Reflections on a Journey Across America

Right now, as I sit here in silence, I can’t help but think back on my journey. Nearly 200 days have passed since I started walking across America, and yet, there’s this itch to get back on the road. I found joy in my walks, met incredible people, discovered hidden corners of this country, and learned so many stories.

But then came the doctor’s news: I can no longer walk. Initially, I felt relieved after my first surgery to remove a tumor, a pyogenic granuloma, from my heel. Unfortunately, it returned, stronger than before. Continuing could lead to serious damage to my feet, a risk I can’t afford.

The road to Los Angeles began on September 1, 2025, in New York City, but now, it won’t be traveled on foot. Many of you have walked spiritually alongside me through this experience, and honestly, it’s heartbreaking to think about.

I recall that first day in Times Square, gazing up at the skyscrapers and reflecting on their construction. Those who built this city often came from far away, with limited resources. They brought creativity, determination, and resilience, hoping to instill similar values in the children of Southside. With enough grit and commitment, anything seems possible.

I put on my shoes and took those first steps.

What followed remains one of the most meaningful periods of my life.

I am incredibly grateful for every penny, every prayer, and everyone who has walked alongside me, shared my journey, and contributed in whatever way they could.

I’ll never forget the Amish woman from Pennsylvania who gave us a ride in her horse-drawn carriage, or the deep conversations I had about God at an open-air drug market in Philadelphia. My journey exposed me to the full spectrum of humanity, showcasing both America’s beauty and its struggles, yet the underlying hope remained powerful. Even in those dark times, when addicts said, “God is no match for me,” the flicker of hope was evident. That hope embodies what America represents today.

One particularly poignant moment was when I walked along an old slave trail in Richmond, Virginia. It struck me that this was the very path along which enslaved Africans were led to auction blocks. I felt a haunting weight, coupled with a sense of grace. Prayer filled that moment, and I left determined to combat the cycles of poverty and violence that trap so many children.

As I journeyed further into the Deep South, stopping at diners and roadside establishments, I engaged with strangers who, on the surface, seemed like ordinary folks. But as I learned more, I discovered their unique aspirations, triumphs, and challenges. Political divisions didn’t come up in conversations. Instead, people talked candidly about hope, faith, family, and their communities.

There was a man in Alabama who shared about his son’s struggles after prison, a grandmother in Mississippi raising her grandchildren, and a truck driver in Louisiana who simply handed me water and said, “Pastor, I’m praying for you.” Moments like these leave lasting impacts.

This journey has taught me that despite the blisters and exhaustion, it’s the connections made along the way that truly heal. I’ve been reflecting on how, contrary to popular belief, our nation isn’t as divided as some wish to portray. Political elites thrive on discord, yet I encountered an America that functions, uniting in shared human experiences.

But then, on the 191st day, I found myself once again in a hospital room. The doctors confirmed the tumor had returned, and the first surgery hadn’t been successful. As I sat there, thinking of Times Square and the miles ahead, I felt emotionally shattered that evening. I had depleted every ounce of my physical, mental, and emotional energy for this mission—there was nothing left.

After another surgery, the verdict was clear: “The physical walk is over.” My body simply won’t allow it anymore.

Despite this, we’ve made strides. We’ve raised over $4 million to establish the Center for Leadership and Economic Opportunity in Chicago’s South Side—a facility aimed at providing job training, counseling, and educational resources for local youth. Our goal remains singular: to put opportunities within the reach of every child. The rest is on them; once they seize those chances, we’ll be there to support them.

The journey has been fulfilling, but we aimed for $25 million. We still have a way to go.

Children in the South Side don’t have a pause button due to their circumstances. As I recover, their needs persist.

From this experience, I’ve realized that true movement isn’t just one person’s endeavor. Whether they are Amish, struggling with addiction, or truck drivers, they all highlight the importance of community support. That’s the true essence of America—I’m convinced of it.

In 2011, during a harsh winter fundraiser for a crime-ridden motel’s demolition, I received questions about how I could endure such adversity. Yet, my faith never wavered. I knew I wasn’t alone; I was surrounded by support. We successfully raised the funds to buy the motel, and now, we’re commencing the Building of Possibilities and Opportunities on that very site.

So, even if my body can’t take any more steps, my mission continues. This isn’t just about my walk; it’s about the kids. It’s about awakening a sense of purpose and value in the lives of young men from areas once deemed hopeless.

Everyone deserves a fair shot at the American Dream, and while I may be limited physically, I invite others to help restore the damage inflicted on our communities over the past decades. We need to ensure that every child born into these circumstances has a chance for a better life.

Remember, your role is more significant than you might realize, and we genuinely need your support to cultivate a brighter future for America.