Let’s Go

It’s calm and quite in our apartment this morning. I’m sipping on my English breakfast tea and typing this blog from our small kitchen table. I look around and remind myself that this place is my home. I forgot we had a tea kettle.  I’ve been married for two months and one of those months was spent on the road. Remind me to pick up my wedding dress from the dry cleaners. I’ve been meaning to do that. I’m just processing, that’s all.

I believe this journey has changed me. At least I’d like to think so. I’ve been working on organizing the thousands of photos we took and I’m overwhelmed at everything Andrew and I have seen and experienced together. 28 states, one district, a providence, and a brief introduction with Canada. We’ve traveled through three time zones two times and have explored the mountains and plains in trains, planes, buses, and automobiles. So now what? How has it changed me? What did I learn from the last four weeks? How can I apply it to tomorrow?

I want to take the strength I developed and continue to take care of my body. Hiking for 14 hours around Yellowstone and climbing up and down volcanoes, canyons and caves certainly changed me. I’m stronger and have more energy. I can run longer distances without getting winded.I haven’t felt this good since my swimming days in college. I loved challenging my body and using the outdoors to do so. If you know of any good hikes or trails in the tri-state area, please let me know!

I want to apply the courage I developed to face fears about my future. I’m not sure what comes next for me and Andrew. We don’t know where we’ll be 6 months from now, and that’s daunting. We’re weighing up different possibilities and paths, and also evaluating our interests and passions. We want to make a difference somewhere, but where? I don’t know. And that’s just it. But this journey taught me to face my fears and embrace the unknown, so why stop the momentum? I have a supportive family (both here and afar), friends and mentors that believe in me, and a God who sustains me. Whom shall I fear?

Finally, I want embrace adventure as a lifestyle. Just because our four-week journey has come to an end, doesn’t mean the art of exploration and wonder stops here. A restlessness has begun to stir within me, and I find myself daydreaming of where we’ll go next. Believe me when I say this was contrary to my personality a month ago. But after seeing what I’ve seen, and meeting the people I’ve met, I’m left with a hunger for more. I want to hear more stories and experience other cultures. I want to try new foods and step on foreign soil.

But in the back of my head, in a deep and dark corner there will always be a voice slyly whispering that I can’t do it, that it’s too much of a risk, that there is something beyond the trees, that I’m not strong enough or smart enough or brave enough. It’s too expensive. It’s too dangerous. Something will go wrong. You’re better off in the comforts of home. You’ll lose your way. You’ll lose him. You’ll fall down. It’s better not to.

And in reply I’ll say “try to stop me.” I don’t want to waste time. I don’t want to look back and see Fear’s stain on my timeline. I don’t want to give fear that power. There is too much beauty in the world, and I’m ready to explore it with Andrew. I’m thankful I married someone who has a gift for traveling. Who doesn’t fear the same things I do, and embodies a strong sense of adventure. We’ll pack our bags again, and when we do, he’ll grab my hand and nod his head. Let’s go.

#ballingersdoroam

Oh Canada!

My hope for every college student is that they find a mentor on campus that they can trust and turn to at a moments need. Someone who can encourage and provide direction. Someone who has learned from the past and hopes the best for that student’s future. Someone who opens their home and invites them into their family. Because having someone like that in college is invaluable. I had the pleasure of developing such a relationship in college, and it’s been one that I’ve tried to maintain over the two years since graduation.

I first met Ron and Judy four years ago when we were preparing to spend the month of January teaching English in the Czech Republic. Back then they were only a sweet couple that were leading our team overseas. However, after getting to know them, respect turned into friendship, friendship turned into mentorship, and mentorship turned into family. Their house was on the outskirts of campus and it became a haven for me my senior year of college. I remember family dinner nights where we would exchange stories and ideas. I opened up to them about fears and apprehensions and they would listen and offer advise. I remember walking back to my apartment after those lovely evenings thinking how incredibly safe and loved I felt, privileges I did not expect nor deserve.

Two years later and it’s like I’ve never been apart from them. Just this past June they drove to New Jersey to be honored guests and participants in our marriage. When we said our goodbyes that day we all had a feeling it wouldn’t be for long. It turns out we were right. We spent two nights with Ron and Judy at my Alma Mater, Taylor University. We were greeted with warm hugs and the mouth-watering smell of chicken kebabs, summer corn, and roast potatoes. After dinner they took us on a tour of the campus to show us all the wonderful changes that are happening. I felt full of pride as I showed my husband my school and enjoyed remembering my time there. The following day was devoted to catching up with as many friends and faculty as I could. It was both encouraging and inspiring to hear about how well some of my friends are doing since graduation.

Our next stop was Buffalo, New York, just two days out from the finish line. When we were a few miles outside of the city, I asked Andrew how far we were from Niagara Falls. I had never been there before, so I was curious. He kept his eyes on the road and nonchalantly exclaimed “Not far – I’m actually taking you there right now.” ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Cue the dramatic and rapid regurgitation of incessant questions. Are you serious? How long have you been planning this? Am I seeing the Canada side? What about my passport? YOU HAVE MY PASSPORT? HAVE YOU BEEN PLANNING THIS SINCE THE BEGINNING? ARE YOU SERIOUS? Followed by, “Wait, what are you going to do?” For those of you who are not aware, my husband is a native Australian seeking permanent residence in the United States. If he were to leave the country during this process he would have to abandon his application.

So I did what anyone in my position would have done. I pulled my hair out of my face, wrapped my sweatshirt tightly around my waist, put my Nikon and camera bag over my head, triple-checked I had my passport and made my way to Canada alone. Truth be told, Canada’s checkpoint officer just about had me in tears, but I made it through. I was caught off guard by all of his questions, and he became increasingly intense the more nervous I became. Apparently a girl crossing the border by herself is deemed suspicious.

The increased heart-rate and adrenaline was all worth it once I saw the falls. A World Wonder, the sheer force and majesty of the cascades were unlike anything I had ever seen. Rainbows burst forth and cool mist filled the air. The falls roared thunder and boasted beauty. I was utterly captivated. For an hour and a half I walked up and down the fall’s edges, taking in the incredible view and thinking about the last month. It’s been a long and wonderful journey, and man what a way to close the curtains. Thank you, Andrew. You sure know how to surprise a girl..

Turn of the Tide

[MONDAY, AUGUST 17th]

I’m writing this blog from a Starbucks in the Mall of America. My steaming cup of vanilla chai latte is sitting to my right, and my adoring husband is sitting to my left. Out Starbucks’ window front I see the mall slowly coming alive (it’s only 9am), and I can’t help but think that life is so good.

My last blog ended in an enchanting canvas tent under the stars. From there we drove to the Black Hills of South Dakota, where we were graciously hosted by a young woman in a hill town called Lead (LEE-D), South Dakota. We arrived in the evening after a long day of driving to the smell of Andria cooking a homemade batch of caramel. Did we die and go to heaven? Andria was so warm and friendly, and immediately made us feel like we were at home. We dropped our bags in our bedroom and joined her in the living room for a nice chat. Andria is a professional hypnotist who recently sold her business. She moved to the area from southern-California and loves the diversity and culture of eastern South Dakota. She’s an enthusiastic go-getter who possesses a brilliant combination of business finesse and interpersonal communication. She took interest in our lives, offered bits of her own, and I found myself truly enjoying her company. She’s an avid Doctor Who and Harry Potter fan, and me being me, I dramatically enthused and gushed about my own love and devotion to The Doctor and The Boy Who Lived. By the time we left the following morning, we had exchanged numbers, Facebook profiles, and hugs. I hope we see her again someday.

From Andria’s we drove an hour south to Mt. Rushmore where Andrew and I had a great time hiking around the mountain and enjoying each other’s company. Fun fact about Mt. Rushmore: Did you know that 90% of the mountain was carved out of dynamite? The blast engineers became so precise with the explosives that they could calculate the force of the blast by the inch. Did you also know the formations are unfinished? The architect’s original blueprints included the presidents’ torsos, but WWII slowed down production followed by the architect’s untimely death in 1941. After his death, the mountain was deemed complete and the sight was named a National Park.

From Mt. Rushmore Andrew and I headed into the Badlands of South Dakota. Driving through the canyon of layered geologic deposits made us feel as though we entered a portal into a prehistoric and Jurassic age. The road twisted and turned through the eroding landscape, giving us access to a sea of vibrant deposits of yellow, gold and bronze. Vista points offered spectacular views of the breadth and depth of the landscape, and I was once again reminded of how beautifully and wildly diverse the world is.

…

[TUESDAY, AUGUST 18th]

This morning I woke up feeling rested and restored. Let me explain the importantance of this. The last day was a struggle for me. I was feeling sluggish and not myself. We saw the Mall of America yesterday and I hardly batted an eyelash. We crossed the border to Wisconsin, Andrew’s 50th state, and I hardly cracked a smile. We walked around Madison, a charming college town, and I found myself drowning in self-loathing instead of taking my husband’s hand. It wasn’t until this morning that I was able to wrestle out of insecurities that so easily entangle. Sometimes lies get the best of us, and it’s rest and the patience of loved ones that lift the heavy fog.

So I’m thanking God for this morning. I’m thanking him for a restful night, and my wonderful Andrew, who is so eager to understand me as I try to understand myself. I’m thanking him for our kind host and dear friend, Chelsea, who gave up her own bed so we could sleep more soundly, who shared her heart and home with us, who made me a cup of tea and cooked the best quiche I’ve ever had, and who shed her beautiful light on our lives and reminded us that God has a plan. She is a beautiful and remarkable human being. She’s the kind of person who you know will change lives because she lived. She inspires, encourages, and see’s goodness where others may not. Thanks for being you, Chelsea.

In a few hours we’ll turn onto 436 West Reade Avenue, Upland, Indiana. I’ll see those familiar brick buildings and it will all come flooding back. Long time no see, Taylor University. There we will stay with my mentors for two nights. We’ll explore the campus that shaped my independence and challenged my worldview. I’ll catch-up with old friends and reminisce over the good (and not so good) times. I’ll show Andrew my roots, and proudly pay homage to the three years I spent in those hallowed halls. I’m coming home, Taylor. Can’t wait to see you.

Tales from the West

The last two nights we went off the beaten trail and submitted ourselves to nature and nature’s God. On Wednesday, after a full day of driving through the valleys and mountain ranges of Idaho and Montana, we stopped for the night in a small town called Emigrant, just a fifteen-minute drive outside of Yellowstone National Park and stayed with a host we found through Airbnb.

Al, our host, was a retired sixty-or-so-year-old who moved out to Montana from, get this, Brooklyn. Other than his thick Brooklyn accent, I would have never guessed he was originally an easterner. He was a thick and stocky man who cross-dressed between a motorcycle maniac and a western cowboy. The hair he had left was long and yellowish-white that he pulled back into a pony-tale, and his mustache hung down close to his chin. His gait was arched like he’d been on his feet for too long. Perhaps he had. It turns out he was a NYPD officer in a previous life. His voice was deep and scratchy, a smoker’s voice. He looked like a man who had lived a life of chaos and traded it in for a life of serenity in the mountains of Montana where the sky is bigger, stars are brighter, and air is crisper. Who could blame him?

In his golden age of retirement, Al has become one with the land. He studies the earth and can identify minerals layered in rock and sediment just by touching and feeling it. He builds Indian-inspired drums, carefully crafted from woods in the area and animal hides. And in his spare time he rents out his authentic tepee to weary travelers. Can this guy get any better? During our rainy evening with him, with cups of hot coco and coffee in hand, he told us stories of Yellowstone’s volcanic history, and how wood and rock become petrified over time. He put on a National Geographic documentary of Yellowstone in preparation for our visit the following day, and fell asleep in his armchair as  Andrew and I immersed ourselves in the show. It was family night at Al’s, and we didn’t mind at all.

Midnight came and the rain finally came to a slow and steady halt. Andrew and I made our way to our tepee in Al’s backyard and settled in for the night. The tepee was about fifteen feet high. Most of the canvas was the color of sand, but the bottom was detailed with red and yellow geometric lines. It could comfortably fit 4-6 adults, so Andrew and I had plenty of room to set up the sleeping bags that were provided to us. Under the light of the stars, Andrew and I got up 4 hours later, bid farewell, and left for Yellowstone.

We arrived at the entrance of Yellowstone National Park at 6am under the cover of darkness. We did this to beat the crowds, but more importantly, to catch glances of wildlife before the heat of the sun. 8,000 feet high, Yellowstone felt wild. We were able to get up close and personal with families of elk, roaming bison herds, and watched as a pronghorn defended her young from a curious coyote. We saw 8-pronged deer with beautiful velvet racks, and gazed at the beautiful valleys and pastures they grazed through.

When we weren’t pulling the car over to capture wildlife, we were driving around the vast park and stopping to explore various trails, cascading waterfalls, and of course, geysers. We did the touristy thing and watched “Old Faithful” blow her cap, but it was the bubbling, brewing and boiling geysers that caught our particular attention. These geyser’s lava hot pools produced intricate and vibrant colors of neon blues, yellows and oranges as it broke down the rock and sediment surrounding it. The colors spilled out and covered the landscape with steaming liquid that filled the air and senses with sulfur. This place felt alive and active, and I imagined the ground beneath my feet was a molten lava furnace waiting patiently to be released.

One particularly amusing and special moment that Andrew and I will remember was a conversation we had with a biker couple. They were probably in there early to mid seventies and were decked out in leather. Andrew thought the sight of them was so interesting that he asked the couple if he could take a photo of them with there motorcycle. They were happy to oblige and posed next to their bike, holding out a worn-out American flag that hung proudly from the back of it. They shared with us that from Memorial Day to Labor Day the flag goes on a marathon where it travels through all the states in the Continental U.S., being passed from traveler to traveler. From this friendly exchange I was reminded of the special value of hearing from others. The stories I’ve heard on this journey have been so rich, and it’s been an absolute joy and privilege to intertwine my life with others if only for a brief hello.

After 13 incredible hours exploring the volcanic paradise of Yellowstone National Park, Andrew and I began our drive to our next host’s place, located 2 hours east of the park. We drove up a gravel driveway to a spot of land that had three beautiful log cabins. Just beyond the cabins, surrounded by mountains and a river that could be heard through the darkness, was a canvas tent pitched against a pasture. After two hours of sleep and 13 hours of trekking, beholding this canvas tent felt just about magical, folks. Each square foot of the tent was covered in patterned and textured wool and fur carpets. There was an iron wood burning stove to the left of the entrance with a bucket of wood beside it. To the right there were two wooden armchairs that were made up of natural synthetics similar to the flooring. They were plush and soft and gracefully rocked back and forth. In the middle of the two armchairs was a small rustic wooden table that sat a lamp with a beautifully woven lampshade. In the back corner of the tent was the most comfortable queen-sized bed. It matched the country decor of the tent, and was fitted with a mosquito net. The tent oozed charm and embodied western country culture in every corner. It was exactly what we needed after a long and wonderful day.

We’ll be exploring the Dakotas for the next few days, and I know I’ll be thinking of my sweet grandmother often. She grew up in South Dakota, so I’ll be looking forward to living out some of her stories and paying homage to her origins. Until next time, peace.

Trees as Tall as Fairy Tales

We spent  three wonderful days with Jenna and Kyle.We cooked dinner together, watched a few movies, and simply enjoyed chatting and catching up. We explored the charming streets of San Francisco and hiked through enchanting Muir Woods. That hike was possibly one of my favorite experiences so far. Time felt still and quite in the trees, and I swore fairy tales were born there. If not fairy tales, than surely the forest moon of Endor (Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi). Red Wood trees jutted out from the ground in spires as tall as skyscrapers, creating a lush and green canopy that even blocked the sky. I certainly didn’t mind.

With renewed energy and excitement we bid farewell to Jenna and Kyle and kicked off our return to the East Coast. We woke up at 4:45am yeserday to catch a 7:30am flight from San Francisco to Seattle, Washington. From there we were picked up by the branch manager of the same company who gave us the Jeep Grand Cherokee to drive from East to West. The branch manager, Scott, was a single, burly and boisterous middle-aged man who wore a Hawaiian collared t-shirt (you know the one I’m talking about) and cursed like a sailor. His black toupee and mustache made him look like a disheveled Charlie Chapman, and I sensed that he felt younger than he actually was. He told us a series of unfortunate but partially amusing events that led him to move from his hometown of Hollywood to the pines and mountains of  Seattle, Washington. I won’t go into detail but it involved flat tires and a bullet through his windshield. He has resided in Seattle for over twenty years and has managed the driveaway company for the last 15 years. Although he was abrasive, loud and frightfully disorganized, Scott was also incredibly kind. He gave us three bottles of water for our travels and made our transition into the next car smooth and stress-free. Thank you, Scott!

I’m typing this blog from somewhere in Washington in a washed-out, gold, 2000 Honda Civic. I admit it’s a bit of a downgrade from our 2013 Jeep Grand Cherokee, but I’m loving the leg room and it doesn’t smell like cigarettes – two very important details. Andrew says the brake pedal vibrates when he pushes on it, but I’m attributing it to how eager the car is to keep us safe. We need this baby to get us through Yellowstone, the Bad Lands of South Dakota and beyond. I think she can handle it…

Over the next few days I’ll be physically and emotionally challenged. We’ll be exploring Yellowstone, sleeping under the stars, and hopefully maintaining a healthy distance from any wildlife we come across. I know it’s irrational, but it’s the bears that put me over the edge. I’ll probably be one of those hikers that has bells covering me from head to toe with bear spray in hand and talking at an annoyingly loud volume. Those bears will know not to mess with me. I’m prepared for battle. Despite my apprehension, I’m really looking forward to seeing Yellowstone. We’ll be making the most of our brief stint by sleeping in tepees and canvas tents, and hiking as much as we can despite the driving we’ll have to do. The days will be warm and sunny and the nights will be cool and clear. I’m ready to see nature at its finest and can’t wait to see that blanket of stars.

My next blog post won’t be for another few days since there is a good chance we won’t have internet access during our time in Yellowstone, but you better believe I’ll be posting on Instagram.

Here There Be Monsters

“For all the toll the desert takes of a man it gives compensation, deep breaths, deep sleeps, and the communion of the stars.” – Mary Austin, The Land of Little Rain

The desert, I assure you, is a strange place. My presuppositions and preconceived notions were burned by the dry heat. Let me explain.

I imagined a stark, empty vastness with no life and no story to tell. My friends, I could have not been more mistaken. The desert was anything but stark and empty. Mountains of rock stretched out beyond the horizon, filling up the sky, demanding glory and attention. The dust danced and white sand dunes rose and fell like ocean waves. The desert was anything but lifeless. Joshua trees speckled the earth and desert plant life worshiped the sun. Although the desert was silent, I felt anything but alone. There were holes in the earth and burrows behind rocks. I kept looking over my shoulder and watched where I stepped.  I couldn’t see anything, but I knew the truth. Here there be monsters. In its own unique and terrifying way, the desert was incredibly beautiful.

And then what felt like moments later (because after over a week of road tripping, days are hours, hours are moments and time is swirling), we hit the pacific coast, a paradise of coastal mountains, crystal blue waters, and vista points at every twist and turn of the highway. We saw sleeping elephant seals, dolphins dancing over waves and whales teasing the tip of the ocean as if to say “Welcome.”

East to west, D.C. to Hayward, 36,000 miles, three time zones, and 11 days later I can say we’re officially half-way through our road trip ’round the USA. I’m currently sitting on a coach I had only seen in Skype videos. It feels so good to have my twin sister by my side again, and I’m reminded of how much I love spending time with her and her husband. Last night they cooked us a 5-star tri-tip dinner with mashed corn and baked potatoes. We raised our glasses of red wine and toasted to sweet reunions.

Over the next  three days Andrew and I will spend some quality time with Jenna and Kyle. We look forward to exploring San Francisco and the surrounding areas, and are excited to simply relax and recharge before kicking off the second half of our month-long journey. Roaming the world is fun, but you can be certain I’ll soak up each and every moment of the next few days.

48 Hours

In the last 48 hours I’ve climbed through the mouth of caves, hiked through mountains of petrified wood, explored 1,000 year-old Native American citadels, scaled the heights of craters, and beheld the miracle of the Grand Canyon. I’ve been physically challenged, awe-inspired, and brought to tears. I’ve overcome fears and embraced Thrill like an old friend.

In last 48 hours I’ve seen Andrew in his element and have enjoyed how well he articulates what he sees when I’m at a loss for words. I’ve felt small in a vast, complex, and beautiful world. I’ve wondered about the mysteries of time and sought to imagine life thousands of years ago. I say all of this not to brag, but to explain in so few words that this journey is opening my eyes and humbling my existence.

I could try to explain what it was like to walk through red clay walls of Native American history, but words would never do it justice. I could try to explain what it was like to see layered crevasses, canyons as far as my eyes could see, and deep places of the earth, but words would never be enough. So for this blog all I’ll say is this, even the mountains, magma, craters and canyons shout praises to God.

In the last 48 hours I’ve seen God’s fingerprint stretch far and wide, and I’ve seen his dominion over time and evolution. So when words are not enough, I’ll whisper “thank you” instead.

Blast from the Blue Swallow Past

Today marks one week since we began this journey. In seven days we’ve traveled through nine states, three time zones, and a number of unique landscapes. Everything leading up to Oklahoma felt familiar in some way, shape or form. The temperature increased the further south we went, and the horizon certainly got flatter once we hit Oklahoma, but the environment didn’t feel all too different from what I’ve seen and experienced before.

That all changed three hours west of Oklahoma. Trees disappeared and red rock emerged from the earth.  Intricate layers of painted copper and bronze surrounded our winding road. I imagined I was on Mars. Mountains of rock, dry grass, and desert plant life swallowed the horizon. Earth met sky and patches of cloud revealed the breadth and depth of the elaborate landscape. Aside from I-40 and the vehicles that traveled along it, there was no sign of life for miles. For the first time since we left 7 days ago, I felt like a wandering foreigner. I smirk at the thought. You’ve come a long way, Brittany.

Last night was spent in 1950. We left I-40 and entered the Mother Road, historic Route 66. We drove down a cluttered street of abandoned motels, gas stations and restaurants. It was a dying town breathing its last breaths. A handful of motels and eateries now stand as memories of what was once a colorful, vibrant, and bustling pit stop. Driving down the empty street I envisioned old Cadillacs with their rounded features and flashing headlights. I imagined young couples in poodle skirts and leather jackets walking hand in hand to a nearby shake shack. I imagined gas station attendants wearing bow ties and pointed hats waving hello to passing travelers, and motel neon signs flashing a sign of welcome to oncoming guests. I imagined music playing on every part of the street, Elvis Presley, Bill Haley, Doris Day, Johnny Mathis, and Dean Martin, and the smell of burgers and sweet barbecue wafting from the  town’s many diners. This used to be Route 66, a lively oasis in the middle of a desolate desert.

Although it only stands as a shadow of what it once was, Andrew and I paid homage to its history and stayed at the Blue Swallow Motel. The motel takes us back in time with it’s original neon sign, blue Cadillac displayed proudly out front, vintage rotary push dial phones, and old radios as big as a mini refrigerator. Hello 1950, we’ve heard great things about you.

Before we settled into our room, Andrew and I decided to grab some dinner at one of the working restaurants on the strip. We could tell a storm was brewing and thought it best to eat before it hit. The restaurant was a quaint little place. The waitresses all wore the same yellow smock dress and there was a jukebox in the corner. Most of the people in the restaurant were travelers passing through, but a few others (most of them were over the age of 60) were clearly “regulars”. It was endearing.

Shortly after Andrew and I ordered dinner, the storm picked up and the entire town lost power. “This is an adventure,” Andrew said. I looked out our window and saw giant lightning bolts light up the sky like I had never seen before. I looked back at him. “Yeah,” I said. I assumed this meant we would have to leave the restaurant. How were we going to be served our food? Other people were now entering the restaurant to seek shelter from the wind and rain. Despite the power outage, the group was immediately seated. Moments later, our waitress arrived with our entrees. “You guys were lucky,” she said smiling. The place was dark, but alive. Music played, families gathered, and people laughed. Perhaps Route 66 isn’t as historic as we think.

April 19, 1995

Our two full days in Oklahoma was, to put it simply, awesome. We were generously hosted by Don and Sandra, a wonderful couple that Andrew has known since his graduate studies at The University of Oklahoma. They were “host parents” to him and several other international students at the university. Over the years Andrew has maintained contact with them, so it was a pleasure for me to see the mentorship and friendship they have with him.

Their home was beautiful and inviting. Don is an exceptional and respected artist/sculptor, so I got to enjoy some of his original pieces that were displayed throughout the house (for those of you who are familiar with my enthusiasm for art, you can imagine my excitement). It was easy to love Don and Sandra and even easier to talk about everything from art, to travel, to politics. I hope our paths cross again soon.

The University of Oklahoma, located just a few miles from Don and Sandra’s place, made a significant and lasting impact on Andrew. His eyes lit up when we entered campus, and he began to excitedly point our different areas he remembered. He showed me the National Weather Center where he spent most of his time studying meteorology. Another place he showed me was the Great Reading Room in OU’s library. It was essentially the Great Hall from Hogwarts. The walls along either side of the hall were lined with graduate theses, and the walls on either end of hall were grandiose floor to ceiling windows. One end looked out to a lush garden and the other overlooked OU’s vast campus. The great hall echoed a renaissance of academia and praised the art of learning. It was no wonder Andrew spent a lot of time here.

(Fun fact: Andrew and I came across his graduate thesis in the library! I dramatically gushed over it for at least five minutes and took a half a dozen photos of the cover. I feel no shame.)

It’s difficult to articulate how special it was for me to explore his campus. I obviously didn’t know him during his time at OU, so it felt important to explore and enjoy that part of his life. We visited the stadium where the OU Sooners play (Go Sooners!) and even ran up to the top of the stadium steps! Andrew reminisced about all the football games he attended (he never missed a game during his 3 years on campus) and the unforgettable atmosphere created by 100,000 crimson-coated, screaming fans. We made sure to pick up a few OU t-shirts at the stadium store, so now I’m all set and ready to go for college football season. Boomer Sooner!

One of the more solemn but enlightening moments during our brief time in Oklahoma was our visit to the Oklahoma City National Memorial, a sacred place that remembers the domestic and horrific bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in 1995 that tragically killed 168 people. To enter the memorial, we walked through big black gates that open up to a long reflecting pool. On the other side of the pool stood an identical black gate. The gates represent the minute before and after the bombing, while the reflecting pool symbolizes the moment where lost and changed forever.  Parallel to the reflecting pool, the space where the building once stood, were 168 chairs, one for each person that lost their life. There were 19 smaller chairs representing the 19 children that died in the bombing. It was the children that brought tears to my eyes. On the opposite side of the reflecting pool, once again parallel to the pool, was a beautiful American elm tree.  Miraculously, the tree survived the blast and now stands as a steadfast symbol of those that survived the attack. To be honest, I didn’t know a single detail about the attack before this visit. I was fours years old and a thousand miles away when it happened, so I sincerely appreciated the experience.

We kissed Oklahoma goodbye with a bit of romantic nostalgia, a drive-in movie. We pushed down the back seats, spread out blankets, added a few pillows, and watched the Mission Impossible: Rouge Nation from the trunk of our Jeep Grand Cherokee. I’ll cheers to that

A Wild Western World

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,”

-Thomas Jefferson, The Declaration of Independence

This phrase became the appeal of African Americans who demanded and deserved equality in the segregated United States. Andrew and I visited the National Civil Rights Museum at Lorraine Hotel (the assignation location of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.) in Memphis, Tennessee. It was a solemn, heartbreaking and enlightening experience. In more ways than one it reminded me of my visit to Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland where thousands of Jews were enslaved, brutally tortured, and massacred. How could United States leaders allow slavery to become the bedrock of its economy? How could there be such hate and violence over the color of one’s skin?  These were the questions that replayed in my head during the 2-hour walk through of the museum.

My heart was heavy as I read about those that fought for freedom knowing their death was imminent. I read about unrelenting heroes like Thurgood Marshall, who defended African Americans against the Supreme Court, Rosa Parks, who refused to sit in the back of the bus, the young men and women who peacefully protested by refusing to leave a “whites only” restaurant, James Meredith, who demanded that African American deserved the same education as whites and became the first African American to be enrolled at the University of Mississippi, and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who’s compassion, hope and rhetoric changed the course of human events.

In the midst of recent and heartbreaking stories of black discrimination, police brutality, and questions of intent, I can’t help but think that they shed a grim and necessary light on the past that hasn’t been forgotten and the work that still needs to be done. As the devastating shadow of Jim Crow haunts our nation, I pray that God’s will be done and that his love conquers hate.

After the National Civil Rights Museum we made our way to downtown Memphis, more commonly referred to as Beale Street. Beale Street was bizarre in all senses of the word. For four hours it felt like I was roaming a wild western circus. Lights flashed, Memphis blues blared, motorcycles roared by the hundreds, and people roamed every inch of the strip.  My senses were overwhelmed with the smell of exhaust smoke, beer and barbecue, and conversation was nearly impossible over the sound of  the incessant grumbling of motorcycles. Time stood still on Beale Street, as if the chaos was all there was in the world and everyone in it, on it, around it became organic extensions of the music, buildings, and history of Beale Street. I realize that sounds insane. You had to be there.

I’m really looking forward to the next few days. I get to explore Andrew’s old stomping grounds at Oklahoma University. Go Sooners!

Follow our journey on Instagram using the hashtag #ballingersdoroam.