There I was—at death’s door. Brain activity nearly gone. No response to physical stimulation. My family was preparing for the worst, discussing options for my lifeless body. And yet… in my heart, I was at peace.

How could that be? What was happening inside me while, on the outside, my world was collapsing?

What I discovered is this: when everything else is stripped away, only one thing truly matters—relationships. That’s it. I didn’t think once about my accomplishments or possessions. These things that once defined me didn’t even register. All I wanted in that moment was to be with my loved ones.

But here’s where it got hard: I couldn’t interact with them. I was surrounded by their love, yet I couldn’t speak, couldn’t thank them, couldn’t say “I love you.” Despite being freed from the burdens of the world, I stood at the edge of my own personal hell. As Howard Jones put it in his ‘80s hit No One Is to Blame:

“You can see the menu, but you just can’t eat.”

And then—

Something beautiful happened.

I wasn’t alone.

When I cried out in despair, my thoughts didn’t echo into emptiness. They were answered. Not by a visible figure—but by a voice. A voice I recognized as my own, yet it spoke with a depth of love I had never known.

It wasn’t the love of a wife, a daughter, a mother, or even a friend. It was the love of a Father.

A father’s love is unique. Its only goal is your best interest—not comfort, not convenience, but truth. That’s the voice I heard. No matter how many times I asked the same question, that voice never grew tired. It never wavered. It answered always with patience, wisdom, and love. It comforted me. Sustained me. It turned my personal hell into peace. I was free of the weight of this world, surrounded by love, and held close by One who would never leave me.

Eventually, that chapter ended. The veil lifted. I woke up, able to speak again, to see my loved ones. During those uncertain weeks, no one knew if I’d come back—or if I did, what state I’d be in. But when I returned, I was… better. Joyful. Grateful. Overflowing with love.

Doctors, nurses, therapists—everyone was amazed at the state of my mind and spirit. They had seen others emerge from similar experiences traumatized. They assumed I’d be the same. But I wasn’t.

Why?

Because I wasn’t alone in that darkness. I had the voice of peace—the voice of a Father. My Father.

Fast forward seventeen years.

Life has settled down, but my conversations with my Father are just as strong. For a long time, I assumed that anyone who claimed to be “saved” experienced the same intimacy. But recently, I’m not so sure.

The more I engage with groups of fellow believers, the more I notice a trend: the study of faith has overtaken the practice of relationship. Conversations often become exercises in quoting Bible verses, debating interpretations, and arriving at shared doctrinal conclusions. Everyone walks away feeling more informed—but I often walk away feeling disconnected.

I’m not great at citing verses. Instead, I try to ask questions that get at the heart—how we live our faith, how we apply it. But those questions often fall flat. Silence follows. And then, the group retreats back to scripture—where it feels safe again.

It leaves me wondering:

Is Bible knowledge the ultimate measure of faith?

Maybe I’m wrong. But these experiences often make me feel insecure, like I don’t belong. And that breaks my heart—not just for me, but for all of us. Because I know from experience that when you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, knowledge alone doesn’t sustain you. A relationship does.

I fear many have skipped the relationship and gone straight to scripture. That they’re living faith in theory, not in practice.

Maybe it’s easier to explain it the way Jesus did—with a parable:

Two young men came of age and pursued their futures.

One moved away to attend a prestigious university, earning degrees in his father’s field—Associate’s, Bachelor’s, and Master’s.

The other stayed home, apprenticing under his father, working his way up as a journeyman and eventually a master craftsman—without formal education.

One day, the father announced it was time to name a successor.

The educated son stood proudly. “Father,” he said, “make me your successor. I have studied under the greatest teachers. I know every theory and concept of your business. My brother has none of my knowledge.”

But the father replied, “While it’s true you have great knowledge, I will give the business to your brother. Because I know his heart—and I do not know yours.”

I pray my neighbors—and all believers—will seek a relationship with God first. That they’ll engage in daily conversation with Him, and use the Bible to deepen that relationship, not replace it. So that when their valley comes—as it came for me—they’ll have more than memory verses.

They’ll have peace.

They’ll have the voice of a Father.

They’ll never be alone.

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Mr. McGillicuddy , Who Rescued Who? is my story of two torn lives, inextricably wound together to make each whole. Experience the humor, frustration, joy and sorrow as these two learn to lean on each other and make life meaningful after trauma

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David Wood, reporter for the Huffington Post and a one who I consider a friend, recently asked a compelling question- “When does a Wounded Warrior move past being a Wounded Warrior? What is that journey like?” I felt that this question begs to answer also, “What can I do if the one I care about is struggling to get through this? I start by trying to help understand what is going on and then how to help without jeopardizing the relationship.

First the journey we are speaking of is actually one of mourning. We don’t realize it, but we mourn many things. As humans, we resist change. We go through some form of mourning every time there is a change. It is a natural, healthy phenomenon. Some pass through this phase faster than others, but we all pass through it. I still mourn certain things. For example- I just recently started getting dental reconstruction from the blast although my teeth have been a wreck for 7 years. Why did I wait 7 years to do it? Because the only fix was crowns. Lots and lots of crowns. That meant shaving down the old teeth and adding in new ones. The old teeth had already had root canals done and were turning 3 different shades of gray. Why would anyone wait? It only took 3 hours to fix. It’s because for some reason, I had to mourn the loss of my once beautiful teeth. My pride. I don’t know why I suddenly changed my attitude, I was just ready. I marched straight into the dentist and we shaved those suckers right off. Now I have a great smile again. Last year this time you couldn’t have tied me to the chair to get it done. I don’t know why it took so long. Another example is my hair. I fight year after year with the VA to replace old worn out prosthetic hair peices. I ask friends and acquintenaces alike if they think they would judge me any differently without it and even take it off for them and the say no. Not after about 30 seconds of talking with me would they even notice. Yet I don’t want to let it go. I am not ready yet. I know I will be and I think it may be soon but in the mean time, I need to go through the process. In many other ways, I pushed through the mourning process. I lost a good career, but chose not to let it get in the way. It was too important to pick up the peices and keep marching. Life was too short to sit on the back porch and let it get the best of me. It decided it would be easier to not let the thought enter my head and face the world than to sit and contemplate it all. So I pushed through the mourning. I maintained my right to leave at any minute, but never did because I was afraid to go down that dark road. I figured it is easier to stay in the light.

If the one you care about has allowed themself to go down that road, it’s hard to get out. What can others do to help?

First, listen for them seeking validation. Like Stephen R. Covey mentions in his book, “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People & The 8th Habit” we need to speak validation into others. The individual may be fishing for validation that they are capable and more importantly, worth it. As you listen to them, jump on any comment that fishes for validation. “You could do that!” or “I don’t know what your waiting for!” are amazingly helpful. They are seeds that you don’t get to watch germinate. But they germinate late at night when doubt creeps in and the words, “You don’t need to do a thing. This country owes you. Just sit back and take the handouts you deserve”. The truth is, these words rob our self worth. We sink deeper and deeper into a hole. What we need to hear is, “You have LIFE left inside of you! Make this second chance WORTH something! If you quit now, the enemy WON.” Listen for fishing for validation and heap it on whenever you do.

Next, speak it into existance yourself! It’s easier to see in others what we miss in ourselves. You don’t even need to wait for it, find it and speak it, but it MUST be authentic. It’s not hard to do, but it does take a bit of mental effort. Be prepared for counters of excuses that society has fed them. When the excuses come back, empathize, don’t sympathize. Be understanding, but stand your ground. If you see potential, say it even if there are hurdles to overcome.

Bottom line, you can help bridge this gap for them. It is a condition that WE, America, has created and WE, America need to help overcome. You may never hear how your words changed their lives. Maybe one day, long after your words of encouragement are have faded into the past, you’ll find out they were the words that bridged the gap. Either way, these words need to be spoken for our Wounded Warriors to move beyond being Wounded Warriors.