I Can Call Myself a Veteran...Now

Years ago, when I put on that flight suit for the first time, the seven-year-old inside who watched Top Gun daily (I’m not exaggerating) could die happy. I wasn’t a fighter pilot, but as an Aeromedical Evacuation Specialist (a.k.a. flight medic), it was close enough.

I always wanted to serve in the military. It always made sense to me—I would be serving the country and being part of something greater than myself.

I joined the Air Force Reserve in 2000. My sense of duty solidified itself on September 11, 2001. I remember volunteering to go when things were very active in Iraq and Afghanistan before I was called upon. I wanted to do my part. My chance came in the summer of 2004. My Squadron was mobilized for active duty deployment.

Friends and family all wanted to send me off properly in their own way. A few days prior to deploying, I went out for a night out with my co-workers. Since I was going off to war, I chose to party harder than I normally would. At the moment, this felt right, but I could not have been more wrong.

What’s the worst that could happen? I NEVER ask the question anymore.

Later that night, I blacked out. I woke up to find myself in a hospital bed with tubes down my throat.

I came to find out I had gotten separated from the group, got to my car, and crashed. Worst of all, someone in another car passed away in the crash. In one night, I had wrecked my life and destroyed the lives of others. This was so far removed from the life and purpose I was pursuing.

In that moment, I gave it all to God. I had to! The weight of the guilt and the size of the situation were too much for me to handle. This was a God-size problem, and I had faith God would handle it only the way he could.

It was not an ignorant surrender to God. One thing I have learned is that God is love, love is choice, and choice brings consequences. There was no ill intent, but choices were made, and there were consequences to face.

God showed up, blessing me in my messy situation. I was introduced to people who surrounded me and loved me when my life was at its worst. When it came to the sentence, I received a plea deal that reflected the nature of my crime, and I took it without a fight, knowing it was a blessing, as the original charge was murder.

Then, God provided grace and guidance throughout the whole time I was in prison. I did what I could to better myself and the places where I was serving time, but God did the heavy lifting. He led me through what I call my “wilderness period,” from maximum security to minimum security, until I was able to enter my promised land on the other side. (If you want more specifics, check out my more in-depth story here).

Through tremendous guilt, shame, and just punishment, God has given me grace, another chance to live, and an opportunity to love people. He has allowed me to have a life I knew only his blessing could provide. I’m able to be proud and thankful for what my life looks like.

I was grateful. But there was still a space that haunted me. The Air Force.

This is nothing against the Air Force. They were amazing to me after my crash, better than I deserved. They kept me on active duty until I was healed. They allowed me to serve on the monthly reserve weekends while I was on bond. They decided not to prosecute me—which they could have done— but instead let the state government decide my fate.

Above and beyond all that, my commander went to bat for me and allowed me to walk away with a general discharge (under less-than-honorable conditions) instead of the dishonorable discharge I expected to receive. A dishonorable discharge is a scarlet letter you must carry with you until you die. It affects every official aspect of your life including job application, loans, or anything involving the government. It would have, justifiably so, been a ball and chain dragging down any effort to move forward with my life.

Once my discharge was official, my story with the military was a closed chapter. It was a great memory to look back on, but my shame, my own moral code, and self-judgment (as well as the discharge itself) cut any ties I could claim moving forward.

It was buried in the past. Not so much as the Air Force was dead to me, but as if I was dead to the Air Force.

If someone asked, “Did you serve in the military?” I could allow myself to answer yes. If someone asked, “Are you a Veteran?” I would NEVER allow myself to answer yes, considering how my service ended and on top of the fact I never served in active combat at a time of intense action in Iraq and Afghanistan. I felt I never truly did “my part.”

I kept in contact with only a couple of friends from my Air Force days. In 2019, one of them was retiring, and he invited me to the ceremony at my old squadron on base. At that time, I had not had any contact or engagement with the service or my squadron since 2005. With encouragement from my wife, I hesitantly accepted the invitation.

On the day of the ceremony, when I found myself in my old squadron celebrating my friend’s honorable twenty-plus-year career of distinctive service to our country, I was in rough shape internally. I was happy for my friend, but I was a twisted ball of anxiety, stomach in knots, trying to control showing the internal shame and reactions to external judgment I rightfully deserved.

But despite my expectations, I didn’t experience any silent shunning.

Afterward, my family and I attended a party that was celebrated on base. What I found there was life-changing. People were happy to see me after silence for all the years of my absence. I was alive, healthy, working, and had a family and blessings God had brought my way.

I was able to speak with the Squadron Commander at the time, and he assured me that I was remembered as a good and honorable person during my time of service. He said I am still seen in that light, and they expect me to carry on in the same way.

I was told, “Don’t be a stranger.” On top of all that, God spoke in my heart, assuring me, “There is a place for you here.”

It was like I had an infected wound that I had scratched at and hidden for years that was finally opened up and able to be treated—relieving the internal pressure and allowing it to breathe and be cleansed. If this brings intense and visceral imagery, it is fitting as it is what I experienced emotionally and spiritually.

This was a good start, but God, as the ‘Great Physician’ he is (Luke 5:31), knew there was more healing to do.

The very next week, I received word that a Veteran Camp would be offered for the first time at the church I attend. If I had been offered this a week or two prior, I would have said no. I would NOT have been a Veteran, but at that moment, I was able to explore what that word had for me. The timing was perfect—almost as if it was too coincidental to be coincidence.

I went, and God gave me grace: when I found support among Veterans that honored me to have permission to carry the title of ‘Veteran’. God brought healing and life to a barren place in my soul, just like we see in Ezekiel 37:1-14—and I am eternally grateful.

Now I go to Vet Camp every year, and it never disappoints. Not only that, but I am now able to live in and among the Veteran and Military community and engage in it without a sense of shame or fear.

Veterans are cut from a different cloth. One that goes into a uniform, is willing to go towards danger that others run from, and serve a purpose bigger than themself. I was born with this in my nature. I was this when I signed. I was this when I served. I am still this today. I will continue to be as long as I am alive. I can call myself a Veteran…now.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:12-14).

I don’t know who you are, what you have done, or where you are in your life. If you are able to get yourself off the judgment seat of your life and allow the God who’s literally love and full of grace to sit there, you will find redemption and renewal in the areas of your life you feel are barren and abandoned—just as I did.

Crossroads Church has amazing Camps experiences that allow you to unplug from our digital world, go off the grid, and connect with God and others. There’s a Man Camp and Woman Camp, among several others, including Vet Camp—an experience created and led by Veterans for Veterans, along with men currently serving at the time.

Disclaimer: This article is 100% human-generated.

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At Crossroads, we major on the majors and minor on the minors. We welcome a diverse community of people who all agree that Jesus is Lord and Savior, even if they view minor theological and faith topics in different ways based on their unique experiences. Our various authors embody that principle, and we approach you, our reader, in the same fashion. You don’t have to agree with every detail of any article you see here to be part of this community or pursue faith. Chances are even our whole staff doesn’t even agree with every detail of what you just read. We are okay with that tension. And we think God is okay with that, too. The foundation of everything we do is a conviction that the Bible is true and that accepting Jesus is who he said he is leads to a healthy life of purpose and adventure—and eternal life with God.