Noah Burney, a junior business management major, sat in the sweltering Oklahoma heat, his uniform stuck to his back, the sun beating down as he waited. Waiting for hours on end was nothing new to him. Basic training had a motto: “Hurry up and wait.” The drill sergeants called it efficiency. The trainees called it endless.
But within the exhaustion, there was one moment that would ease the suffering: mail call. Burney knew exactly what he was waiting for — a letter from his girlfriend, Sydnie Arnolds, a junior social work major.
“The smiles you’d see on people’s faces when they got a letter were unreal,” Burney said. “You never realize how much something as small as a piece of paper can mean until that’s the only thing connecting you to home.”
For seven months, Burney and Arnolds’ relationship depended on ink and paper. Noah was only allowed 15 minutes a week on his phone, and his cherished call to Arnold was not always guaranteed. Letters became his lifeline. His home felt lightyears away, but words kept him grounded.
Burney and Arnolds had been together long before basic training. But when Burney was at basic training for 19 weeks, the dynamics of their relationship completely changed. Phone calls, once so casual and spontaneous, suddenly became a rarity cherished by both.
“One week, I finally got my phone call, and Sydnie was on a plane about to take off,” Burney said. “I had maybe two minutes to talk before she had to hang up. That was it. I had to wait another whole week.”
For Arnolds, writing was about updates and encouragement.
“I saw the letters as my chance to really say all the things I wanted him to know,” Arnolds said. “Phone calls were for check-ins, but letters — that’s where I could give him scripture, encouragement and let him know what was going on in my life without feeling like I was wasting his time.”
Unsurprisingly, Burney clung to every word.
“I’d read the same letter over and over,” Burney said. “10, 20 times, just because it was something familiar. A letter to me was a mix of motivation and entertainment — it meant everything to me.”
Being in Basic Training was difficult, but letters were a bright spot for the trainee. The hardest part, though, wasn’t the physical endurance but the mental toughness.
“You have to get comfortable being uncomfortable,” Burney said. “They push you to your limits just to show you how much you can handle.”
The days were hot, long, structured and exhausting. On some nights, Burney would be jolted awake by simulated attacks: drill sergeants shooting blank rounds and throwing fake grenades into their sleeping quarters to test their reaction time. One night, Burney woke to the thud of a training grenade that had landed on his chest.
“I woke up to it rolling off me and exploding right next to me,” Burney said. “Not funny at the time, but definitely a story now.”
Despite the intensity of the gas chambers, the tower rappelling or the screaming drill sergeants, the hardest part was being disconnected from his people and his home. No texts. No calls. No scrolling through old photos. Just long stretches of silence without a trace of comfort, except for the words that Arnolds wrote to him.
The first time Burney received a letter at Basic, he was shocked by how much it lifted his spirits.
“Modern society doesn’t really write letters anymore,” Burney said. “But in that environment, it felt like Christmas morning. The second I got one, I was smiling like crazy.”
With nothing else to pass the time, Burney found himself reading and rereading the letters.
“Some guys would just tuck them away, but I kept mine on me,” Burney said. “When we were sitting around waiting — sometimes for hours — I’d pull them out and read them again.”
It wasn’t just about the words. It was about the love they carried.
“I’d see her handwriting, and I’d think, ‘She sat down, took the time to write this for me.‘ It made me feel like I wasn’t so far away from home,” Burney said.
For Arnolds, letter writing became an integral part of her schedule.
“I made it a habit to write to him at least once a week,” Arnolds said. “I wanted to make sure that he knew I was there.”
Burney graduated from Basic on his birthday, turning a traditionally great day into an unforgettable one.
His parents and Arnolds were there, waiting for him. After months of separation, months of only words on a page, they could finally see each other again.
For over four months, Burney’s mind was operating at a different pace than it had been in college. Every day was structured. Every action had a purpose. Now, back at Union, he found himself readjusting to a different pace of life.
“It was definitely an adjustment,” Burney said. “At Basic, I had this intense purpose — I was training, learning, growing. Now, I’m back in college, and it’s just slower.”
The camaraderie was different, too.
“In Basic, everyone around me was going through the same thing,” Burney said. “We all had common ground. But here at Union, there aren’t many people who have that military background.”
Still, he’s found new ways to stay grounded — mentors, faith groups and, of course, reconnecting with Arnolds.
“I’ve realized that purpose isn’t just about where you are,” Burney said. “At Basic, I had a purpose. Here at Union, I have a purpose. It’s just a shift in perspective.”
Through the months apart, through the silence, through the struggles of being a soldier and a student, one thing remained constant: the letters. Those pages carried motivation, love, faith and reassurance. They were proof that even from miles away, Arnolds was with him. When asked if he still has them, Burney didn’t hesitate.
“Oh yeah,” he said, smiling. “I kept every single one.”