John 7:37 reads, "On the last day of the feast, the great day, Jesus stood up and cried out, 'If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.'"

I remember reading this verse and scribbling something down in my journal with frustration: “Why is this not true for me?" I felt far from God, like He had disappeared from my life. My prayers felt hollow, like they were bouncing off the ceiling. "I am thirsty! Where are You?" I cried out, hoping for some sort of answer, but nothing seemed to change.

 In the summer of 2007, I found myself in the middle of the desert, maintaining the berm around a small outpost near the Iraq border. It was just me and another soldier working together when we saw the wreckage of a Humvee that had been hit by an IED being pulled onto the post. We walked over and stood silently beside it, unable to find any words for what felt like an eternity. The blood of soldiers still stained what was left of the seats. Someone’s sons and daughters had lost their lives, thousands of miles away from home. They had paid the ultimate cost of war.

I grew up in a small Southern town, the kind of place where the population was overwhelmingly white and deeply conservative. This wasn’t always the case—once, it was a Democratic stronghold. But like many Southern towns, the political landscape shifted in the 80s and 90s when the Republican Party won over the evangelical vote. Issues of morality, such as abortion and the sanctity of marriage, began to take precedence over economic concerns.

There are two men in my life whom I would go to war with—literally. I served in the Iraqi war with one of them. These are the kind of friends who would drop everything and come to my aid if I called in the middle of the night. One of these men is my twin brother, Kyle, and the other is my best friend, Tylor Jones.