The sun had not yet come up. The morning was quiet and still. I was tired. My body ached, and all I wanted was sleep. My eyes struggled to adjust to the glow of a streetlight in the distance. I could barely make out the bugs swarming through its beam. I caught myself thinking about how nice it would be to fly away. How freeing it must be to exist without stress. To escape the hurricane of pressure that had become my new reality.

The smell of shaving cream and protein bars pulled me back to the present. The air was thick with humidity, and sweat had already soaked through my undershirt. That was when the instructor stepped outside, yelling about something or someone, reminding everyone of his authority and our place beneath it. Encouragement never came during training. Correction came loudly and publicly. True encouragement came later, in combat, from leaders who led by example, with humility and selflessness. I remain grateful for those leaders and the lessons they instilled.

At this point in my career, I was in training, facing a ruck march I never wanted to do. Simply put, a ruck march is a long movement under load. A heavy pack sits on your back, often weighing more than forty pounds, though it never feels exact and always feels heavier. We moved fast, not running, usually for twelve miles. The aluminum frame dug into places no muscle protected. Nerves were pinched, circulation cut off, skin rubbed raw, and feet blistered and tore long before the end. Everyone knew what was coming. None of it was new.

Then came the command to move. The ruck already felt heavy, and we had not taken a single step. I was never the best at ruck marches. That honor usually went to the soldier with the longest stride. I was never the worst either. I was somewhere above the middle, and I took pride in that. I was competitive. More importantly, I knew I had the mental strength to finish.

The key to completing a ruck march was simple: never stop moving forward. One step at a time. No wasted movement. Every step brought you closer to the finish. Twelve miles, one forward step at a time.

When I left the military and became a veteran, I forgot that lesson.

My body failed before I was ready to be done. I came home feeling like a failure. Directionless. Injured. Carrying post-traumatic stress I once believed was weakness rather than reality. I struggled with not completing twenty years of service. I returned to a city that had grown rapidly and to a family that had grown both in size and distance. Technology had advanced faster than I could keep up with. My military skills did not translate easily to civilian careers. Finding a job, let alone purpose, felt overwhelming.

Depression followed. Crying happened in private places where my wife and daughters could not hear me. Sleep became something I avoided. Memories replayed. Certain smells triggered reactions I learned to ignore. The medical system tried to help, but standardized solutions did not work for me. Medications landed me back in the hospital for nearly a week.

That was where everything changed.

In that place, Christ met me. He stood me up when I could not stand myself. He gave me the strength to take one forward step. He reached out His hand and reminded me that hope was still possible.

My eyes were opened to a truth I believe deeply: this problem can be addressed. Veterans need a plan. Veterans need support. Veterans need to know they are not forgotten or reduced to a number. There are men and women who have lost hope and are suffering silently. That should not be acceptable.

With E3 Project and with each other, I believe this can change. Veteran homelessness and isolation do not have to be the outcome. There is hope. My purpose is to walk alongside veterans at every stage of life. We all need a neighbor willing to step in.

At E3 Project, we provide a plan. We offer encouragement, education, and guidance rooted in real experience. We reach veterans through ministry, business, and life progression coaching. This mission requires community. It requires support.

I ask that you share this message. Tag those who are serving, separating, considering the military, or already veterans.

Keep moving forward. One step at a time.

Thank you for your service.
God bless you all.

Brian Minzey

Veterans: Keep moving forward. No one can stop you.