subway, and wandered some more. At some point, Courtland and I started wondering how many states we could hit before heading home. Oklahoma was only 65 miles away. Once the car was ready, we took the Kansas Turnpike south, drove ten miles into Oklahoma, filmed at a rest stop, and turned around.
Kansas to Des Moines
We reached Des Moines in the middle of the night. Around 2 a.m., we stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. The woman working the register stared at us as we searched for sugar and caffeine.
Suddenly she shouted, “Deer are out!”
We froze.
“Believe me! I’ve seen ’em!!!” she added, still staring without blinking.
We bought our snacks. She said nothing except the total. As the door was closing behind us, she yelled once more, “Watch out for them deer!” We hurried to the car and took off.
Des Moines to Chicago
After a brief nap at a rest stop, we drove to Chicago. Since Courtland was headed to China soon, we stopped in Chinatown. We ate at a restaurant that served rabbit—my first time trying it. It tasted like dry chicken. We wandered through shops and markets, drifting from sweet pastry smells to powerful, eye-watering fish aromas. The people were warm and welcoming, even when we didn’t speak the same language.
Later, we visited the Sears Tower, rode to the top, and took in the skyline. It was getting late, and neither of us wanted another night sleeping in the car, so we found a reasonably priced hotel near O’Hare.
Notre Dame and Cleveland
The next morning, we pointed the car toward Cleveland. The map showed we were close to Michigan, so we made a quick detour to cross the state line—another state to add to our list.
I insisted we stop at Notre Dame in South Bend. I told Courtland the trip would be a failure if we didn’t. The campus is beautiful, filled with modern medieval Gothic buildings. The bookstore alone can occupy you for hours. This time we did a quick tour, visited the stadium, and stood before Touchdown Jesus—the massive mural with Christ’s arms raised like a referee signaling a touchdown.
From there, we headed east toward Cleveland. Before entering the city, we stopped in Amherst, where I grew up. We walked around my old high school track, then drove into Cleveland. First stop: the stadium—our second of the day. Then we cruised down to the Flats, where some girls flirted with us at a stoplight, which was fun. With the day slipping away, we decided to head back to West Virginia.
Before leaving Ohio, I suggested one last oddity: the two-story McDonald’s in Independence. It’s a beautiful brick building with an upper floor—worth a quick stop.
We finally made it back to the farm late that night. In all, we drove through West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Iowa, and Michigan—ten states total.
The next day, we took Courtland to the airport and he flew back to South Carolina. I was sad to see him go. It was a great trip, and it meant a lot to share my new life with someone from Spartanburg who didn’t need explanations about locations or animals. I spent the rest of the day telling my parents everything. Their weekend had been quiet, aside from a Memorial Day picnic with their small group. I was exhausted from the driving and slept deeply that night. There’s nothing like your own bed.