Sometimes a story takes years before you realize it has been unfolding all along.
When my husband and I moved to our little acreage in April of 2019, we had no idea how much this gravel road would become part of our story. The sunsets, the wildlife, the quiet… there was something healing about this place from the very beginning.
A few months later in July, on our way to work one morning, we noticed an RV parked along the side of the road. A few men in bicycle shorts were gathered outside the rear end of the camper.
It looked like they could use a hand, so we pulled over.
They smiled and explained they were riding RAGBRAI through Casey, just a few miles south of our home. But they weren’t stopping because of the ride.
They had come back for friends.
They told us that just beyond the hill, in a field we drove past almost every day, a small airplane had crashed on November 9, 2018. Everyone on board had died. Aircraft tail number N91770, a Piper PA-28-236. Read More here. The little mesh airplane they were fastening to the fence post was a memorial, a neat way to honor people they loved and to let others know they hadn’t been forgotten.
As they shared their story, my heart immediately went to my brother, Eric.
Eric lost his life in a small plane crash by Southbound, Indiana on November 13, 2006. Everyone on board the Cessna T303 Crusader, aircraft tail number N611BB, also lost their lives. In a single moment, countless lives were changed forever. Read more here.
Different years.
Different airplanes.
Different families.
But only four days apart on the calendar.
Eric also loved RAGBRAI thanks to our parents who took my two older brothers many times on the bike ride across Iowa. My younger brother and I got to join a couple times for the actual ride otherwise I just loved being part of the road crew.
Standing there on that gravel road, listening to people lovingly remember their friends, on their way to ride on Ragbrai, stirred something deep inside me. It wasn’t sadness.
It was hope.
It felt like one of those quiet moments that God places in your path, not to answer every question, but simply to remind you that you’re seen.
At that point in my life, I didn’t have words for why it affected me so deeply. I only knew I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
So every time I drove into town over the next several years I saw that little yellow airplane on the fence post.
It became a quiet reminder.
Not just of the people who lost their lives in that field.
Not just of Eric.
But of love.
Of remembrance.
Of the strange and beautiful ways God weaves our stories together.
About a year ago, I noticed the little airplane was gone.
Weather and time had finally taken it.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that it should be there.
About a month ago, in June 2026, I mentioned it to my husband more than once. Maybe we should build another one. Maybe we could replace it. I didn’t know why the thought wouldn’t leave me, but it kept coming back.
Then, just days after feeling that nudge, I saw that RAGBRAI would be riding through Guthrie Center this year.
Immediately I knew.
What if those same people came back?
What if they stopped at that fence post again?
I wanted them to find something there.
Not because a little metal airplane changes anything.
But because being remembered changes everything.
So I bought a yellow airplane windmill.
I carefully scraped off the original registration numbers, painted over them, and replaced them with the actual registration number of the aircraft that now rests here.
Today, I installed it on that fence post.
As I write this, July 13, 2026, it is my brother Eric’s birthday. He would’ve been 51 this year.
This year also marks twenty years since his accident. I’ve never been to his crash site in Indiana. The farmer put up a really nice stone or marble memorial at their site. I don’t know if I’ll ever go. Maybe this year for the 20th anniversary.
The closer I get to that anniversary, the more I’ve found myself thinking about the hope he tried so hard to share with me.
A few months before he died, Eric woke up shaken from a dream that his life had been cut short. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something. Deep in his spirit, he felt compelled to record a video in the kids toy room, not because he was afraid, but because he wanted the people he loved most to know what truly mattered if he wasn’t here someday.
So he sat down in front of a camera and spoke from his heart.
The day after Eric departed for heaven, they opened their safe and found a dvd with a handwritten label: “Eric Jacobs Last Words.” None of us could have imagined what we were about to watch. There he was alive, smiling and crying, full of faith, speaking to us as if he knew we would someday need those words.
One by one, he spoke directly to my bothers, then to me saying I will be the spiritual leader for the family ,to my parents and then to his in-laws. He looked into the camera and shared words of encouragement, wisdom, and love with each of his four children. He spoke to his his wife and baby who would be born a few months after his passing. He left behind words that child would one day be able to hear with their own ears. He shared what he believed about Jesus, about heaven, and about living a life of purpose. We didn’t even know the video existed.
To be honest, it was hard for me to fully understand or even believe everything Eric was saying. At that point in my life, I was 27 and so far from God. I was deep in alcoholism, full of shame and searching for answers in all the wrong places, tarot cards, palm readings, horoscopes, and anything that promised direction apart from Him. Looking back now, I can see that while Eric was anchored in the hope of Christ, I was still wandering. I heard his words back then, but it would take many more years before I truly understood them.
I see that recording as one of the greatest gifts he could have left behind. I also recognize his obedience and faithfulness, speaking and prophesying over his family and the next generations.
For twenty years, his voice has continued to speak.
Today Eric’s kids are all adults. They’re building careers, raising families of their own, and some are becoming parents themselves. Every new milestone is both beautiful and bittersweet because you can’t help but imagine how much he would have loved being here for it all.
That’s one of the hardest things about grief. It doesn’t end after the funeral. It follows you into birthdays, weddings, graduations, and now grandchildren. It quietly reminds you of every moment someone should have been there. Or how different things would be if he was still here. Things I’m still learning to accept.
Losing Eric changed our family forever. There is a before, and there is an after. The years don’t erase that reality.
But I’ve also watched God bring beauty from places I never thought anything beautiful could grow. He has carried us through unimaginable pain, strengthened our faith, woven together stories that only He could write, and reminded us again and again that even death doesn’t have the final word.
That doesn’t make the loss easier. It makes the hope stronger.
After rehab in 2017, I found Jesus again at the Lutheran Church of Hope, those words began to make sense in a way they never had before. As I write this, I’ll soon celebrate eight years of sobriety. This home has become part of that redemption. It’s the first house I’ve ever lived in where I have never had a drink in. Every room, every sunrise, every walk down our gravel road has been part of my healing.
The wandering woman, who first watched Eric’s video all those years ago, lost in alcoholism, and searching for answers in all the wrong places is not the same woman writing these words today.
Jesus and His beautiful grace has transformed my life.
Today I’m a full-time, faith-centered artist and coach, painting live during worship and at events where I get to share the hope I’ve found in Him. I’m also writing my first book, my memoir, sharing the story of trauma, addiction, redemption, and the faithfulness of God.
In another one of those moments only God could orchestrate, I get to paint live on stage during the RAGBRAI 2026 concert in Guthrie Center with The Nadas. My brother loved RAGBRAI, and now, years later, I’ll be creating art just a few miles from the airplane on the fence post that has kept this story alive life in my heart. So incredibly grateful. I love how God works.
If your reading this
If you’re reading this because you stopped here during RAGBRAI, there’s a good chance our paths have already crossed. Either way, I’m grateful you found this story.
I don’t believe that’s an accident.
I believe God is still weaving together stories, still drawing people toward hope, and still reminding us that even the deepest loss is never beyond His redemption.
Just a simple little airplane.
But it was never really about the airplane.
It was about a God who never stops pursuing us, through grief, through our brokenness, through unexpected reminders, through people we never expected to meet, and through a hope that refuses to let go.
Who could have imagined that two families connected by separate airplane crashes, years apart, would find their paths crossing on a country dirt road during RAGBRAI? What seemed like an ordinary encounter became a reminder that God is always weaving together stories we could never have planned ourselves.
That little airplane became more than a memorial. It became a reminder that even in the deepest grief, God is present. He sees every broken heart, every unanswered question, every tear, and every story that feels unfinished. He has a way of bringing people together, reminding us that we are never alone in our suffering and never beyond His reach.
Maybe that’s what this little airplane is really pointing to.
Not just the lives that were lost, but the hope that remains.
My prayer is that wherever this story finds you, whether you’re grieving someone you love, searching for purpose, carrying burdens no one else can see, or simply needing a reminder that God is near…you’ll know that He is still pursuing you, too.
If you knew someone who lost their life in either of these plane crashes or if this story simply touched your heart…I invite you to leave a prayer on the prayer wall below. Let’s remember those who’ve gone before us, pray for the families who continue to carry their memories, and encourage one another with the hope we have in Jesus Christ.
Because this was never just the story of an airplane on a fence post.
It’s the story of a God who weaves together lives, even through loss, and never stops pursuing us.
Prayer Wall
A Prayer for the Families
Before anything else, I’d like to honor the lives of those who were lost.
November 9, 2018 – Guthrie Center, Iowa
Those who lost their lives aboard, Piper PA-28-236 aircraft tail number N91770:
- Edward Ralph Anderson, 49 (pilot)
- Patrick Kellen, 36
- Samantha Clark, 15
- Tyler Douvia, 28
November 13, 2006 – Rolling Prairie, Indiana
Those who lost their lives aboard the Cessna T303 Crusader aircraft tail number N611BB:
- Eric Jacobs, 31
- Tom Dunphy, 41
- Leslie O’Bannon, 27
- Josh Trainor, 23
- John M. Trewet, 45 (pilot)
Heavenly Father,
Today I lift up the families and friends of every person listed above. Their names are not just names on a page, they are sons, daughters, parents, siblings, spouses, grandparents, coworkers, neighbors, and dear friends. Their lives mattered, and they continue to be deeply loved and remembered.
Lord, would You surround every family with Your peace and Your presence. Comfort those who continue to grieve, whether their loss is fresh or many years old. Strengthen them, remind them they are never alone, and draw them close to You.
To every family connected to these two tragedies…my heart is with you.
More importantly, God’s heart is with you.
If you’ve come here carrying your own grief, my prayer is that you’ll discover the hope found in Jesus Christ, a hope that reaches beyond this life and into eternity. I believe there is a day coming when every tear will be wiped away, every broken heart will be healed, and all who belong to Christ will be reunited in His presence.
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
— Revelation 21:4 (NIV)
Until then, may we continue to remember, to pray, to love well, and to carry one another’s burdens.
Amen.
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