Author: Dennis Farmer

This morning, I received a message from a man I once had the honor to serve—a Veteran who walked through the doors of our residential program in California, battling the heavy burdens of addiction and chronic pain. His recovery was hard-won. But today, he is still walking that path—one step at a time. Still fighting. Still free.

He didn’t have to reach out. Most don’t. That’s the truth of this work. We pour our hearts into helping others, often without ever knowing what happens once they leave our care. But every so often, God gives us one of these moments. A divine reminder. A “God shot,” as we say. A clear sign that the steps we’ve taken, the work we’ve done, were not only necessary—they were ordained.

That message came at just the right time.

I’ve spent years overseeing programs for Veterans, for women, for mothers with children—for people society often forgets. Sometimes those programs thrived, sometimes they barely got by . But in every case, we reinvested. Not just into buildings or operations—but into the people. Because our mission was never about profit. It was about people. About putting client care—and especially Veteran care—first, always. In short, the success of those we care for is – and always will be – our success.  Not the bottom line. 

There are too many in this field who have lost sight of that. Too many systems more concerned with appearances and self-interest than with real, lasting healing. But I remain committed—because I believe this calling on my life comes from God. He has ordered my steps so that I might serve. To see minds changed. To see souls healed. To see lives saved.

Just this past week, I returned from Washington, D.C., where the battle for Veterans’ right to choose their addiction and mental health care rages on. Political agendas often cloud what should be simple: getting our Veterans the care they deserve. But I believe God is moving—even in the halls of power. I believe He is raising up leaders with the courage to root out the self-serving and restore dignity and choice to those who’ve served this nation.  I believe and pray that the leadership I was honored to meet with are those who will see through this necessary, and life-saving change at the highest level. 

At the same time, I continue consulting for a nonprofit doing some of the most unappreciated work I’ve seen—serving the broken, the forgotten, the lost.  I say unappreciated because most in the community, any community, have little knowledge of how the homeless, the indigent, the uninsured and the forgotten every truly get a new lease on life.  Well, it starts with the non-profits of the world that match limited resources with unlimited compassion. 

To the Veteran who messaged me this morning—thank you. You may never know how much strength and encouragement your words brought me. Just a simple one sentence note. But God knew. And He sent it right on time.

I will stay the course. I will remain faithful. Because I know the mission is greater than me. It’s about healing. And it’s about walking the path that God has set before me—one step at a time.

I would be deeply remiss if I made this post sound like it marked just another day. It isn’t. This day carries a weight, a meaning far beyond anything I could ever claim credit for. Because the significance of today is not a celebration of my own will or effort—but a living testimony to the unfailing power of God, His guiding hand, His mercy, and His never-ending grace.

Ten years ago today—April 10, 2015—I woke up without a drink in my system for the first time in nearly 17 years. I was in a detox hospital in Long Beach, California, weighing barely 135 pounds. My body was breaking down—pancreatitis, a swollen liver, and a relentless obsession to keep drinking. I had reached a level of hopelessness I never thought possible. I had been through detox before, even treatment, but this time was different. This was truly rock bottom. Twice divorced and clinging to a third, fragile marriage, my life was an exhausting cycle of waking up, drinking, passing out, and living through chaos.

After 10 days in medical detox, my body had started to recover—but my mind was still screaming. The obsession hadn’t left me. The cravings still clawed at my thoughts. I remember praying desperately for help, convinced that I wouldn’t make it. That’s when a nurse—someone I barely remember—came in with news that would alter my life: there was an open bed, fully covered, at a place called the Anaheim Lighthouse.

I didn’t hesitate.

The Lighthouse became my home for nearly 60 days, and it laid the foundation for my recovery. But the moment that changed me the most happened on that very first day. After intake, I was shown to a room—meant for two, though I was alone for the time being. I emptied my pockets onto the nightstand and headed to dinner. When I returned, something had appeared that hadn’t been there before: a Celebrate Recovery Bible, sitting right on that same nightstand. Taped to it was a simple Post-it note that read, “To the next guy.”

I was too wrapped up in my pain to fully grasp the significance in that moment—but over the years, I’ve come to see it for what it was: a message from God Himself. Whether that Bible was truly left by a stranger or placed there by divine timing, I’ll never know for sure. But what I do know is this—God was with me. He had been all along.

So much life has happened in these ten years. I’ve built and lost a business, and started another. I’ve mourned the passing of my father—a grief that continues to ache—but I carry peace knowing he saw my recovery, and that he made it home to Heaven. I’ve watched my children grow, and I’ve watched God work in and through every season. I moved from California to Texas, a change that once would’ve terrified me, but that I now see as part of God’s design.

Change used to feel like loss. Now I see it as opportunity. And in many ways, that’s what recovery is all about: choosing to change, choosing to believe that we can be transformed. I’ve spent these years trying to understand what makes some of us embrace the light, while others remain stuck in the shadows. I don’t always get it right. There have been plenty of failures along the way. But I remain committed to doing my part—to lift others up, to carry a message of hope, to let God use my story for His purpose.

I am far from perfect. Even today, I fall short of the spiritual principles I strive to live by. But here’s the miracle: I’m still here. I’ve been given another chance. And I don’t take that lightly, especially knowing so many others haven’t been given the same.

One day, each of us will leave this earth. That day may come sooner than we expect. When it does, what we’ve chosen to do with this life will echo into eternity. Have we received the gift of salvation? Have we allowed Christ to transform us? Or have we walked past the open door He laid before us?

My prayer—especially today, but every day—is that we say yes. That we invite Christ into our lives. That we surrender to His mercy and allow Him to use our brokenness, our story, our scars—to help someone else find the light.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in ten years of grace—it’s this: God wastes nothing.

The MISSION Act: A Lifeline for Veterans That Must Be Reclaimed

The MISSION Act, signed into law in 2018 during President Trump’s first term, was a transformative step forward for Veterans’ healthcare. It recognized a simple but critical truth: not every Veteran can or should be forced to rely solely on the VA for care. The Act created the Community Care Network (CCN), allowing Veterans timely access to high-quality treatment—including behavioral health and substance use services—outside the VA system when necessary.

For programs like VetCare IOP, the MISSION Act has been a lifeline. Many of the Veterans we serve are unable to get prompt, effective care through the VA due to long waitlists, limited services, or geographic barriers. CCN partnerships have enabled us to step in where the VA system has struggled, providing urgent, life-saving care to Veterans in need.

However, over the last few years, the promise of the MISSION Act has eroded. Bureaucratic delays, narrow interpretations of eligibility, and internal resistance within the VA have made it harder—not easier—for Veterans to access community-based care. Ironically, this shift began during the very administration that passed the Act, as leadership changes within the VA pulled back from the law’s original intent.

But today, with the return of President Trump and the appointment of new VA leadership, there is reason for renewed hope. His administration’s original vision for the MISSION Act prioritized Veterans’ access and choice. If the second Trump administration re-centers on that mission, we may finally see the full implementation of the Act as intended—empowering Veterans to choose care that works for them, without being trapped in a failing system.

At VetCare IOP, we believe the MISSION Act is not just a policy—it’s a promise. A promise that Veterans will not be left waiting, suffering, or stuck. We call on current VA leadership to honor that promise and fully support the use of the Community Care Network as a core part of the VA’s commitment to those who served.

Veterans earned this. We must fight to ensure they receive it.