Many years ago, a man approached me after church.

“I heard about you and your wife’s journey,” he said. “I know exactly what you’re going through. I know how you feel.”

What happened to the people in pain? Did their burdens lift? Did their circumstances change?

I remember being surprised. I didn’t know anyone in that city who walked a road like ours. By that point, both of my wife’s legs were gone, and we were somewhere around surgery number 75.

“Oh?” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied earnestly. “My wife broke her ankle last month.”

Of the many gifts our heavenly Father has bestowed, sarcasm didn’t make the cut, so I bit my tongue and learned to like the taste of blood. After a brief but violent collision between my brain and my mouth, I responded the way any good Southerner would.

“Bless your heart.”

Yet his words stayed with me. That word “exactly” was doing a lot of work. He didn’t ask to understand. He announced that he already did.

A broken ankle is certainly nothing to be minimized, but it is not the same as a life marked by decades of surgeries and a body that no longer has ankles. And treating those two things as the same doesn’t honor suffering. It distorts it.

RELATED: You don’t have to engage with crazy

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We do this more than we realize. Not just in church hallways, but on far larger stages.

One of the most famous moments was during the 1990s when Bill Clinton leaned in to a camera during a presidential town hall debate, softened his voice, and told a distressed audience member, “I feel your pain.”

Or, as he said it, “Ah feel your pain.”

It worked. He connected with enough people to win. But it raises questions.

What happened to the people in pain? Did their burdens lift? Did their circumstances change?

When suffering is approached with certainty rather than humility, it becomes toxic empathy. It sounds like compassion, but it satisfies the speaker and leaves the sufferer untouched. It doesn’t just fail to help; it often abandons people in the very moment they asked not to be.

Understanding is claimed. Burden is often avoided.

When someone shares their pain, he’s not asking you to take over. He’s inviting you in — but not to rearrange the furniture.

Too often, we grasp for words that sound right instead of doing what is right. Words are how we connect, but in moments like these, too many of them get in the way.

I never know exactly how someone else feels. But I can listen. I can pay attention. I can show up. And I can resist the urge to insert myself into something I haven’t carried. I learned that from my wife, Gracie.

A woman once started to share something painful with Gracie, then stopped and said, “My situation doesn’t compare to yours.”

Gracie didn’t let that stand.

“Don’t minimize your pain by comparing it to mine,” she said. “If you’re going to compare anything, compare this: If I’ve found God to be faithful in my journey, then hold on to that while you trust Him in yours.”

Somewhere along the way, that woman probably learned to measure her pain before she spoke of it. To decide whether it qualified. Gracie didn’t accept that. She let her know she deserved to be seen.

We tend to mishandle each other’s and our own pain. Sometimes we insert ourselves into someone else’s pain. Sometimes we talk ourselves out of our own. And in both cases, something essential gets lost.

Suffering doesn’t need a spokesperson. It needs someone willing to see and stay.

Years ago, Gracie and I waited in line to meet President George W. Bush. When our turn came, he reached out to greet me, then turned to her. He noticed her uncovered prosthetic legs below her skirt. This was long before people displayed them the way they do now, especially women.

He didn’t say anything. He met her eyes, took her hand, and held it in both of his. I watched his expression change. His eyes softened. There was a hint of moisture there. And he just stayed with her for a moment that seemed to stretch.

The most powerful man on the planet at the time didn’t insert himself into her story. He didn’t try to prove he understood it. He simply met her in it.

We see the opposite often enough. Public figures stand under bright lights and assure people that they understand. They speak quickly, confidently, sometimes even spiritually, about pain they have never carried. It sounds compassionate. It polls well and is usually offered in exchange for votes or money.

But it leaves people alone. Because the moment someone claims to fully understand another person’s pain, he has stopped listening. And when suffering becomes a platform, the work of carrying it gets left to someone else.

Respecting someone’s pain doesn’t involve saying, “I know exactly how you feel.” It starts with admitting you don’t and staying anyway.

​Opinion & analysis 

Today, Trey Tucker is a therapist and an author, but he used to go on undercover human trafficking raids — rescuing young girls out of the dark clutches of sex slavery.

In total, Trey helped rescue 20 underage girls and women out of trafficking rings. The memories he carries still haunt him.

But they also give him insight. On this episode of “Relatable,” Allie Beth Stuckey asked Trey to weigh in on Jeffery Epstein’s sinister sex trafficking operations and his ability to wield enormous influence over so many people. His perspective gave her chills.

“How is it possible that some of the most powerful people in the United States, some people that we’ve looked to as moral exemplars, some of the most powerful people in the world, are apparently part of a pedophile trafficking ring?” she asks.

“The stuff that I was hearing long ago that … most people dismissed as conspiracy theories, I said, ‘No, that’s probably real,’” Trey says. “I didn’t have firsthand access to whatever was going on on that island, but I’ve seen the depravity enough to know, yeah, that can happen to any of us if you really let that go that far.”

He describes the elite world as a “power club” that can only be accessed by doing something that gives the group “blackmail” against you.

“It’s hard for me to understand the hold that [Jeffery Epstein] had on so many people,” Allie says.

She asks, “From your therapist perspective, when you’re looking at those power dynamics and just his personality, like, what do you see?”

Trey says he sees the primordial human struggle to attain “satisfaction” — not just in Epstein himself but in all the people who occupied his power circle.

“Epstein himself, he was just the puppet or the pawn. Like, he just had that magnetic charisma about him, and he was the guy at the door, like the bouncer that could let you into this world that you thought was going to satisfy,” he explains.

Allie wants to know more about the “psychology” behind a charisma like Epstein’s. “What makes someone publicly appealing even if we know that they’re not good people?” she asks.

“It comes down to really two major categories: identity and psychological safety,” Trey says.

Someone’s identity, he explains, can essentially be hijacked and manipulated by a powerful public figure.

It is entirely possible, Trey tells Allie, to “take someone’s beliefs, political or otherwise” and “transform them” so that they become the core of that person’s identity. Anyone who then opposes those beliefs isn’t just disagreeing with that person; they are “attacking” their very identity.

What is happening at the neurobiological level, Trey says, is “you’re moving beyond somebody’s logical brain and … into their subconscious, and when the subconscious takes over, it shuts down the prefrontal cortex — the logic brain.”

This produces fear, causing the individual to “fight and argue no matter what the actual facts are.”

“And so these politicians know how to take what should be just a nuanced issue where the front of your brain is just thinking evaluatively, and they know how to go right to that subconscious and put you into fight or flight mode instead,” Trey explains.

The second component, psychological safety, exploits someone’s inherent need to feel safe. This need is so strong that people will often override their sense of logic just to get it.

“Any politician that really is charismatic, they know that people are anxious, they’re uncertain, and if they can bring a level of strength and certainty, then people will look past their record,” Trey says.

He warns that this isn’t a partisan issue. “It really doesn’t matter the party. Like, all these politicians, I believe they’re just actors within the same play.”

To hear more of the conversation, watch the full interview above.

Want more from Allie Beth Stuckey?

To enjoy more of Allie’s upbeat and in-depth coverage of culture, news, and theology from a Christian, conservative perspective, subscribe to BlazeTV — the largest multi-platform network of voices who love America, defend the Constitution, and live the American dream.

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It’s been roughly five decades since the term “post-traumatic stress disorder” emerged and gained traction, driven largely by the experiences of Vietnam War veterans. Forty-six years have passed since it became an official psychiatric diagnosis.

In that span of time, PTSD research has substantially advanced our understanding of its underlying neurobiology, led to the development of a wide range of evidence-based treatments, and significantly improved access to specialized care for traumatized individuals.

‘I want to show the VA that spends $571 million a year on suicide prevention that what we’re doing here at Camp Hope actually works.’

In other words, American vets today have access to more knowledge and resources than ever before.

And yet, some would argue that mainstream PTSD care is not treating the full person.

Chris Knight is the president of the PTSD Foundation of America — a nonprofit that takes a Christ-centered approach to helping veterans heal from combat-related trauma.

Rather than relying solely on mainstream treatments, the organization integrates professional counseling and therapy with intensive peer mentorship and a Christ-centered approach that places Jesus at the heart of the healing journey.

In a conversation that was as enlightening as it was encouraging, Chris gave me the ins and outs of the organization and shared testimonies of veterans who entered the program broken, addicted, and haunted by the horrors of their past and emerged healed, confident, and rooted in God’s grace.

A different path to healing

While the foundation provides a broad range of services — including outreach, peer support groups, advocacy, a 24/7 combat trauma helpline, and resources for veterans and families nationwide — its flagship program, Camp Hope, is where the deep transformation happens.

Camp Hope is a six-to-nine-month interim transitional housing and intensive peer-mentoring program located on a 5-acre campus in Houston, Texas. Its mission is simple but profound: Save lives by saving souls.

The program includes four progressive phases: The black phase (the first 30 days, more or less) is a strict “blackout” period with no electronics, outside distractions, or family visits, allowing veterans to focus on stabilization and daily routines. The red phase (minimum three months) emphasizes breaking old habits, emotional regulation, and trauma work. The yellow phase focuses on practical reintegration skills — vocational training, job readiness, financial literacy, and family relationships — while the optional green phase offers a supported transition back into civilian life.

The deepest reality

In these six to nine months, veterans receive the kind of comprehensive care for body, mind, and spirit that typical VA and secular PTSD programs simply can’t offer, according to Chris, because they miss the deepest reality: Only an identity rooted in Christ can truly sustain a person.

As a combat veteran with over 20 years of service, Chris intimately understands the painful challenge of shifting an identity once defined by the military to one centered on Jesus.

“The military is our life. It’s our culture. It’s ultimately our identity, and when we get out, we don’t know how to function. That’s why our identity must be placed in Christ,” he said.

This reorientation of selfhood is crucial in the healing process. While Camp Hope includes on-site psychotherapy provided by licensed mental health clinicians who specialize in trauma and addiction, these traditional counseling tools play a supporting role to the program’s core: intensive peer-to-peer mentoring.

It’s in these intimate relationships that veterans are able to fully overcome something Chris calls “moral injury” — the layered trauma that results from actions (or inaction) that violate one’s own deeply held moral beliefs and values.

He gave the following heartbreaking example:

During the Iraq War, insurgents employed a tactic where they would push women and children in front of American convoys to stop or slow the advancement, allowing for an ambush. Many American troops died because of this, so eventually a gut-wrenching decision was made: Keep driving no matter what. This put the soldiers in the driver’s seat in a moral dilemma where all paths led to violating their deepest held beliefs.

Chris explained that professional therapy and counseling are effective at addressing the psychological aspect of a moral injury, such as the one mentioned above, but to overcome the spiritual wounds, it takes the power of Christ and a healed brother who can both empathize with the pain and attest to the healing available.

“We walk them through where God was when their trauma occurred, why God allows horrible things to happen, and then through forgiveness, grace, and mercy,” Chris said. “In order for them to forgive themselves, we have to point them back to the highest power that died for us and forgives us of our darkest sins.”

Medication, counseling, and therapy only go so far, he told me, because “they don’t address the heart, which is why PTSD Foundation of America and Camp Hope are Christ-based.”

The results speak for themselves. Hundreds of combat veterans have completed the program, many of whom return to be staff members.

Here are some of their stories.

Alex Yutzey

Immediately following high school graduation, Alex joined the military, where for the next six years he served as an airborne infantryman. In that span of time, he would deploy to both Iraq and Afghanistan.

In these combat zones, Alex watched many of his brothers die. But to fulfill his sworn duties, he did what all military personnel are forced to do amid tragedy: Shove the pain down and keep moving forward.

While repression kept him alive in war, the same tactic deeply failed him in the real world. When Alex returned home, death came with him. In the years following his homecoming, he watched many more brothers die from suicide.

Emotional suppression continued to be Alex’s sole coping mechanism until one final death broke him: his grandmother’s.

Finally, the pain Alex had bottled up for years demanded to be felt, but he didn’t know how to confront such overwhelming heartache. PTSD and drug addiction defined the next several years of his life.

But Alex’s story was far from over. His wife found out about Camp Hope and relocated their family to Houston to create space for Alex to enroll in the program.

The treatment, mentorship, and hope he found completely transformed his entire life. His marriage, his future, and ultimately his life were saved.

After graduating the program, Alex stayed on at Camp Hope to be a driver. Over the next several years, he worked his way up and today serves as the director of the program, where he continues to live out his life’s mission to end veteran suicide, confront suffering in the veteran community, and guide his brothers and sisters toward healing, recovery, and a better way of life.

Nicholas Eckley

Nicholas entered the military already carrying emotional baggage from his difficult home life. For years, he walked a wayward path fueled by anger. After several bad decisions, he decided to make a drastic change and enroll himself in the United States Marine Corps.

The structure, identity, and brotherhood proved immediately beneficial. Nicholas grew from a broken young man into a courageous leader who eventually became a platoon sergeant. He led a team of men who would do anything for each other, and these bonds were life-giving.

But his deployment to Afghanistan changed things. Combat was brutal and tragic, but the worst part was that Nicholas couldn’t escape it when he came home. The memories permeated every area of his life — from his thoughts and reactions to his quality of sleep and relationships with others.

But these invisible wounds were only half of Nicholas’ suffering. He also returned from war with a physical injury from an IED blast. Like many wounded veterans, he was prescribed opioids, which led to a crippling addiction. It wasn’t long before the discipline and strength he had developed in the military gave way to isolation, frustration, and hopelessness.

His wife and children were the people who suffered the most from this change. Nicholas, unable to cope with the fact that he was hurting the people he loved most, attempted to take his own life.

This dark night of the soul, however, ultimately became the catalyst for change. He found his way to Camp Hope, bonded with other veterans who had walked similar paths, and reconnected with his faith in God.

In his testimony, Nicholas wrote, “Rebuilding my relationship with God wasn’t a single moment, it was a process. A daily decision. A willingness to surrender control and trust in something greater than myself. Through that process, I began to find peace where there had once been chaos, pain, and anger.”

Over time, Nicholas rebuilt his relationships with his wife and kids. Today, he is a proud husband, father, teacher, and coach who works with troubled students who need support, guidance, and someone who believes in them.

His testimony culminates in this powerful declaration: “I didn’t just survive what I went through. I was rebuilt because of it.”

Sam Kauahquo

Sam was 18 years old when he became a United States Marine. His two deployments to Iraq were a testament to his skill and courage. In just three years, he was awarded the Combat Action Ribbon, a Purple Heart, and received a combat meritorious mast.

He returned home proud of his accomplishments but deeply traumatized by the combat he’d experienced. His PTSD was so severe, it wrecked his life and his will to live.

He wrote, “I lost nearly everything and found myself battling suicidal thoughts that led to three attempts on my life, each one resulting in hospitalization. My darkest moment came during my final attempt, when I tried to end my life through self-asphyxiation.”

After this final suicide attempt, a fellow marine he had served with reached out and told him about Camp Hope.

Out of options, Sam enrolled in the program. Over the next several months, he found healing, purpose, and a renewed sense of direction.

By graduation, he was so radically changed that he decided to work for the PTSD Foundation of America for the next four years, helping fellow wounded veterans find the path to recovery.

Today, Sam is a husband, a father, and a college graduate who is currently building a nonprofit that integrates the game of golf with life lessons, faith, and structure to help people struggling with mental health issues.

“Camp Hope didn’t just save my life; it gave me a future. And today, I live that future with purpose, gratitude, and a commitment to helping others find their way out of the darkness with life lessons, God, and purpose,” he wrote.

A vision for the future

In our conversation, Chris painted a vivid picture of his dreams for Camp Hope. As successful as the program is, it has several limitations that he is eager to resolve.

“Camp Hope has been so successful that we’ve had to be very careful about spreading too much awareness because we only have so many spots. Our most immediate need is funding for expansion. When we have to turn a vet away, it’s just heartbreaking,” he told me.

His other vision for the future involves building transitional housing that would serve as an in-between place for veterans who have graduated the program but still need more time to transition back into everyday life.

Lastly, Chris dreams of opening Camp Hope to women. Currently, the program only serves men, but Chris is keenly aware of female combat veterans’ need for support and care.

Opening the program to women is a challenge, he admitted, because women have unique physical and psychological needs.

“Women come with children,” he said, “and because it’s difficult to find a place that accommodates children, female combat veterans will often neglect to get the care they need. Our goal is to build a facility that meets the needs of these women and their children.”

This project, he explained, will involve tailoring counseling and therapies specifically to women and their children, implementing an education system, providing child care, and building living facilities.

But Chris’ boldest vision expands far beyond the 5-acre boundaries of Camp Hope.

“Ultimately, I want to change how the nation treats trauma,” he said, “and that begins with something we call a COIN operation in the military. It means winning the hearts and minds of those we serve. I want to show the VA that spends $571 million a year on suicide prevention that what we’re doing here at Camp Hope actually works.”

In a system that continues to lose veterans every day despite allocating hundreds of millions each year, Camp Hope stands as living proof that real, lasting healing is possible when the heart is addressed along with the mind through the transforming power of Christ.

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President Donald Trump briefed the press Saturday night following a shooting incident at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, prompting Secret Service to evacuate the president and other dignitaries from the area.

Trump said a sole gunman rushed Secret Service agents in the lobby of the Washington Hilton, where he shot an agent before being detained. The agent was rushed to the hospital and was wearing a bulletproof vest, according to the president.

Several outlets have reported the shooting suspect as 31-year-old Cole Tomas Allen of Torrance, California.

‘I want to live because I want to make this country great.’

“This is not the first time in the past couple of years that our republic has been attacked by a would-be assassin who sought to kill,” Trump told reporters.

Trump also released a photo of the suspected gunman being detained in the lobby as well as footage of the assailant rushing past security.

RELATED: Trump evacuated from White House Correspondents’ Dinner following possible gunfire

Law enforcement confirmed that the assailant is in custody, with Trump saying he had “multiple weapons.” Trump also said the suspected gunman’s apartment in California is being searched.

Officials believe the gunman was acting alone. The motivation has not yet been determined or disclosed.

Trump, who has already survived two assassination attempts, reflected on the political violence waged against him and other politicians, saying, “I want to live because I want to make this country great.”

Trump was flanked by various members of his inner circle, including first lady Melania Trump, FBI Director Kash Patel, acting Attorney General Todd Blanche, Department of Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin, Secretary of State Marco Rubio, and Secretary of War Pete Hegseth.

“It’s always shocking when something like this happens,” Trump said. Trump also confirmed that the dinner will be rescheduled to a later date.

“We’re not going to let anybody take over our society.”

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Chaos erupted at the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner after President Donald Trump was rushed offstage by the Secret Service Saturday following possible gunfire.

Live footage showed Secret Service swiftly evacuating Trump, the first lady, and Vice President JD Vance after a loud noise rang out during the dinner. According to multiple reports, Secret Service spotted a suspected gunman attempting to get through security who has since been taken offsite.

As of this writing, Trump is set to return to the dinner, and the program is expected to continue.

Moments after the president and other dignitaries were ushered out of the venue, armed Secret Service members stormed the stage and appeared to rush through the crowd. Live feeds showed attendees quickly looking around the venue, with many taking cover under the dinner tables.

Editor’s note: This story is developing and will be updated. A previous version relied on a CNN tweet, since deleted, to incorrectly say that the suspect had been shot and killed.

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