I have spent most of my adult life serving others—from military service to law enforcement, to municipal government, and now for the past 16 years as a volunteer, or Greyshirt, with Team Rubicon. Over the years, I have seen communities at their absolute best and at their very worst. I have seen devastation, loss, resilience, generosity, and the extraordinary things people are capable of when they choose to stand together.
On August 19, 2026, a powerful downburst struck Kansas City, KS—virtually my backyard—leaving behind extraordinary tree and property damage. From August 31 until September 6, our Team Rubicon Greyshirt team was there helping with the recovery. In that time, I watched neighbors help neighbors, strangers become friends, and an entire community demonstrate what resilience really looks like.
And then, I watched the community mourn.
MicahJo Barnett, a 20-year-old football player at William Jewell College, just across the Missouri River, died on the field—and far too young. His funeral was held at Memorial Hall, in the very place our Team Rubicon team was staying during our response to the Kansas City downburst.
I watched his teammates arrive to pay their respects: They were tall and short, heavy, and thin. They were blond, brunette, and redheaded. They had white skin, tan skin, brown skin, black skin, and every shade in between. Diverse backgrounds, different appearances, different stories—but in that moment, none of those differences mattered. They were simply teammates. Brothers. Young men grieving someone they loved.
Some stood stoically, their pain visible only in their eyes. Some had tears running freely down their faces. Others put an arm around a teammate, hugged the man at their side, or simply stood beside someone who needed them.
There was no embarrassment in their grief and no hesitation in their compassion for one another.
And, as I played witness to this, I thought about MicahJo’s parents. They were burying their child on his birthday.
My heart broke.
I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. There was something about being there that week that I will carry with me for a long time. For the first time ever, I had responded to a disaster in my own backyard. I was intending to help my home base recover from fallen trees, damaged homes, and the damage left by the violent Kansas City downburst. Instead, I was reminded that recovery and resilience are about far more than removing debris.
They are about people.
They are neighbors showing up with chainsaws and helping hands.
They are strangers caring for one another.
They are young men standing shoulder to shoulder in grief.
They are a community making room for both strength and sorrow.
The love I witnessed the day of MicahJo’s service and throughout our entire operation was quiet, powerful, and deeply human—in true Midwestern fashion. No over-the-top exhibitions of grandeur: just a solid, enduring presence. Sometimes, the most powerful form of service is simply showing up.
Kansas City demonstrated that resilience is not the absence of pain. It is the decision to carry one another through it.
Excuse me while I get this dust out of my eyes.
