10/25/2026
CHAPLAIN’S CORNER
The Things That Haunt Us
Gather around, kids. Let me tell you a horror story.
It begins with a bottle of Ranger candy, a pair of wet socks, and the chilling words:
“Your appointment has been rescheduled.”
Somewhere in the distance, VA hold music begins to play. The parking lot is full. The coffee pot is empty. A printer demands a PIN that no living person remembers.
Then, from the end of a long fluorescent hallway, a voice whispers:
“We need a few volunteers.”
Even the bravest veteran just felt a cold chill.
Most of those “horrors” eventually become stories we laugh about—the kind that were not particularly funny when they happened but somehow improve with age and the right audience.
Other fears do not disappear when the lights come back on.
A frightening diagnosis. Waiting for test results. Facing another procedure. Losing part of your independence. Wondering whether your body will continue doing what you need it to do. Painful memories that return without warning. Or thoughts that become much louder after everyone else has gone to sleep.
Those are the things that can follow us home.
Veterans are exceptionally skilled at moving forward while carrying things no one else can see. We know how to complete the mission, take care of the person beside us, and postpone our own needs until some imaginary “later.”
I know that instinct because “push through it and deal with it later” has been one of my own unofficial operating instructions.
The problem is that later has a way of arriving.
Courage does not mean nothing frightens us. It does not require pretending we have everything under control or waiting until fear becomes unbearable before saying something.
Real courage can look like admitting:
“This scares me.”
It can mean asking someone to sit with you while you wait for an answer, accepting a ride, requesting prayer, or telling a trusted person that everything has felt a little too heavy lately.
Fear grows when it convinces us to remain silent and alone. Fellowship turns on a light.
The light may not change the diagnosis, remove the uncertainty, or shorten the road ahead. But it reminds us that we do not have to walk it alone.
As your Auxiliary Chaplain, I may not have every answer or know how to defeat every monster hiding around the next corner. But I can listen, pray, and help remind you that fear does not get the final word.
You do not have to clear every dark hallway by yourself.
If you or someone you care about is in the hospital, recovering at home, facing a difficult medical season, or simply having a hard and lonely week, please let me know. I would be honored to send a card, offer a prayer, or check in with a friendly voice.
You can reach out by:
• Commenting below if you feel comfortable doing so
• Sending the page a private message
• Emailing [email protected]
If you are reaching out about someone else, please contact us privately and, whenever possible, with their permission. Anything shared privately will be treated with care, discretion, and respect.
“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.”
— Psalm 56:3
