The hum of the highway was a constant companion as Memphis 901 FC Volunteer Chaplain Greg Aydt gripped the wheel of the rental van, the odometer ticking off mile after mile. Fifteen hours. Eleven hundred miles. A road stretched long before him. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but his heart was steady, and he remained vigilant and alert.
It had started with a simple phone call.
“Pastor, I don’t know what to do,” the former player’s voice had carried the weight of disappointment and helplessness. “The shipping companies want way too much to move my stuff out here. I’ve called everywhere. I don’t have that kind of money.”
Greg had served as the volunteer chaplain for Memphis for the past six seasons, offering encouragement, prayer, and counsel to the players. When the club shut down, he thought his role would come to a close. But God had other plans.
Greg had watched this young man grow, not just as an athlete but as a man of integrity, battling setbacks with grit and faith. And now, after a tough previous season, he was heading to a new club, but his belongings—everything he and his wife had stored up over years—were stranded a thousand miles away.
Greg hadn’t hesitated. “Don’t worry about it, brother. I’ll bring them to you.”
The silence on the other end had spoken volumes. Then the player stammered, “Pastor, that’s crazy. It’s too far.”
“Not for you,” Greg had replied simply.
And so, here he was. After a short and restless night in a cheap hotel, Greg continued on through the plains and deserts along the interstate. The rental van’s cruise control had broken only thirty miles into the long journey. Greg tried to ignore the pain radiating up his shin. Each mile brought him closer to this young man who had become like family.
As the van climbed above a mile high from sea level, Greg’s recent sinus infection had his ears clogged with the changes in pressure. He stopped at the first taco shop that was open and asked for their hottest sauce to open his sinuses. “The hottest?” Greg barely heard the girl behind the counter ask. He nodded. “Yes, I’m sure,” he replied. It worked! Now his issue was dealing with the residual heat of the local hot sauce — he wasn’t in Memphis anymore. He pressed on.
To cool off his mouth and shake off his road fatigue, he stopped at a coffee shop. From behind the counter, the owner noticed Greg’s Memphis 901 FC hat and asked about it, declaring his own fandom, a rival club. “What brings you here?” he asked.
“Helping a friend move a load of stuff out here,” Greg replied with a smile.
“Must be a good friend,” the owner joked while making Greg a cortado.
“He is.”
A few minutes later, as Greg pulled into the apartment complex, the parking lot was empty except for the player. He had been pacing, hands shoved deep into his hoodie. When he saw Greg and the van pull in, his face lit up.
“Pastor!” he shouted as he ran up to the van. Greg stepped out, trying to stretch his stiff limbs.
“Amigo!” Greg grinned. Hugs came first, stuff came second.
The player looked at the packed van, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you did this.”
Greg put his hand on the player’s shoulder. “Well, I figured it was a good excuse to get a meal with you before I fly out.”
They began to unload heavy boxes and large suitcases, some filled with precious memorabilia. “It’s the third floor, but there’s no elevator,” the player explained.
“No problem at all,” Greg lied. The high altitude had him sucking wind, which would normally be pretty embarrassing in front of an elite athlete. But instead, they laughed about it and slowly unloaded the van while helping set up the apartment for the athlete and his wife.
At one point, the player offered Greg some water in a pink mug, apologizing for the strange vessel, but exclaiming with joy that they finally had their kitchen box and could host others well.
Once everything was unloaded, they sat down to a delicious meal that the player’s wife had been cooking. They shared memories from their three seasons together, remembering their first meeting at an axe-throwing, team-building event Greg had put on for the team. The player told his wife how Greg would bring electrolyte freeze pops out to those hot Memphis summer training days.
“That reminds me! I brought something for you.” Greg went to the van and returned with a bag of those very freeze pops. “You might just need them here, too.”
This player had been was one of a few Brazilian players in Memphis that asked Greg for a blessing in the tunnel before the match. When Greg started memorizing Portuguese prayers for each match, this player thought Greg knew Portuguese! He decided to finally come clean. “Amigo, I have to tell you, I only memorized those prayers hours before each match. I don’t know Portuguese at all!”
After laughing about it, the player replied, “Well thank you, that meant a lot.”
Greg looked at his watch and realized time had flown by and it was way later than he needed to leave to make his flight. But he didn’t dash out just yet. “Before I go, I’ve got one more prayer for you both.” Greg stood in the middle of their apartment and offered a blessing he had memorized in Portuguese, and they all concluded with “Amém.”
“I can’t believe you did this for me, Pastor,” the player said at the door. What his words couldn’t express of his gratitude, his tight hug filled in.
Greg replied, “You matter. Not just as a player, but as a person. And sometimes, love looks like a long drive across the country.”
The player nodded, eyes glistening. “I won’t forget this.”
Greg smiled. “Me neither.”
As the sun rose higher over the mountains to the east, Greg walked to the van, reminding his brother to keep in touch, and knowing this moment was special. It was a reminder that sometimes, the extra mile is where love makes the deepest impact.
