God’s Footlocker: A Marine’s Journey to Belief
- Gods Biscuits Official
- Jun 24
- 7 min read
The dust of the Guatemalan highlands hung thick in the air, coating everything in a fine, reddish-brown film. The sun, a merciless furnace, beat down upon our vehicle as we jostled along a rocky river road, each bump a jarring reminder of the miles separating us from civilization. However, my heart was not focused on the discomfort; it was a battlefield, a place where doubt and faith waged a relentless war.
My salt-and-pepper beard, a testament to over forty years of life, framed a face marked by the canyons of sleepless nights and the quiet battles that only a man could truly understand. A faded, well-worn ball cap, perpetually shielding my eyes, provided little relief from the glare and even less sanctuary from the ghosts that haunted them. My eyes, however, had witnessed the darkest corners of humanity—the cold steel of battle and the raw despair etched onto the faces of the lost and broken. I was a man of action, driven by duty and the unwavering commitment of brotherhood. Yet beneath the calloused exterior and the weight of obligation, a soul wrestled with the demons of PTSD, a constant echo of the past. It was a soul that yearned for a divine anchor while grappling with the shadows that had become its companions.
