When I first stepped into the United States Marine Corps in the 1990s, I never imagined the path ahead. For anyone who has wondered about a life of service, my journey took me across two branches— the Marine Corps and later the Army— shaping who I became and what I learned. I retired with a total of 23 years of service, and in sharing my story, I hope to offer a glimpse into the meaning, the challenges, and the lessons that service can bring. In those decades, I faced critical transitions, personal challenges, and enduring lessons. By sharing these lessons, I hope to offer perspective and value to the next generation whether they choose service or another path of purpose.
I chose the Marine Corps largely because my older brother was already a Marine. Growing up, I knew if I picked another branch, I would never hear the end of it! But it wasn’t just rivalry. I admired the Marines’ camaraderie and history. Once I joined, it deepened the bond with my brother. For decades now, we have shared the Marine Corps birthday— a tradition unlike any other in my family. The pride, discipline, and legacy of the Corps shaped me, not just as a Marine, but as a brother and a leader.
After my discharge from the Marine Corps, I thought my service was over. But after 9/11, the Army gave me a second chance. With different standards, they offered me not only a role I wanted, but a renewed sense of purpose and even a bonus. In the Army, I had the pleasure of serving in the Republic of Korea, in Germany, and with Army Central Command both in the United States and abroad. Those experiences fast-tracked me into leadership roles, pushing me to grow faster than I had imagined. As I advanced in leadership, I ultimately chose to assess for warrant officer in my field. This transition changed everything: my responsibilities, my role, and even how I related to those I once served alongside. I now had to approach the mission with a broader perspective, knowing that my actions and decisions carried new weight.
Being selected as a Warrant Officer was one of the greatest honors of my military career, but it was also one of the most difficult transitions I would ever experience. Overnight, my responsibilities changed. I was no longer viewed solely as a leader of Soldiers but as a technical expert and trusted advisor to commanders. That change required me to rethink not only how I approached the mission, but also how I approached people. Relationships with peers naturally evolved, expectations increased, and every recommendation I made carried greater weight. I quickly learned that technical competence alone would never be enough. To be effective, I had to earn the trust of both commanders and the Soldiers I served by remaining approachable, objective, and committed to the mission above myself. As I progressed from Warrant Officer One through Chief Warrant Officer Three, I came to appreciate that the most respected leaders were rarely the loudest or the most authoritative. They were the ones who listened first, remained teachable, and never forgot who they were serving. That realization fundamentally changed my perspective on leadership. I discovered that true influence is earned through competence, integrity, consistency, and humility. It took time for me to mature into that perspective, and now, looking back, I recognize those lessons as some of the most valuable of my career— not only in uniform, but in every aspect of my life that followed.
While deployed to Kandahar, Afghanistan, serving with U.S. Forces Afghanistan in the Kandahar Intelligence Fusion Center, I was responsible for providing daily intelligence briefings to coalition forces conducting combat operations throughout southern Afghanistan. Over time, I developed close relationships with many of the service members I briefed, watching them prepare for missions day after day and welcoming them back when they returned. During many of those operations, I also monitored live video feeds from multiple intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) platforms providing overwatch for the forces on the ground. On one tragic day, while observing one of those live feeds, I witnessed the attack that claimed the lives of seven of my friends. The enemy had concealed improvised explosive devices within the compound walls and around the property, turning what appeared to be a routine operation into a devastating loss. Witnessing their final moments in real time forever changed my understanding of the true cost of military service.
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While I was on patrol in Kabul in August, a blast threw me approximately eight to ten feet into a parked vehicle. I suffered a concussion, a ruptured eardrum, abrasions, and other blast-related injuries that required immediate medical treatment. Less than two months later, on October 6, 2009, I was part of a multi-vehicle Humvee convoy that came under attack. An improvised explosive device detonated beneath the lead vehicle, bringing the convoy to an immediate halt. Moments later, a second explosion struck the trail vehicle, effectively trapping us in an enemy ambush with no avenue of escape. After engaging in the firefight and helping secure the area, I returned to my Humvee. Within moments, another buried IED detonated near the front passenger side of my vehicle, knocking me unconscious. I regained consciousness while receiving emergency medical treatment before being evacuated back to Kandahar for additional care. Those two concussive events, occurring less than two months apart, would prove to be far more significant than I could have imagined.
Because of my career field, it was a common fear that admitting to psychological impacts from trauma might jeopardize one’s security clearance. Because of that, I began to avoid follow-on medical treatment for my injuries— choices that would shape the long-term effects to come.
Having witnessed the loss of close friends and having survived multiple concussive blast injuries in such a short period of time, my life was changed in ways I could not have understood at the time. Ironically, after spending years learning that humility was one of the greatest attributes of effective leadership, I found myself abandoning that very principle when I needed it most. Because of the career field I served in, there was a common belief that admitting to psychological struggles or cognitive difficulties could jeopardize one’s security clearance and, ultimately, one’s career. Rather than asking for help, I convinced myself I could simply push through it. Pride replaced humility, and for more than a decade I lived with both PTSD and post-concussive syndrome resulting from multiple concussive injuries. Those conditions slowly influenced nearly every aspect of my life. They affected my judgment, my relationships, my career, and, most painfully, my family. My wife and children experienced the consequences alongside me, even though they had never stepped onto the battlefield.
It was not until after I retired that I finally recognized the error of my ways. A close friend and fellow veteran’s testimony opened my eyes to the pride that had blinded me. Mike Stone reminded me of the very lessons I had learned throughout my military career but had failed to apply in my own life for nearly a decade. I recommitted myself to God. I focused on obedience to what God was calling me to do, that being a strong devotion to serving my family, my community, and others. In that obedience, I began to experience genuine healing. That healing restored not only my own life, but also my family’s. It renewed relationships that had been strained for years, brought peace back into our home, and restored a sense of happiness and purpose that had slowly disappeared for more than a decade.
If I could leave one message for the next generation, it would be this: never forget the life lessons you have learned— live them. Integrity and accountability are not qualities to embrace only when they are convenient; they must become part of your character. Learn the difference between confidence and pride. Confidence allows you to lead with conviction. Pride convinces you that you no longer need others. Never allow pride to keep you from asking for help when you need it. Today, I am proud to be an Alaskan, proud to be a local small business owner, and grateful for the opportunities I have been given to continue serving others. Most of all, I am thankful to give back to my community, to the servicemen, women, and veterans who will always be my brothers and sisters in arms, and to remain obedient to God and my Lord Jesus Christ. If sharing my experiences helps even one person avoid the mistakes I made, encourages someone to seek help before pride gets in the way, or inspires one young American to pursue a life of purpose and service, then every lesson I learned was worth sharing
