Mud, Walls, and Willpower: Mastering Life's Obstacle Course

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Obstacle course racing has exploded in popularity over the past decade, serving not only as a test of physical prowess but, more importantly, as a training ground for spiritual growth. At the core of events like the Spartan Race and Tough Mudder is the opportunity to push beyond physical limits and initiate a transformative journey of the soul. These races are more than just adventures; they offer a profound exploration of the spirit. Participants, who often pay a hefty price for the experience, traverse miles of challenging terrain to embark on this spiritual expedition. Some of these events feature military-style challenges, overseen by former special ops soldiers, allowing participants to undergo a selection-like process or enjoy a boot camp atmosphere. In a culture filled with the comforts of modern life, such as Starbucks lattes and iPhones, these races satisfy a deep craving for raw, unfiltered challenges, providing a chance to earn an actual moment of transformation alongside a T-shirt or medal.

I admit I have a humble collection of 'winner t-shirts' and 'race finisher' medals. I loved the training for the races I participated in, and the feeling of competing against others and myself for the pure experience. One particular race stands out in my memory. At a pivotal moment, while climbing a steep, muddy hill under a cold, semi-bright winter sun, every muscle in my body screamed in protest, and I could taste the salt of my own sweat trickling down my face at one of the local races here in Santa Clarita Valley. The sound of my heartbeat was like a relentless drumbeat in my ears, synchronizing with the rhythmic squelch of my shoes pulling free from the thick mud. The air was filled with the earthy scent of churned earth and grass, a reminder of nature's raw power. Every agonizing step forward seemed like a triumph over myself, embodying the hero's journey in its essence and actually reminiscent of a time when I was in military fatigues overseas.

In this way, the obstacle course becomes more than a physical challenge—it serves as a metaphor for the journey of discipleship, where each struggle marks a step toward spiritual growth. The sense of accomplishment that follows is deeply rewarding, giving us stories of perseverance to share with friends, family, and even on social media. For a brief moment, we experience the hero’s journey firsthand—before returning to our daily routines, Monday-morning traffic, and the responsibilities of everyday life. We push ourselves through these routines, looking forward to those rare, meaningful breaks—like a family vacation—as milestones along our journey.

Recall the story of Odysseus, who was held captive by the goddess Calypso in her cave. Calypso offered him the gift of immortality so that he would not have to face the human struggle of old age (Butler & Dirda, 2013, p. 484)—a prize many would consider the ultimate desire. Yet, even such an extraordinary offer could not replace Odysseus’s deep longing for purpose, belonging, and home. Odysseus’ response to Calypso, before being released, reflects this enduring desire: he wished to return to his native land, to see his friends and brothers, and above all, to reunite with his wife Penelope. He famously declared, “Even if some god wrecks me when I am on the sea, I will bear it and make the best of it” (Butler & Dirda, 2013). In this, we can recognize the universal human struggle for meaning, as captured so powerfully in Homer’s epic.

Odysseus’s unwavering desire to return home mirrors our own search for purpose and belonging. Likewise, the challenges we face—whether on a muddy hill or in daily life—test and shape us. Deep within each of us is a longing to grow, to become more, and to fulfill the purpose for which God created us. If we are honest, we all seek moments of challenge that reveal and refine our character, much like Odysseus braving his trials.

I believe that God is wholeheartedly concerned with us becoming more like His Son and that He will stop at nothing to see that we get there. We were created in His image, and we were made to glorify and give Him praise.  Lest we lose sight of how to accomplish this without paying attention to His son, who gave us the example as well as others, we will never become who He created us to be.  I suggest there is a relationship between the Christian walk and “obstacle course racing”!

The Christian walk and obstacle course racing share striking parallels. Both are filled with struggles, uphill battles, and moments of victory—mirroring the journey of discipleship. Just as a runner needs essential gear to conquer a challenging course—like shoes for varied terrains or gloves for challenging obstacles—a disciple is called to equip themselves with spiritual gear (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Ephesians 6: 11). A helmet protects the head, just as salvation guards our minds. Gloves provide grip in slippery conditions, much like the shield of faith helps us hold firm in times of doubt. These tangible examples make the metaphor vivid and memorable.

When was the last time you felt pressed to your limit? Perhaps it was during a tense meeting at work or while endlessly scrolling through social media that you felt pressure to compare yourself? In those moments, what piece of spiritual gear helped you stand your ground? Personal visualization like this can transform abstract preparedness into urgent practice. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Ephesians 6: 13-15). The 'shoes of peace' serve as more than just a doctrinal idea; they can alter our day-to-day interactions. Imagine, for instance, how wearing these shoes might transform a tense commute tomorrow into an opportunity for kindness and patience. Instead of rushing in frustration, the readiness of the gospel of peace invites us to approach each encounter with calm and understanding, thereby positively impacting those around us. This shift from pretending to be religious to putting the spiritual disciplines into practice in our daily lives reveals how significant these spiritual garments can be in our relationships and interactions.

Being called to withstand the day of evil when it takes place is a challenge, but when it does, we can remember to stand firm in the truth that comes from the word. Remember the word planted deeply in your heart?  And the breastplate of righteousness, doing what is right, not showing others how right you are, but holding onto what is right, is the key. I dont know anyone who does this perfectly, but we try, and that is the key. And finally, wearing shoes that are quick to promote peace, not a war monger ready to fight, but being peaceable as much as is in your power to do so. In all circumstances, take up the shield of faith.

The shield of faith and the helmet of salvation are potent reminders that salvation is for everyone willing to obey, but for Christians, it is a complete assurance (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Ephesians 6:16-17). This assurance of salvation is more than mere comfort; it acts as the mental fortitude that sustains a disciple through life's trials. In psychological terms, certainty about one's spiritual destination can fuel perseverance, much as a runner's confidence in reaching the finish line drives them to complete a race. Much like Odysseus’s desire for his home country, he was willing to travel on the seas and deal with Poseidon's taunts and agitations on a makeshift raft for his family and country.

As we close out 2025 and prepare for the seasons ahead, consider, for instance, the work of psychologist Angela Duckworth on grit and perseverance, which highlights how long-term commitment and resilience are key to progress in both spiritual and secular pursuits. Duckworth (2016, p. 250), for instance, describes the perseverance of the Nordic territory of Finland, which is often described as sisu, an approximate translation of grit. This profound connection between theology and psychology reinforces our motivation or grit, urging us to remain steadfast on the path of discipleship.

We know we will face challenges ahead. Let us remember the true purpose behind donning our spiritual armor: to stand firm in our calling and shine as beacons of faith in a world in need of hope. This journey isn't just about personal growth, but about embodying the love and truth of our beliefs in every interaction and moment of our lives. Let this resolve send you out with renewed energy, ready to face whatever battles come your way, knowing that your armor not only protects but empowers you to fulfill your highest calling.

Together in the struggle,

Brian

References:

Butler, S., & Dirda, M. (2013). The Iliad and the Odyssey: Homer. Barnes and Noble.

Duckworth, A. (2016). Grit: The power of passion and perseverance. Scribner.

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (original work published 1973)

Beyond the Bodily Fluids: Dignity, Duty, and a Very Long Cleanup

 

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    The relentless beeping of monitors slices through the ward's stillness; each call light, alarm, beeping, or ring is a reminder of the fragile balance between life and crisis. The telementy unit is beginning to wake as the night shift ends, their twelve-hour march wrapping up bed baths, answering last-minute call lights, updating charts, sending blood samples off as the tube station “sucks” another carrier off to the laboratory, the nurse scurrying to complete the previous night's orders. My fatigued mind, belly full of at least one cup of coffee, heart pounding and racing in anticipation of what to expect after the report from the nightshift nurse, and the handoff is complete as the outgoing nurse says under her breath, “Good luck.” I can now hear an echo of the tension that fills the air. It's another day on the telemetry unit, a haven for patients grappling with cardiac disease and a host of other health challenges.

    The telemetry unit is composed of patients with cardiac disease and a myriad of other health issues. Most of the patients have uncontrolled blood pressure, out-of-control diabetes, struggle with their weight, and are non-compliant with medical prescriptions and medicines. Most patients, but not all, are ESL (English as a second language) or limited English speakers. Considering language barriers and a general literacy that falls short of a standard American high school education, one can see the dilemma of administering clinical therapy to these patient populations. As nurses, we all take courses and education to provide culturally competent care, because every human being has the right to affordable, high-quality care.

    Take, for instance, an elderly patient in her late sixties, female, from Guatemala, who struggles with both high blood pressure and diabetes. With limited English proficiency and understanding of her treatment plan, she often misses taking her medications, leading to frequent hospital visits. Her story exemplifies how communication barriers can significantly impact health outcomes. To mitigate these challenges, healthcare providers can employ practical communication strategies, such as using interpreters to facilitate understanding, using language line services to teach back to confirm patient comprehension, and providing written instructions in the patient's native language. These efforts can help bridge the communication gap and improve the quality of care.

    In the telemetry unit, staffing ratios are increasingly stretched, and resources are limited, exacerbating the challenges of delivering effective care. This situation highlights not just an individual crisis but a systemic issue within the healthcare infrastructure.

    One particular day, I finally got a less-than-adequate report on my four patients from the previous night shift RN, who was also a traveler, and when a report from the previous nurse (whose report starts out, “I barely survived.”, you already know you are going to get hammered. An incomplete handoff not only adds stress to an already demanding situation, but it can also directly affect patient safety, potentially leading to dangerous oversights or mistakes. To mitigate these issues, adopting structured handoff protocols, such as SBAR (Situation, Background, Assessment, Recommendation), can enhance clarity and ensure critical information is communicated effectively. It's also essential to actively verify and clarify any missing information before the previous shift staff leave, either by asking direct questions or using a checklist to confirm key details. Advocating for a safer handoff process, for instance, through regular feedback sessions and training, can prepare staff to deal with existing communication gaps in real time.

    I had barely finished getting a report on all of my patients when I overheard “Who has room 94?” from the central nursing station as the night-shift staff lingered around like tattered zombies, wrapping up their charts and stumbling out of the unit with sunglasses on to avoid direct sunlight. I reply with a confident, “I do,” and one of the nurse assistants on the unit says, “The patient in the room, you gotta come see this!”

    I hightail it over there to the room, though not at a code-blue speed and certainly not at a stroll through the park pace either. I get to the patient's room, and the first thing I notice is a middle-aged, confused patient standing in front of the door, and the patient is buck naked. I did not know why the patient was naked, nor could I see where the patient’s hospital gown was located. I recalled, though, that the bathroom door directly behind the patient was wide open, and I could see a trail of toilet paper on the floor (and not in the toilet where it should be). The single detail of my observation that immediately caught my attention was a clear view of the patient's IV that is no longer in their vein but on their left forearm, hanging on by a small piece of tape, actively bleeding. Assuming the patient had pulled it out, my first steps were to ensure the patient's immediate safety and call for assistance from the team. I quickly assessed the need to prevent further injury or a fall and perform first aid on the now non-functioning intravenous line, the lifeline to saving any patient, which is a working I.V. line that was now self-discontinued. My training kicked in, reminding me to prioritize infection control immediately. I ensured my gloves and gown were secure before addressing the loose IV and the hygiene issues. Securing the environment was critical. It was crucial to maintain a calm demeanor amid the chaos to prevent further stress for the patient and ensure my actions were guided by established protocols. With the team's help, we systematically began restoring order and addressing the situation. Grabbing a blanket, I draped it over the patient.

    What sent my mind through the roof was the room's shocking state when I entered. The distinctive smell and aroma hinted at an infection, an all-too-common presence in hospital settings. Ask any RN, and they will tell you that dealing with cases like these is no easy task. The room was a scene of sheer chaos, a manifestation of the struggles we face. It was clear that the situation demanded immediate attention and careful management.

    There was poop on the side rails of the bed and on the foot of the bed as well as the sheets the patient had previously been lying on, and there was poop on the bathroom walls and the handles of the bathroom door. There was visible poop on both of the patient's hands and on the buttocks, of course, and on the patient's chest and abdomen. In that moment, a wave of frustration and helplessness washed over me. It was one of those rare instances where the magnitude of the situation felt overwhelming, challenging my patience and resolve. Yet, amid the patient's dire straits and confusion, I realized that confronting these emotions head-on was essential to maintaining empathy and focus. Taking a few deep breaths, I reminded myself of the importance of staying composed. I engaged in positive self-talk, telling myself that I could handle the situation and reassure the patient effectively, although I do not believe that the patient clearly understood the gravity of the situation. Later, I knew I would need to debrief with my team to process the experience and discuss any improvements for future incidents.

    This was the worst case of a confused patient I had ever been responsible for. I said to myself, 'How am I going to clean this crap up?' I meant that literally. I had never in my career seen more poop painted on the exterior of a hospital room. I took a deep breath, gathered some supplies, gowned up, and, with the nursing assistant, headed straight into the room to clean this patient up and to start a new IV. As we entered, we quickly assessed the tasks at hand and divided them efficiently. I carefully managed the patient's IV and monitored vital signs, ensuring the IV remained secure while adhering to infection control protocols. Meanwhile, the nursing assistant and I focused on cleaning the patient and addressing hygiene concerns, reassuring the patient throughout the process to keep them calm. We engaged our environment of care stakeholders to assist with mopping, wiping, and refurbishing, ensuring clean linen and toiletries for a clean bathroom and patient room, and allowing our housekeeping staff to bring the patient's room back up to a clean state. 

    This clear division of responsibilities enabled us to efficiently restore order in a challenging situation. This all happened before 7:30 a.m. Despite the chaos, moments like these reminded me of the critical importance of resilience and teamwork in nursing. By focusing on the patient's dignity above the mess, I learned that quality care goes beyond physical treatment; it involves providing psychological comfort in distressing situations. This experience reaffirmed my commitment to treating each patient with respect, regardless of the circumstances, and highlighted the importance of collaboration in navigating demanding scenarios.

Together in the struggle,

Brian

From Classroom to Code Blue: How my First Emergency Changed Me

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   How often do you find yourself pondering the inevitability of life’s end? It's a sobering thought, and in my line of work, it is a daily reality-some patients reach the end of life. I believe that God has shown me his words are truthful through the experiences I have had working in the hospital. I have told others and shared my personal testimony that He has shown me how short life is through my work in the hospital. One of the ways that God's word comes to life for me is the Psalms, “Lord, reveal to me the end of my life and the number of my days. Let me know how transitory I am.” This may not come as a surprise, but it is not meant as amusement. It's a simple truth. 

    I want to share my first coding experience because it reflects the fragility of life. In the hospital, people get sick. Some we diagnose and treat, and they recover and leave, yet I've seen my share of other patients who come into the hospital and never leave. However, amid the solemnity, there is a quiet grace that often accompanies these end-of-life moments, an unspoken hope that lingers like a gentle whisper. It's a reminder that even in the face of life's end, there is a profound beauty in the time we have, enriching the morbid side of life that becomes very real when you work daily in intensive care units and procedure areas, constantly reminded of life's brevity. What scenes from your own life remind you that time is finite, prompting you to cherish each moment a little more deeply?

    My first experience with death was as a new graduate in the unit. This was a cardiac specialized unit. During each shift, we had five nurses caring for ten patients, providing a 2:1 nurse-to-patient ratio, with a relief charge nurse on hand. The unit was overseen by a director, and we had the support of a clinical nurse specialist. The position provided me with an opportunity, directly out of RN school, to practice under an emergency permit with the expectation that I would take my examination and licensing boards within six months of being hired. It was a great opportunity. I was enrolled in a new grad residency program that placed me in direct mentorship with a senior RN for 6 months, and I attended classes taught by nurse educators while working part-time in the unit and earning a salary. The mentorship extended to 12 months beyond the initial program. I thought I knew enough as an RN graduate, but I soon learned and was humbled in my first year caring for sick patients in the unit.

    Sadly, the very first time I coded a patient in their middle adult years who recently had heart surgery, I remember when the patient came into the unit and reported not "feeling right." The patient had just recently completed a physical endurance event, and their body weight and frame revealed nothing out of the ordinary. As a new nurse, I had been studying in my off time about our patient population of heart failure, but I did not recognize at the time how sick the patient was. I started electrocardiogram (ECG) monitoring, which continuously monitors the heart’s electrical conduction, and we continuously monitored a waveform on the monitor, along with blood pressure and pulse oximetry, to provide up-to-date vital signs regarding the patient's hemodynamics. Our physician had ordered that the patient receive a SWAN/GANS catheter, a lumen catheter inserted from the right side of the neck through the jugular vein and placed just above the right atrium of the heart in the superior vena cava. You can think of it as a pressure gauge for the heart; it measures pressures in the different chambers and provides real-time data on heart function, specifically cardiac output, which is how much blood the heart pumps in a given amount of time. If the heart is weak and damaged, the cardiac output is not that of a healthy heart. I hope this makes sense. Anyway, my patient’s heart was sick and needed to be optimized.

    In the medical sense, optimization for patients with worsening heart failure means the healthcare team starts using medicines to reduce the workload on the heart. This is accomplished in different ways, such as lowering volume through fluid restriction and diuresis with medications, as well as by using medicines that affect the heart directly, such as positive inotropes, beta-blockers, and anti-arrhythmic medications, to assist the heart and improve heart function. For example, some patients who have undergone a heart transplant take other anti-rejection medications and immunosuppressive medications to further optimize the body so that it does not aggressively reject foreign tissue. As I left for the day, a mix of emotions ran through me—anxiety about the precarious balance we had to maintain in optimizing the patient's treatment and a determination to make a difference in their care. My patient was admitted to the unit overnight, and I left that evening and would return the next day. In our unit, we would practice continuity of care, and basically, if you were on shift and were coming back the next day, you would get the same assignment as the previous one because you knew the patient. It makes giving reports a lot easier because you are familiar with the patient.

    The next day, when I came into work, I received my patient assignments.  I took care of this individual the next day and, after a brief rundown of the night before, assumed care of my patient and began my assessment.  As an RN, we start the shift with a thorough patient assessment and chart checks, including reviewing completed physician orders and administering prescribed therapies.  I remember doing my physical assessment, talking to the patient, listening to the lungs and heart, and at the time, the lungs were clear. I also listened to the heart sounds; S1 and S2 were faint. Those are the “lub-dub, lub-dub” sounds one hears when auscultating (listening) over the heart.  I remember them being faint, and I checked the EKG on the monitor and saw the voltage was low. The EKG showed a dampened or weak rhythm compared to a normal rhythm.

    The patient's demeanor began to shift as the morning wore on. They sat slightly hunched, their breathing more labored, and though the monitor still showed a pulse oximetry above 94% on room air, something felt different. Their skin took on a clammy, pallid tone, and a fine sheen of perspiration covered their forehead. When the patient whispered, "I don't feel well," the vulnerability in their voice resonated deeply with me. In that moment, I recognized the importance of not just clinical data but listening closely to what my patients were telling me. This became a turning point in my practice—reminding me that behind every monitor and assessment is a person whose words and instincts can reveal what numbers sometimes cannot. From that day forward, I promised myself to always honor the human experience in my patient assessments, especially in those quiet moments when a patient expresses discomfort or fear.

    But I, caught up in my routine, continued to assess my other patient that morning, following the usual process. I began by entering each room, quickly scanning the environment for safety hazards and equipment issues. I checked the monitors for vital signs, greeted my patients to gauge their responsiveness, and examined the intravenous drips—confirming flow rates, dosages, and that all IV sites were intact and free from complications. This was my standard workflow before moving on to the comprehensive, head-to-toe assessment later in the shift.

    When it was time for morning medications, I carefully prepared and administered oral medications, including Lasix—a potent diuretic that helps the heart by reducing excess fluid in the body. I helped patients with breakfast, updated my charts, and checked for new physician orders for our unit secretary to process. To put the importance of Lasix into perspective: think about how, every time you drink water and later urinate, your body is quietly working to maintain a delicate internal balance. In healthy individuals, the heart and kidneys work in harmony to maintain fluid levels just right. As nurses, we aim to support and restore that natural equilibrium, especially for those whose hearts can no longer manage on their own.

    However, in the presence of heart failure, a diseased heart, or acute rejection by the body, if you are taking in fluid, the heart is unable to compensate for the increased fluid volume, and the patient does not make urine to remove this extra volume because heart function is poor.  To assist the body in ridding itself of excess volume and to reduce the workload on the heart, diuretics help the kidneys expel excess fluid.   My patient received a dose of Lasix, and I remember leaving the room to continue with my activities of the day.

    I remember our unit had a nurse assistant, telling me that my patient had reported feeling 'dizzy.' This time, I immediately entered the room and recorded the blood pressure at 65/30. The patient was lying in bed, and I asked how they were doing; again, the patient reported feeling 'lightheaded.' I rechecked the blood pressure; however, the monitor did not register a sufficient systolic, diastolic, MAP, or mean arterial pressure. More importantly, the blood pressure was less than 50, and I knew this was not good, as I could not feel a radial pulse at all; it was weak and thready. I recall the unsettling sensation of the pulse slipping away beneath my fingertips, the warmth diminishing with each passing moment, leaving a cold imprint of urgency in its absence.

    Appropriately, I called one of the senior nurses into the room and reapplied the pressure. This time, the blood pressure was 50/34. The patient was reporting increased dizziness and not feeling well, and we immediately started intravenous dopamine to support the blood pressure. Not long after beginning the dopamine, the patient grabbed my arm and told me, "Brian, tell my family that I love them." I remember telling the patient, "You're going to tell them yourself. You are going to be alright; I am here." Those were the last words the patient ever spoke, and I was the last person to whom they were spoken. Imagine hearing that in your first months as a new graduate nurse, unprepared for this. The following moment I recall is a mega code that lasted at least 3 hours. Trying to resuscitate this patient was difficult and tiresome. We ran the code with CPR and drugs, and even a cardio-thoracic surgeon came to the bedside to put the patient on ECMO (extracorporeal membrane oxygenation). ECMO is a procedure in which a doctor inserts large-bore catheters into one’s femoral artery and vein, which are then connected to a machine that circulates and oxygenates the blood because the heart is unable to do so. It is incredibly invasive and gruesome to do in a chaotic environment.

    Walking out of the unit that day, exhausted and emotionally spent, I realized that nursing is as much about compassion and presence as it is about clinical skill. I learned that sometimes, despite doing everything right, the outcome can still be tragic—and that being there for a patient in their final moments is an act of profound humanity. This experience taught me to listen more closely to my patients, to trust my instincts, and to never underestimate the impact of a simple, reassuring word or gesture. Above all, I learned that every life, no matter how brief or fragile, deserves dignity, respect, and care. These lessons continue to shape me, both as a nurse and as a person, reminding me that in the face of loss, there is still space for empathy and growth.

Together in the struggle,

Brian

No More Hiding: Notes from 2 1/2 Years Sober

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In the journey of life, we often encounter choices that shape our paths and leave lasting impressions. Picture this: a young boy in Texas, peering over the fence of adolescence, clutching a cold Miller Lite in one hand and a Marlboro cigarette in the other. It was 8th grade, and the allure of rebellion seemed irresistible. The stress of fitting in and the desire for a quick escape from school's pressures fueled my actions. This image of naïve defiance serves as both a beginning and a powerful lesson. My story unfolds as a cautionary guide, revealing the lessons I learned the hard way, so you don’t have to walk the same treacherous road.

When I was a young boy, I started drinking and smoking—not to glorify those choices, but to be honest about my journey. These experiences shaped who I am today. I acknowledge my past, but I use it as a reminder of how far I’ve come and to encourage anyone reading this that change is possible. I’ve made mistakes; smoking and drinking are just a few. During my time in the Marines, these habits became a way to fill empty hours, but they never led to true fulfillment. What truly made a difference was having a few good friends by my side. Whenever I felt tempted to slip back into old habits, my buddies were there to support me, offering healthier alternatives and encouragement. If you’re facing similar struggles, seek out friends who lift you up, or try new activities—physical training, hobbies, or simply talking things through with someone you trust. These positive steps are not just distractions; they’re stepping stones to a richer, healthier life. Remember, every small choice in the right direction is a victory worth celebrating.

Although I used to enjoy a good whiskey or beer every so often, I have now been sober for over two and a half years—not a single drop has touched my lips. This change has brought real rewards: improved health, more energy, greater focus, and deeper, more meaningful time with my loved ones. The clarity and renewed sense of purpose I’ve gained are worth every challenge along the way. For those in the military or any high-responsibility role, the consequences of overindulgence can be severe—a DUI, for example, can delay promotions and impact your future. But the benefits of sobriety go far beyond avoiding adverse outcomes. They open doors to stronger relationships, self-respect, and the chance to be fully present in your own life. If you’re considering a change, know it’s possible and that the rewards are real. Choose progress over perfection, and celebrate every step forward.

I used to drink Imperial Stouts and bourbon now and then, but I’ve chosen to leave them behind—and I share these moments to celebrate how far I’ve come. There’s incredible strength in choosing sobriety, and it’s something to be proud of every day. Building a support network is key: spend time with friends who encourage healthy choices, and seek out activities that bring you joy. When you’re feeling down, reach out to someone you trust—connection is a powerful antidote to old habits. And always, always have a plan for getting home safely. Instead of focusing on what you’re giving up, celebrate what you’re gaining: new hobbies, community involvement, and a more profound sense of fulfillment. These commitments don’t just protect your health—they open up new, rewarding chapters in your life. If the journey feels overwhelming, remember that you’re not alone. Take that small, proactive step—call a friend, try something new, or seek support. Every effort counts, and your story can inspire others, too.

I want to share a quick story. At a work Christmas party a few years ago, I had two beers with dinner. As my wife and I were driving home around 10 p.m., we approached a DUI checkpoint. The sight of flashing red and blue lights ahead made my heart pound. Reacting to my anxiety, I made a poor decision and asked my wife to switch seats with me right before the checkpoint. We assumed we were in the clear after passing through, but soon sirens blared as police cars pulled us over. Surrounded by officers, they asked my wife if she'd been drinking, and she truthfully said no. They then turned to me and asked if I had been driving earlier. I admitted that I had driven after having two beers. An officer informed us that a car behind had reported the switch. In that moment, I had what I now call an 'Integrity Checkpoint', where the truth had to come out, consequences be damned. Thankfully, after a sobriety test, which I passed, they let us go with a stern warning. The lesson is clear: do not drink and drive, and always have a safe way to get home. Reflect on your choices and ask yourself: Who will you call before your next drink to ensure you have a secure way home?

Together in the struggle,

Brian

Stripped Down to Strength: Becoming a Marine

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I was in the second phase of Marine Corps boot camp at Edson Range, where we learned to handle the M16A2 rifle with precision. Sundays were usually for writing letters home, polishing boots, and enjoying a short chapel service. But this Sunday stood out. It left me pondering: What does true strength mean, and how do I cultivate it through this particular situation? What does this moment have to do with becoming a Marine?

The California heat filled the squad bay, mixing with the smell of sweat and nervous anticipation. My rack mate and I sat together on our splintered footlockers, our backs sticking to the metal bed frames, while the scribe recruit closed the curtains for privacy. Silence settled in, heavy and unyielding, as if the air itself was holding its breath. I glanced at my rack mate, meeting his eyes just briefly before we both looked away, unsure of what to expect. A shuffle of feet, an awkward cough, and then the moment stretched a little longer. Then we heard the order: "Hug your rack mate."

We sat there, arms around each other, roughly thirty-five pairs of recruits forming a circle, all of us feeling awkward and unsure. The hug itself wasn’t what embarrassed me. It was being stripped of everything: no camouflage fatigues, no green t-shirt, no white underwear, no black boot socks, no comfort, and not even our pride. We were as exposed as we had ever been, both physically and emotionally.

In that hot, shaded squad bay, I held my equally embarrassed rack mate. We were both sweating, and the smell was intense; the odors of perspiration clung to our foreheads, chests, and bodies. For the first time, I wondered: What did I get myself into? Amidst the sensory barrage, a fragment of my childhood flashed before me—would that Gulf Coast Texas kid, dreaming of being a Rambo or the next Commando, the hero I saw in movies, make it out of here? Here I was, facing the grime but feeling a flicker of resolve inside me, a quiet reminder of the strength I had always sought. This raw, uncomfortable moment contrasted starkly with my youthful aspirations, but perhaps this was the challenge I needed for transformation.

This might not be the introduction you expected. I'm not offering a polished self-help book. Instead, you'll find a carefully curated collection of journal entries and notes I've gathered over the years. At first, I wanted to write a memoir for my children—a handbook from Dad. As the idea grew, I realized I could share my story with more people. No matter who reads this, my goal is the same: to share my journey as a U.S. Marine, father, husband, registered nurse, and follower of Jesus. If anyone questions my right to write, I rely on my training and experience. At its core, this memoir seeks to reach anyone striving for resilience and purpose, guiding you to find strength in your own life's challenges, just as I did in mine.

When I arrived in San Diego in July and stepped onto the yellow footprints as a recruit from Texas, the drill instructors met me right away. Amid the chaos and noise, one of their voices cut through like a blade: "Welcome to the United States Marine Corps recruit depot San Diego, get off the bus!" That single line felt like a thunderbolt, asserting their authority without question. I never doubted their credentials, education, or authority. Before the Marines, my father filled that role, with my mother close behind, then grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers, coaches, and family friends who kept me in line.

You might wonder about my credentials as a writer. Honestly, I have no formal qualifications, unless you count my military training and experience as a registered nurse. But let me ask you this: Have you ever doubted your own qualifications? That feeling of vulnerability and uncertainty is something we all face at different points in our lives. As you join me on this journey through my story, I invite you to reflect on your own experiences and consider how your unique journey has equipped you in ways you might not expect.

Let’s talk about drill instructors. Their authority came from who they were, what they stood for, and how they carried themselves. When I first met them, their lean bodies and sharp uniforms said it all. No one told us about their training, backgrounds, or what their ribbons meant. They led by example—through their actions, words, and steady presence. Their esprit de corps was strong and confident. They weren’t personal trainers, CEOs, motivational speakers, professors, pastors, Olympians, or life coaches. They were disciplined, battle-tested, and had finished tough training, including combat deployments and D.I. school. Their goal wasn’t just to turn boys into men, but to make us United States Marines. And they did.

I’m 51 years old and was born on 9/11. Over the years, I've faced my share of hurts, habits, and hang-ups—a phrase I learned from friends and mentors. Everyone has struggles, and I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with my own, including fighting for sobriety. Each of these struggles has served as a checkpoint in my journey, marking a point of challenge and growth. Sobriety became a milestone of resilience, parenting a lesson in patience and love, while faith offered a foundation for my values. Even with setbacks, I keep trying to set the example. I’m always learning and adapting, and I believe these checkpoints have given me insights worth sharing. While I first wrote this for my children, I realized it could speak to others, too, offering them a map of personal milestones to anticipate their own growth.

I’m writing this memoir to share my thoughts on what it takes to be strong—mentally, physically, and maybe even spiritually. As someone still learning, my words might come across as blunt, brash, or even boastful at times, and sometimes desperate or sad. Some parts are honest reflections on specific moments in my life, while others come from my time in the Marine Corps or working as a nurse. You’ll find conviction, vulnerability, motivation, and self-examination here. I wrote everything from the heart, just as I felt it.

To encapsulate this part of my journey, here's what I’ve learned: true strength is the steadfast resolve to face every challenge head-on, embracing the imperfections and lessons along the way. Think of it as your field order for life: adapt, overcome, and persist. Let's carry this mindset forward.

I am deeply grateful for the example the Marines set in my life, but I have found an even greater teacher: Jesus.

With humility and honesty, I share my many failed attempts to make life meaningful. I offer you these experiences—what has worked for me and what hasn’t—hoping they might help you too. My goal is to serve, not to seek honor, except the honor that belongs to God, who gave me the ability to write. I hope you’ll read with an open mind and find something useful.

You might wonder what the purpose was behind hugging my rack mate, completely exposed, for what felt like hours that day. That experience forced me to confront the reality that everything—even my dignity—could be stripped away. Only then could I truly begin to understand what it means to adapt and overcome. 

Together in the struggle,

Brian

Outgrown: How We Outgrow the Bullies Who Once Defined Us

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The late Eugene H. Peterson, a professor and lecturer turned church pastor, authored a readable Bible version called The Message, and one of the many letters that the first-century apostle Paul wrote to the residents of Corinth, Peterson has translated into words for the typical reader. The biblical text informs us why Paul was discussing his thorn in his side, or it could have been a particular ailment. Scholars agree that it was some form of affliction we can all relate to, meant to keep Paul humble and prevent him from getting a big head or an overinflated sense of self-esteem because of his connection with God. If we are open, we all relate to the text that Peterson updated, that I have been given a disability in life, which reminds me of my personal limits and the necessity of God's grace in my life (Peterson, 2002, 2 Cor. 12:7). The point is that such times I believe situations, circumstances and what we experience from others like shrewd interactions, ruthless behavior, and tough challenges are part of shaping our character as we mature.

I am currently catching up on the series "Stranger Things". The Netflix show is set to release another season this Thanksgiving holiday, so we are revisiting the pre-pandemic episodes, and I've grown quite fond of it. The series resonates with those of us who grew up in the eighties; in fact, I recognize every song it references. The producers have creatively told the story of good versus evil through a Dungeons & Dragons lens, infused with an eighties twist. It's engaging and relatable.

Although I never played Dungeons & Dragons consistently, I did have a basic paper character profile with entry-level powers. I managed to earn some money mowing lawns in my neighborhood, which I used to buy some cool multi-sided, variously colored dice in the seventh or eighth grade. I role-played a few times with childhood friends who lived down the street, but I eventually lost interest and never picked it up again during junior high.

The series describes the lives of a few kids who live in a relatively safe town, but there is a mirror image of the city that is the underworld in the show, reminiscent of good and evil. As such, the goon squad of nerdy kids tries to figure out ways to battle the dark forces affecting their town, displaying true friendship, camaraderie, and a sense of community to ward off the evil spirits, which I believe anyone can identify with in the on-screen story. If you were born in the seventies and eighties, hints of The Goonies come through in the Netflix series.  

Netflix has captured the point of view of the nerdy kid facing bullying from popular peers, but showing that they can be holders of great resolve, character, and true grit. There is not a single person who will not be reminded of their personal battles and experiences in overcoming life's challenges from adolescence to adulthood. These themes are common across all cultures throughout human history. For instance, the Israelites cried out to God, feeling like grasshoppers compared to the surrounding tribes that threatened them (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Numbers 13:33). This illustrates that giants in our lives are a common experience. The stories in scripture highlight how we can overcome them with God's assistance.

Many people are familiar with the heroic story of David and Goliath. Goliath, the Philistine warrior, was more than two feet taller than Shaquille O'Neal, could carry over 100 pounds of armor, and had extensive combat experience. He faced David, a young and healthy farm boy, but was ultimately defeated by the strength of God (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, 1 Samuel 17). This story reminds us that we often encounter challenges that seem overwhelming. However, with the support of friends, our faith, and God's strength, we can overcome these obstacles, endure with resilience, and grow from them. 

References:

Peterson, E. H. (2002). The Message Bible. NavPress.

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (original work published 1973)

Stronger than Trials: With God's Help We Overcome

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For generations, men of great heart and undaunted nerve have written literature, sung songs, and proclaimed here and there the feats, conquests, and adventures while overcoming their adversaries. Enemies and opponents who surrounded them, oppressed and afflicted them and their families, and drove them to the brink of despair, breaking their spirits in anticipation of a purge and wounding their morale in the hopes of being conquered and diminishing the will to strive in the ring of life. Still, time and time again those same courageous victors have proclaimed God was there help (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Psalm 118: 13). Has it ever occurred to you, during your quiet times of contemplation and meditation, that God drives away and defends our cause against those who stand against us, not because of some great integrity or uprightness of heart on our part, but because of the immeasurable darkness in others?

Consider this: isn't it easier to believe that when we do well, have good things, and experience small victories, it's because we've had a brief moment of proper living and charitable character as a result? In these times, we think highly of ourselves and fall in love with our performance. We take pride in our good deeds and believe we are blessed, serving as a good example for others, because divine light shines upon our path. However, the truth of the matter is that darkness can and does live in our hearts as well. We know this from Old Testament study, and like the Israelites, chosen as an instrument for God's purposes, they were not always on their best behavior. However, God still protected and took care of them, lest they think they were special and better than other nations, as he told them they were stubborn (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Deuteronomy 9:1-7). Having stated clearly what precedes, we must pay attention to the writing on the wall to avoid the risk of slipping off a steep slope and losing our footing, off into a great coma, becoming narcotized and intoxicated with self-praise—the cataracts of self-congratulation that blind our sight of God's help.

It is precisely then that a man must take caution and be on guard, for he might be divinely relieved of his duty when he believes that his walk is unimpeded or his sail has a fair, strong wind because of his effort. It is because of who God is that we do well. As Heschel (2001, p. 501) stated more eloquently, man is a blank canvas deep inside; the candle of his heart is barely lit, and the light is overcast because he lacks the capacity and has not been endowed with supernatural strength to rise above his limitations. It is not because of our excellent exploits or achievements. We remember the trials that paint our potholed past, as we ask ourselves, did I really get myself where I am today? Or did God have something to do with it?

References:

Heschel, A. J. (2001). The prophets. Perennial.

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (original work published 1973)