Chapter 1 Find Your Sacrificial Why Above the door to Jane''s secure office where she leads a national security program hangs a simple sign that has greeted her team every morning for over two decades: "Today''s date is 12 September 2001." For Jane, those words aren''t just a motto. They are a promise. A purpose statement. Her life''s mission. In the aftermath of September 11, her unit had become pivotal in the fight against those who attacked our homeland, and she held her staff to that September 12 standard every single day: Never let the urgency fade, never let the mission become routine. Yet even after years of pursuing justice for 9/11 families, she''d never had the opportunity to form a personal connection to anyone who had been in the attack. In 2022, I was invited to speak to people in the intelligence community.
It was a small room with about twelve people. I told my story as I had countless times before, but what I didn''t realize was that my words were being broadcast live not just throughout the complex but around the world via those secure channels that only the military and intelligence community have access to in select rooms. A few months later, I was called back to the complex and ushered into Jane''s secure office area, a place where nobody''s allowed unless specifically invited. That''s when I saw her sign. "Today''s date is 12 September 2001." She stopped and looked at me, her eyes starting to well up. "Timmy," she said, using the name she''d call me from then on, "you are my why." Understanding dawned on me.
Jane needed to touch someone she was doing it all for. She explained to me how her job required her to sit with uncertainty for long periods of time. She wanted to serve justice for the 9/11 families and especially the FDNY, and for nearly a quarter century she had carried the weight of that mission, held her team to that September 12 standard, pursued justice in the shadows where nobody would ever know their names or see their sacrifices. But she and her team were isolated in their mission, questioning their faith, their purpose--everything. The high-security nature of their job meant they couldn''t talk about their work with others, even their families, and couldn''t share their burdens. They were in a cocoon, serving justice for people they''d never met, carrying out a mission for victims they''d never touched. So Jane walked me around her office, introducing me to people on her team. When Jane said I was her why, she was acknowledging that sometimes our greatest purpose comes from serving people we''ve never met, fighting for causes that demand everything while offering little recognition, carrying burdens that only we can bear.
Her why wasn''t comfortable or convenient; it was costly. It required her to live every day as if it were September 12, 2001. Until we met that day, her why was abstract. Powerful, but abstract. When she could finally touch someone she was fighting for, when she could hug a fireman who lost so much, when she could hear the story behind the mission she''d dedicated her life to, that''s when her why became flesh and blood. That''s when her sacrifice found its true power. Sacrificial Service Is for Everyone You might read about Jane and her incredible work and think that sacrificial service applies only to military operators or intelligence professionals or first responders, people with dramatic, high-stakes jobs. But sacrificial service shows up in every arena of life, and chances are, you''re already being called to it in ways you might not recognize.
Sacrificial service looks like the parent who works two jobs to put their kids through college, giving up their own dreams so their children can pursue theirs. It''s the teacher who stays late to tutor struggling students, investing their own time because they believe every child deserves a chance. It''s the business leader who takes a pay cut to keep employees on the payroll during tough times, choosing their team''s security over their own comfort. It''s the spouse who cares for their partner through illness, the adult child who moves back home to care for aging parents, the mentor who invests in someone else''s success without expecting anything in return. It''s choosing to do the right thing when the easy thing is right there waiting for you. Your sacrificial service might not involve classified missions or life-threatening situations, but it will require you to give up something valuable for the benefit of others. It might cost you time, money, recognition, or comfort. On my darkest days, my why has always been to remember my brothers lost in the attacks and to honor their sacrifice through caring for their families and continuing their legacy.
I''ve made countless mistakes in trying to meet that goal, but even on the hardest days, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I survived to serve that purpose. The truth is that everyone is called to sacrificial service, but very few hear the call and respond to it. Will you invest in your employees'' growth even when it''s expensive? Will you care for your community even when it''s inconvenient? Most people will turn away from it--not because they aren''t good people or because they are weak, but because it''s draining. Maybe you''re feeling the weight of your service right now, wondering how you will get up tomorrow and keep going. Your sacrificial why becomes your anchor when the storms come, your fuel when your tank runs empty, and your compass when the path is unclear. Without it, you''ll quit when the sacrifice gets too hard. With it, you''ll press on even when no one''s watching. What is your why? What will keep you going when you want to quit? Fuel or Flee: The Fundamental Choice When something significant happens to you, you face a fundamental choice that will determine the trajectory of your life: You can let it fuel your purpose, or you can flee from it.
This choice isn''t made once; it''s made daily, sometimes hourly, in moments when the weight of your experience threatens to overwhelm you. In the early years after 9/11, I found myself guarding my story, resisting opportunities to share it. The pain was too raw, the loss too fresh. Speaking about that day meant reliving it, and reliving it felt like choosing to suffer all over again. I was tempted to flee: to keep my story locked away, to avoid the speaking engagements, to refuse the interviews, to build walls around my experience. But as I realized my story honored my brothers I''d lost while inspiring others to never forget, everything changed. I met operators in forward bases. As I saw their tears when they heard my story, I realized my experience wasn''t just fuel for me.
It was fuel for everyone I met. Those rough, battle-hardened men and women cried because my story connected to their why. They carried FDNY patches into combat zones because my brothers had become their brothers. My choice to fuel rather than flee didn''t just serve my purpose; it served theirs too. Fleeing may serve your short-term comfort, but it robs you of the meaning that can be extracted from your pain. More than that, you rob others of the fuel your story could provide for their own journeys. I''ve seen people flee in predictable ways. Some choose anger.
They let bitterness consume them, using their pain as permission to lash out at the world. Others choose alcohol or substances, numbing the very experiences that could become their greatest strength. Many choose isolation, withdrawing from community and connection, convinced that no one could understand their burden. All of these responses are understandable. I''ve been tempted by each of them and given in to more than one for a time. But I''ve learned that fleeing only delays the inevitable choice. Eventually, you''ll have to decide whether your experience will define you or refine you. What fuels me now is captured in those two simple words: "Never forget.
" Not as a burden to carry but as a mission to embrace. Every time I speak, every time I share my story, every time I connect someone like Jane to the deeper purpose behind their sacrifice, I''m choosing to fuel rather than flee. My fuel is founded on faith--faith that has grown deeper over the years, faith that has been tested in the fire and emerged stronger. I''ve learned that even when evil seems overwhelming, it can be overwhelmed by greater love. The love I have for my fallen brothers, the love Jane has for her mission, the love those operators have for freedom and justice. That love becomes the fuel that transforms suffering into service. It might take you a while to find your purpose. The path from pain to purpose isn''t immediate or easy.
But knowing that your purpose will come, believing that your experience, no matter how difficult, can become fuel for something greater, that''s an essential step in the journey. The choice is always before you: fuel or flee. Choose to let it fuel you. Choose purpose. Choose to let your experience become the very thing that drives you forward. But what about when the pain overshadows everything else?.