05/29/2026
๐ ๐ง๐๐ข๐จ๐๐๐ง ๐ง๐๐๐ฆ ๐ ๐๐ฆ๐ฆ๐๐ข๐ก ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐ข๐ก ๐ ๐
James4Vets.com
Hurricane season starts in a couple of days.
The forecasts are already talking about another active year, and every time this season rolls around, my mind drifts back to the years when storms dictated schedules and sleep became optional. This morning I was reading Galatians 6:2, "Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ."
๐๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ฎ ๐น๐ผ๐ป๐ด ๐๐ถ๐บ๐ฒ ๐ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐๐ด๐ต๐ ๐๐ต๐ถ๐ ๐บ๐ถ๐๐๐ถ๐ผ๐ป ๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ป๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ผ๐ป ๐บ๐ฒ. ๐ง๐ต๐ฒ๐๐ฒ ๐ฑ๐ฎ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ต๐ถ๐ป๐ธ ๐ถ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐๐ผ๐ฑ, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ฎ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐น๐ฒ ๐น๐ผ๐ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ผ๐ฝ๐น๐ฒ, ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฟ๐๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐บ๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ถ๐ฟ๐ฒ ๐๐ถ๐บ๐ฒ.
There were birthdays I missed because I was somewhere else, holidays spent on the road, and school events I heard about after they happened. I can still remember sitting in parking lots hundreds of miles from home talking to my kids on the phone while weather rolled in across the horizon. My kids grew up while I was chasing hurricanes, training service dogs, helping people rebuild, and answering calls that felt important. A few years ago one of my kids was telling a story about those days, laughing about something that had happened while I was gone. I sat there listening and realized they remembered those years very differently than I did.
My Marine buddy Shane walked beside me through years of uncertainty. One afternoon I was trying to explain why I was headed off again to help people he had never met and probably would never meet. He sat there listening, shook his head, and laughed because none of it made much sense to him. He was still there when I got back. During one stretch when life felt heavier than usual, I remember sitting with him and talking through whether I should keep going. He told me I could walk if I wanted to. Then he looked at me and said I already knew what I was going to do.
Years later that same Marine was standing beside me building something neither of us could have imagined when those conversations started. He left his own career behind and joined me on the road. I still remember job sites where we worked all day, grabbed food wherever we could find it, then spent half the night talking about how to keep the mission moving. OnWatch Services LLC grew out of those years. Most people only see the service dogs, the stories, or the hurricane work. They never see the jobs that helped pay for fuel, dog food, veterinary bills, travel, and all the pieces behind the curtain. Shane may not have understood every road I took, but that Marine stood beside me anyway. He still does.
JD Hudgens had already been part of my life for years when I hurt my arm and ended up stranded away from my team. The next thing I knew he was on a plane from Georgia. I picked him up at his daughter's house in San Antonio and we headed out to get me back where I needed to be. Long before that trip there had been phone calls, prayers, conversations, and encouragement during seasons when I struggled to see a path forward.
One memory comes back more than most. I was explaining some idea, some project, some direction I thought God was pushing me toward. I was already talking myself out of it before I finished explaining it. JD listened for a minute and then started asking questions that forced me to think bigger than I was thinking. He had a way of doing that. The flight from Georgia was real. The ride back across Texas was real. The bigger impact came from years of somebody refusing to let me settle for the smallest version of what was possible.
The road introduced me to people I never would have met any other way. One evening I pulled into a driveway owned by people I barely knew and expected to stay a night or two. We ended up sitting outside talking long after dark. The Doghouse was parked nearby, the dogs were stretched out in the grass, and somebody eventually brought out another folding chair because nobody seemed interested in calling it a night. By the time I left, it felt less like I had borrowed a place to park and more like I was leaving friends behind.
After hurricanes, portable lights glowed across muddy parking lots while trailers were unloaded long after dark. Wet sheetrock, diesel fuel, floodwater, and exhaustion seemed to hang in the air all at once. Families stood beside piles of debris trying to recognize pieces of their lives. Supplies moved from hand to hand and disappeared into neighborhoods where people were trying to figure out what tomorrow looked like. Cases of water, generators, and boxes of food vanished from trailers as fast as volunteers could unload them. They needed help, so we helped.
One of the clearest memories I carry is standing in floodwater watching neighbors carry supplies to people they had never met. Nobody stopped to ask who deserved help. They just started carrying what needed carrying.
James Dickerson โ๏ธ
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