A Little Bit Like Home

Front of the Line

Every once in a while, life hands you a moment that makes no sense at the time, but years later you can see the fingerprints of the people who made it possible.

Twenty-three years ago, I was broadcasting from the Midland Empire Farm Show at the St. Joseph Civic Arena, where the hum of conversations bounced off the concrete walls and tractors gleamed under the lights. Throughout the day I delivered market updates and the mid-day farm report while guests rotated through to visit on the air.

One of those guests was Missouri Director of Agriculture Lowell Mohler. While we were visiting on the air, he mentioned the Department was organizing a trade mission to Cuba and added, almost casually, that he would like me to attend as the only embedded reporter on the trip. There are moments in broadcasting where you are trained to keep talking no matter what happens, and this was one of them. I managed to respond in a way that sounded calm and professional, even though inside my head a small voice was yelling, “Did he just say Cuba?”

Several farm broadcasters I knew had taken similar trips, so the opportunity was exciting. I had traveled internationally before on a trip to Moscow in college, so the idea did not feel completely out of reach. As the interview wrapped up and the reality of the invitation settled in, a small detail began tapping me on the shoulder: my passport.

When I started with the Brownfield Network in 1993, founder Derry Brownfield asked if I had one. I told him I did, and his advice was simple. Never let it expire because you never knew when someone might ask you to travel. It sounded wise at the time, and I remember nodding in agreement. Now do the math. A trip to Moscow in 1992 and an invitation to Cuba in 2003 will help you understand why that advice suddenly came rushing back.

Later that day at the Farm Show, U.S. Congressman Sam Graves stopped by the booth. We visited for a few minutes, and I mentioned the Cuba trip. He was excited about the coverage opportunity until I admitted one small complication. My passport had expired. He asked if I would be in Washington, D.C., before departure, and as luck would have it, I was scheduled to attend the American Sheep Industry Council’s annual convention there in a few weeks. With a reassuring smile, he said he would arrange an appointment for me to get a passport in person.

When I arrived at the State Department office, the line stretched out the door and down the sidewalk. A staff member was giving wait-time estimates, and when I told him I had a congressional appointment, everything changed. I was escorted inside, sent upstairs to Special Appointments, handed over my paperwork, and told to take a seat. A few minutes later, a brand-new passport was placed in my hands.

Walking back outside past the same line I had stood in earlier, I tried not to make eye contact with anyone who might assume I had done something far more important than simply listen to someone else’s advice at the right time.

Looking back now, what stays with me is not the trip that followed or the places it took me. It is the chain of people who quietly made it possible: a boss who once offered practical advice, a director of agriculture who extended an invitation, a congressman who made a phone call, and a staff member who said, “Come with me.” Most days, life still finds me in the regular line, which is exactly where I belong, but every now and then I am reminded that some of the most meaningful turns in our lives happen because someone opens a door we did not even know was there.

And every time I renew my passport now, I hear Derry Brownfield’s voice all over again. He was right.

Tom Brand writes the weekly A Little Bit Like Home column, reflecting on life, family, faith, and the moments that shape who we become. His stories remind us most of us spend our days in the regular line, grateful for the rare moments someone waves us forward, and that knowing the right people doesn’t hurt either. Find more at ALittleBitLikeHome.com.