I was just thinking back to when I joined the Army — remembering how Tim and Dad came to my graduation. I can still picture his face, the pride in his eyes. Losing him too soon left me adrift, trying to fill an emptiness I didn’t understand. When the structure and discipline of basic training and AIT were gone, I lost the rhythm that kept me grounded and quickly slipped back into old, unhealthy patterns.
I pray now that my roots will grow deep into the foundation of God the Father’s love for me. Looking back, I see how many years have quietly slipped away — years lost to worry, fear, and striving instead of resting in true faith.
I had hoped to make Dad proud with a lasting military career, but that dream faded during a time when I was simply trying to survive. Living with Cari during those days was painful; when she told me she no longer loved me, something in me broke. That dark season led to a suicide attempt — not because I wanted to die, but because I desperately wanted to escape the darkness and emotional turmoil that felt evil, heavy, and unrelenting.
In that darkness, I didn’t realize that I wasn’t alone. God was there, though unseen, and He sent Aunt Bernice, whose love reflected Christ Himself. She stood up for me when I couldn’t stand on my own. Her love was steady and bold — the kind that lifts you when you have nothing left to give except a fragile trust in someone who refuses to let go. Through her, I began to see that belonging isn’t earned through perfection or performance; it’s received through grace.
As the years passed, I began to understand more about that painful relationship. I can see now that trying to hold on to someone like Cari — someone who didn’t love me — had become an obsession born out of vulnerability, a lack of true identity, and insecurity about who I was. I was clinging to what I thought might save me, when only God could fill that emptiness. Yet even then, He was patient. God had a plan — and He still does — leading me through deep valleys by His steady hand.
Today, I can see that God has walked beside me through every step, even when I couldn’t feel it. Still, I recognize how easily I can slip back into old thought patterns of shame and worry. Just this morning, I came across an image of Abrams Theater at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri — the place where I graduated and officially became a soldier. That theater marked a moment of pride and transformation, a time when discipline, belonging, and purpose felt clear. Seeing it again reminded me of who I once was and how far I’ve come — not just as a soldier, but as a man learning to follow God’s lead.
Sometimes I still think, “I should have been a hero.” Even though I now receive VA benefits, there are moments I struggle to feel I earned them. That same sense of undeserving follows me as I work toward becoming a fully independent licensed counselor — wondering if I truly measure up, even as I help others find healing.
But God keeps meeting me in that tension. He reminds me that grace is never earned; it’s received. My benefits — like His mercy — are not a prize for perfection but a reflection of grace given to those who endured, who struggled, who survived.
Even when memories whisper shame — of my Reserve career ending with a demotion, of missed drills, of lost time — I remember that my worth was never tied to rank or recognition. My joy no longer depends on what I achieved but on who holds my heart.
My story isn’t over. I pray that we all find and hold fast to the lasting joy, peace, and true love that come only through surrender — through trusting God’s will above our own.
I may not be able to reclaim the years I lost or finish my military service as I once hoped, but I can serve the true King with every breath I have left.