Blog Archives
The Torch Has Been Passed
I did not think this day could come. Even after my son raised his right hand, a part of me never truly believed I would one day watch him become an active duty service member.
I recently hung a Blue Star Service Flag in my window. It is a daily reminder that the next generation continues to answer our nation’s call, accepting personal risk for a higher calling.
As a young boy, I knew I was meant to serve. Throughout my Army career, I rarely thought about the danger. The mission always came first. It wasn’t until I was saying goodbye to my own children before deployments that I began to understand where the real burden was carried.
Today, I see that burden through different eyes.
I used to reassure my family by saying it was more dangerous driving to the base in Atlanta than serving in the area of operations or on a forward operating base. At the time, I believed it. It was easy to say because I was the one going.
It is different when it is your son.
Modern warfare is different with these drones. But Information is still limited, uncertainty is constant, and the waiting can be relentless. Yet one truth has never changed: the hardest part of military service is often carried by the families who remain behind.
I have always been proud to serve my country.
Today, I am equally proud—and humbled—to be the father of someone who has chosen to do the same.
The torch has been passed. My prayers now travel with him, his wife, and every family waiting faithfully at home.
Is This What Healing Feels Like?
Lately, I’ve been asking myself questions that don’t seem to have answers for.
Does everything eventually become routine?
Does everything that is new eventually become old?
They call it the “daily grind” for a reason, don’t they?
When does something lose its luster?
And perhaps the harder question…when do we?
The past year has changed me in ways I never expected. Losing my wife after watching her fight with every ounce of strength she had, trying to raise my daughter, helping fellow veterans navigate a system that often overwhelms them, trying to build a business with purpose—it has all been meaningful. Yet, at times, it has also been exhausting.
People sometimes tell me how strong I am.
The truth is, strength isn’t the absence of questions. Sometimes it’s simply continuing to put one foot in front of the other while carrying them.
Why do I struggle to feel purpose on some days when I know my work changes lives?
Why does my soul sometimes feel quiet instead of alive?
It isn’t that I lack free will. Every day I choose to move forward.
It isn’t that I cannot love. If anything, loving deeply has become both my greatest gift and my greatest source of pain.
So what is it?
Is my tank full—but filled with sand instead of water? Have years of responsibility, military service, loss, caregiving, and simply surviving filled every available space until joy has difficulty finding room?
Or is it something simpler? Is my brain still healing from grief? Are the chemicals that shape emotion simply trying to find their balance again?
I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is this: purpose doesn’t seem to be something we find once and keep forever. It fades. It changes. It asks us to search for it again and again.
When I help a veteran receive benefits they earned decades ago, I see purpose.
When I teach someone how to navigate the VA system so they can eventually do it themselves, I see purpose.
When my daughter smiles, I see purpose.
But even purpose doesn’t erase grief. It simply gives grief somewhere meaningful to stand.
Maybe that is what healing really is.
Not waking up one morning and feeling whole again.
Not forgetting the people we’ve lost.
Not pretending life is the same.
Maybe healing is learning that even when life loses some of its shine, it still has value. That even when our soul feels quiet, it is still there. That even when we don’t have all the answers, we can still choose kindness, service, and love.
I don’t know if everything eventually becomes ordinary.
I do know that the people we help, the lives we touch, and the love we give never truly lose their value.
Perhaps that’s enough for today.
Tomorrow, I’ll ask the questions again.
And I’ll keep walking anyway.
A Button, a Lesson 45 Years in the Making
Today I sewed a button back onto my favorite shirt and repaired a split seam in a pillow.
Neither job took very long, but when I finished, I realized I had just used a skill I learned more than 45 years ago as a Boy Scout.
My Scoutmaster, William Lee Kitchel, was a remarkable man. He was a Navy veteran of the Second World War who served aboard a battleship and was wounded during a kamikaze attack. Later, he served again, this time in the Air Force during the Korean War. He was demanding, disciplined, and believed that young men learned responsibility by doing things themselves.
Every Scout in our troop sewed on his own merit badges and patches. There were no shortcuts and no “Mom will do it.” When I earned my first three merit badges, I was handed a needle, thread, and instructions to sew them on myself.
Like so many families, my mother kept a Danish butter cookie tin that contained everything except cookies. Inside were needles, thread, buttons, pins, and years of accumulated sewing supplies. She gave me a needle, some thread, and a T-pin, and I went to work. My first attempts looked terrible, but Mr. Kitchel expected us to do it correctly. He accepted no excuses and suffered no fools. Over time, I became quite good at sewing. He even taught us traditional Seminole patchwork sewing, a skill I never imagined would stay with me for life.
Back then, I thought I was simply learning how to put patches on a Scout uniform.
Today I realized he was teaching something much larger.
The woman who quietly fixed buttons, repaired torn clothes, and mended the little things around our home—my wife, Sherri—is gone now. Today, there was no one to hand my favorite shirt to. So I threaded the needle myself, replaced the missing button, and repaired the pillow.
That shirt is my favorite because of a photograph. It shows Sherri sitting on my lap during one of our vacations, smiling with the biggest, brightest smile. It was probably one of our first selfies. Every time I see that picture, it reminds me of her joy, and it makes me smile too.
As I finished sewing today, I realized that William Lee Kitchel had taught me something without either of us knowing it. He wasn’t just teaching a Boy Scout to sew. He was teaching self-reliance, patience, pride in doing a job well, and the confidence to care for the things—and the people—that matter.
Some lessons don’t reveal their true value until decades later.
Thank you, Mr. Kitchel, for giving me a skill that has lasted a lifetime, and for teaching me something far greater than sewing.
The Daily Management Diet: Weighing In on Personal Success
In the bustling world of business, the concept of daily management reigns supreme. It’s a philosophy that emphasizes the importance of consistent monitoring, assessment, and adjustment to ensure objectives are met efficiently and effectively. But what if I told you this same approach could revolutionize your personal goals, especially when it comes to weight management and exercise?
Imagine this: stepping on the scale every day, not with trepidation, but with excitement and anticipation. Much like practicing and performing public speaking, the daily weigh-in becomes less daunting over time. It’s a ritual that not only improves your ability to face the scale but also keeps you focused and accountable.
At first glance, the idea of weighing yourself daily might seem counterintuitive. After all, isn’t it better to focus on long-term progress rather than getting bogged down by daily fluctuations? Surprisingly, the answer is no. Daily weigh-ins provide valuable data points that offer insights into your body’s natural fluctuations and responses to various factors like diet, hydration, and activity levels.
Moreover, the daily ritual fosters a sense of accountability, a cornerstone of daily management. Just as businesses rely on teams to achieve their goals, individuals can harness the power of community to support their personal objectives. This is where the concept of “team weigh-ins” comes into play.
For the past four years, I’ve been part of a group that shares daily High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT) workouts and weight management goals. The experience has been transformative. Some days, I receive cheers and encouragement from my fellow teammates. Other days, it’s a barrage of expletives as I push through grueling workouts. And then there are those rare occasions when a silent observer chimes in with a supportive nod.
Regardless of the response, the camaraderie and shared accountability have been invaluable. Knowing that I have a team relying on me to show up and give my best effort motivates me to stay consistent with my exercise routine and mindful of my dietary choices. It’s a daily management practice that keeps me on track and focused on my goals.
But daily management isn’t just about weighing in and sharing progress with others; it’s also about making adjustments and course corrections along the way. Just as businesses pivot in response to changing market conditions, individuals must adapt their strategies to overcome obstacles and setbacks.
So, do you have any daily management activities that keep you on track for your goals and objectives? Whether it’s journaling, setting daily intentions, or tracking progress in a shared spreadsheet, find what works for you and embrace it wholeheartedly. Remember, success isn’t just about reaching the destination; it’s about the journey and the daily steps we take to get there.
