Cowboy and I come from a long line of home bodies. We never have been good travelers; we prefer to just be home. This past weekend, however, we were provided an opportunity to expand our definition of “HOME” when we travelled to a little town called Cannonsburg in eastern Kentucky.
Early in our marriage when we had two tiny children and nothing but time, Cowboy and I traveled frequently to attend church meetings. We have been blessed to meet church people from Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Georgia, Alabama, and Texas. Once upon a time, when Girl #2 was only six weeks old, we met a wonderful preacher, Elder Glenn, who asked us to visit his church in the Ohio/Kentucky/West Virginia tri-state area. Sixteen years and huge guilty conscience later, we did just that. It was a visit long-overdue…but I’ll get to that in a minute…first I have to tell you about our welcoming committee in that area of Kentucky.
Our first official “state” meeting came soon after crossing the border. Two gentlemen in an ancient pick up truck were driving very slowly in the left lane. The truck, decked with a truck-cap-style camper perched precariously on the rusted bed and held in place with bungee cords, had no side or rear view mirrors. The camper was whopper-jawed in a way that made the truck look as if it was strolling sideways down the road. Cowboy determined that Uncle Cletus had bumped a little too hard against one side wall in his sleep, sending the whole kit and kaboodle rolling into a ditch. Poor fella. But as we cautiously passed them on the right, we noted Uncle Cletus looked alive and well as he sat driving that old truck with his nephew riding shotgun, a trusty pit bull between them. It couldn’t have been a more fitting scene had the words “WELCOME TO THE BLUEGRASS STATE” been emblazoned on the back bumper!
Our first “in-person” meeting was with Jimmy, who worked the counter at the Hampton Inn Ashland. His friendly welcoming smile and sweet southern accent diverted my attention away from the first impression of faded blue jeans and a button-down shirt open to reveal what must have been his favorite tee. He gave us our room key, explained that it worked better if you swipe them slowly, informed us that snacks and coffee were around the corner, wished us a wonderful stay, and told us to call the front desk if we needed “anything…anything at all.” And we knew he meant it.
Cowboy and I boarded the elevator, pressed the button for the 2nd floor and made our way down the hall to find the doorplate of our room (#233) adorned with a picture of a white cowboy hat. It made Cowboy feel very special to think they reserved that particular room just for him.
After depositing our bags in the room, we ventured back downstairs just in time to meet up with our church friends Elder Frank and his wife, who treated us to dinner at a nearby Bob Evans, where we met Julie, our waitress. Julie was a lively, fun and spunky red head who called us all “baby,” and high-fived the preacher Frank when she learned he was a Wildcats fan (ahem…who ISN’T a Wildcats fan in Kentucky?).
After taking our drink orders, Julie turned to Cowboy and asked “Where y’all from?” Cowboy replied “Indiana.” Julie looked at him quizzically, then started, “You know, I went to Indiana once with my boyfriend to a big monster truck rally thing that he likes…anyway…it was in Indy, at that Lucas Oil stadium…? I kept sayin ‘what in the world do they have all these huge pictures of Peyton Manning for…do they like him here or somethin?’” Stifling a giggle, Cowboy explained that Lucas Oil Stadium is THE Colt’s stadium… “you know, where they play?” “Ooooooh” she said, “that makes COMPLETE sense now!” Julie was a southern sweetheart we Hoosiers couldn’t help but fall in love with. She apparently felt the same since she spent many long moments with us sharing stories about her boyfriend, her church, her daddy, and her Wildcats (the 2009 team was her favorite).
Being the home body that I am, it was evident very early on that we needed to make a stop at the local Wal-Mart. Being the man that he is, Cowboy dropped me at the door and said he’d wait in the car. Even in the relative solitude of the car, it didn’t take long before he made a friend. As Cowboy sat fiddling with the radio, he looked up to see a woman walking toward him, pushing several Wal-Mart carts. She motioned for him to roll down his window. Surprised by the gesture, Cowboy complied, and she began to explain, “My husband is inside doin our shoppin. I didn’t feel like goin in, so I figured I could gather up the carts while I’m waitin.” Cowboy wasn’t sure if this was her way of pointing out that he should also find something productive to do, or if she was just being friendly. It turned out to be the latter. After finishing her commentary, she prepared to walk away, but first said “Nice car, by the way!” Yes, there are definitely some friendly folk in that neck of the woods, and they fulfilled their “welcome committee” duties quite well.
Without a doubt, the best part of the trip was arriving at the church for their Saturday night meeting. It was there, in that humble little building that Cowboy finally had the 16-year reunion with Elder Glen that he’d been longing for. Elder Glen proudly announced to everyone that he “knew this young man when he was but a little boy!” (We didn’t have the heart to remind him that Cowboy was a grown and married man with two young children at the time of their first meeting!) In addition to the reunion with Elder Glen and his wife, we met Brenda, Geneva, Katie, Joe, Charlie, and so many many more whose names currently escape me, but whose love for the Lord and their church family was certainly undeniable. They shared with us, hugged us, asked about our lives, our blessings, our church, and our family. They encouraged us with their words of wisdom and their pure hearts. And it was there, in that little town 4-1/2 hours from home, that we realized we were home.
This weekend, in Cannonsburg, Kentucky, we found it to be true…home really IS where your heart is. <3
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