{"id":89538,"date":"2026-07-05T18:54:41","date_gmt":"2026-07-05T18:54:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538"},"modified":"2026-07-05T18:54:41","modified_gmt":"2026-07-05T18:54:41","slug":"blood-poured-into-my-eyes-as-i-dragged-my-unconscious-captain-across-the-shattered-concrete-with-one-hand-pulling-his-dead-weight-and-the-other-firing-my-rifle-at-charging-insurgents-i-knew-my-famil","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538","title":{"rendered":"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order…"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n

I\u2019m Major Nikki Voss, United States Air Force. If you asked my dad, a retired Army Sergeant First Class, or my little brother Ryan, a hotshot Marine, they\u2019d tell you I sit in an air-conditioned room pushing papers. “Chair Force,” they call it. A safe, lazy life. They think I’m a fake soldier who took the easy way out because I work in Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance.<\/p>\n

Right now, my “safe” life tastes like copper, burning diesel, and high-explosive residue.<\/p>\n

A 122mm rocket just obliterated our forward operating base wall in Kandahar, flipping my world upside down. My ears are ringing so fiercely it feels like a physical pressure inside my skull. Warm blood is pouring into my right eye from a jagged shrapnel wound across my forehead, temporarily blinding me.<\/p>\n

“Marlo!” I scream, spitting out grit and sand.<\/p>\n

Captain Marlo doesn\u2019t answer. He\u2019s twenty yards away, pinned under the twisted, smoking remains of a Humvee. His leg is a mangled mess. And through the massive breach in our perimeter, the enemy is pouring in. Not one or two. A dozen armed insurgents are charging straight through the dust cloud, firing relentlessly into the rubble.<\/p>\n

I don’t have a desk. I don’t have a spreadsheet. I have a standard-issue M4 carbine and a tourniquet.<\/p>\n

I sprint through the open crossfire, 7.62mm rounds snapping past my head like angry hornets. I dive into the dirt beside Marlo, my knees scraping against the jagged concrete. He\u2019s ghost-pale, barely breathing. I rip the tourniquet from my vest, cranking it high and tight around his upper thigh to stop the massive hemorrhage. The incoming gunfire is deafening now. They are less than forty yards out and closing fast.<\/p>\n

“Broken Arrow, Broken Arrow, this is Viper One,” I scream into my tactical radio, my voice cracking over the chaotic roar of the battlefield. “We are overrun! Need immediate close air support on my grid!”<\/p>\n

“Viper One, that\u2019s extreme danger close. You won’t survive the blast radius,” the operator squawks back.<\/p>\n

An insurgent breaches the barrier, raising his AK-47 directly at us. I drop the radio, shoulder my rifle with one bloody hand, and stare down the barrel, knowing this might be my very last breath.<\/p>\n

\u00a0The gunfire was deafening, but what happened next changed my life forever. I survived Kandahar, but the real battlefield was waiting for me back home. Wait until you see what the General did at my medal ceremony… The rest of the story is below \ud83d\udc47<\/p>\n

I didn’t die that day in the Afghan dirt. For eleven agonizing minutes, I held that crumbling concrete pillar. Every time an insurgent rushed our position, I dropped them. I fired until my barrel was smoking hot, until my hands were blistered, until the medevac choppers finally roared overhead and rained hellfire on the remaining attackers. I saved Captain Marlo\u2019s life, and I kept my own, though just barely.<\/p>\n

Now, two years later, I stand rigid at attention in the crisp, sterile auditorium of a Washington D.C. military base. The fluorescent lights gleam off the polished brass buttons of my Air Force dress blues. Today, I am being awarded the Purple Heart.<\/p>\n

You would think surviving a brutal firefight and shedding blood for your country would finally earn you the respect of a military family. You would be wrong.<\/p>\n

Seated in the front row are my father and my younger brother, Ryan. They are wearing their respective dress uniforms\u2014Army and Marine Corps. Even from the stage, I can see the familiar, condescending smirks etched onto their faces. They think this is a participation trophy.<\/p>\n

General Patrick Sloan, a four-star commander with a chest full of ribbons and eyes as hard as flint, is at the podium reading my citation.<\/p>\n

“…for wounds received in action against an armed enemy…” Sloan\u2019s deep voice echoes through the silent hall.<\/p>\n

In the quiet pause that follows, my brother Ryan leans over to my father. He doesn’t whisper quietly enough. “She just got lucky. Probably tripped over a computer wire.”<\/p>\n

My father chuckles, shaking his head. “She couldn’t even shoot a rifle straight in basic training. They hand these out to anyone in the Chair Force nowadays.”<\/p>\n

A hot spike of humiliation and fury pierces my chest, but I maintain my military bearing. I stare straight ahead, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. I am used to this. I have endured their mocking my entire life.<\/p>\n

But General Sloan is not used to it.<\/p>\n

The General stops reading. The heavy silence in the auditorium suddenly turns suffocating. Sloan lowers the citation. His piercing gaze locks onto the front row, staring directly at my father and brother. The air in the room drops ten degrees.<\/p>\n

“You know,” General Sloan says, his voice dangerously calm, abandoning the microphone. “There\u2019s a common misconception about the Air Force. People think we just fly high above the clouds, untouched by the dirt and blood of the ground war. Some people think our officers don’t know how to fight.”<\/p>\n

He turns to the audiovisual tech at the back of the room. “Sergeant, kill the lights. Boot up file Alpha-Seven. Declassify it for this room.”<\/p>\n

My heart skips a beat. Alpha-Seven?<\/i> That\u2019s the designation for my helmet camera footage from Kandahar. It was highly classified because of the tactics and frequencies used.<\/p>\n

“Sir, with all due respect, that is classified material,” I whisper urgently.<\/p>\n

“Not anymore, Major Voss,” Sloan replies, his eyes never leaving my family. “Sometimes, people need to see the truth rather than hear a nicely written citation.”<\/p>\n

The giant projector screen behind me hums to life. The auditorium plunges into darkness, replaced by the shaky, chaotic, and terrifyingly vivid first-person view from my helmet cam.<\/p>\n

The speakers blast the deafening roar of the 122mm rocket impact. The audience jumps in their seats. On screen, my blood splatters across the lens. They hear my ragged, desperate breathing. They watch as I drag Captain Marlo\u2019s limp, bleeding body through a hail of bullets, the sound of 7.62mm rounds ricocheting off concrete echoing through the silent auditorium.<\/p>\n

I glance down at my father and brother. The smirks have vanished. Ryan\u2019s mouth is slightly open, his face draining of color. My father is gripping the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles are stark white.<\/p>\n

But the video isn’t over. The real twist\u2014the part I never told them, the part I kept out of my official debriefing to spare them the horror\u2014is about to play. On screen, the radio crackles. They hear me call in the airstrike. They hear me give my own coordinates.<\/p>\n

“Viper One, that\u2019s extreme danger close. You won’t survive the blast radius,”<\/i> the radio operator warns.<\/p>\n

My own voice, calm and resolute, echoes back through the auditorium: “Do it. Drop the ordnance on my head. I\u2019m not letting them take Marlo.”<\/i><\/p>\n

A collective gasp sweeps through the audience. I can hear someone behind me softly whispering, “My God.” The sheer magnitude of the sacrifice I was willing to make is now displayed for everyone to see. I wasn’t sitting at a desk. I was ready to be obliterated just to ensure my wounded brother-in-arms wasn’t taken captive. The video freezes on the blinding flash of the incoming ordnance.<\/p>\n

If you’ve read this far, don’t hesitate to leave a like and comment before reading part 3. It makes us as happy as reading a complete story! Thank you. \ud83d\udc4d\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>\n

The video on the massive screen culminates in a blinding white flash as the close air support obliterates the enemy perimeter, shaking the camera before it cuts to a harsh, static black.<\/p>\n

When the fluorescent lights of the auditorium flicker back on, the silence is absolute. It is a heavy, suffocating quiet, broken only by the muffled sounds of people shifting uncomfortably in their seats.<\/p>\n

I look down at the front row. My father, the stoic Army veteran who never showed a shred of vulnerability, has tears pooling in his eyes. His face is ashen, completely stripped of its usual arrogant pride. Beside him, my brother Ryan looks like he\u2019s just been punched in the gut. He is trembling, staring at me as if seeing me for the very first time.<\/p>\n

General Sloan steps forward, breaking the tension. He pins the Purple Heart to my uniform, his hand resting firmly on my shoulder. “For extraordinary heroism, Major Voss. We are honored to serve beside you.”<\/p>\n

After the ceremony, the crowd disperses, giving my family a wide berth. My father and Ryan approach me in the grand lobby. Their posture is entirely different now\u2014hunched, hesitant, defeated.<\/p>\n

“Nikki,” my dad chokes out, his voice cracking. “I… I had no idea. What you did out there… it was the bravest thing I\u2019ve ever seen. I am so sorry.”<\/p>\n

Ryan steps up, tears spilling over his cheeks. “Sis, please forgive me. We were so stupid. You\u2019re more of a soldier than I\u2019ll ever be.”<\/p>\n

I look at them, feeling a strange sense of detachment. I don’t feel the sudden warmth of reconciliation. I just feel incredibly tired.<\/p>\n

“I appreciate your apologies,” I say, my voice steady and cold. “But I\u2019m not going to accept them.”<\/p>\n

They both flinch as if I had struck them.<\/p>\n

“You don’t respect me, Dad. You respect that video,” I tell him, holding his gaze. “You respect the blood and the explosions. But you never respected the years of hard work, the intense intelligence briefings, the silent sacrifices I made every single day in uniform. If you need a near-death experience on tape to validate my worth, then your respect isn’t worth having.”<\/p>\n

I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving them standing alone in the hallway.<\/p>\n

Years pass. I don’t let their previous ignorance define me, nor do I let their sudden, guilt-ridden admiration soften my edge. I throw myself completely into my career. I take command of an elite ISR squadron, earning the callsign “Iron Viper” from the men and women who serve under me. I earn my eagles, pinning on the rank of Colonel.<\/p>\n

During those years, my family tries relentlessly to bridge the gap. My father starts sending me handwritten letters, not about war or medals, but about his deep regrets, his pride in my leadership, and his genuine interest in my life. Ryan changes, too. He drops the macho infantry act. He goes to college, gets his degree, and earns a highly coveted slot at the Marine Corps Officer Candidates School.<\/p>\n

It isn\u2019t until the week before Ryan\u2019s graduation from OCS that the true turning point arrives. He drives five hours to my base, standing awkwardly in my office doorway. He looks older, humbled by the brutal training of Quantico.<\/p>\n

“Colonel Voss,” he says, using my rank with absolute sincerity. He walks up to my desk and places a small velvet box in front of me. Inside are the gleaming gold bars of a Second Lieutenant.<\/p>\n

“I graduate on Friday,” Ryan says, his voice thick with emotion. “Dad is coming. But I told him I wouldn’t do it unless you were the one to pin my rank on. I don’t want to be an officer unless I can be half the leader you are, Nikki. Please.”<\/p>\n

I look at the shiny gold bars, then up at my brother. The arrogance of the boy in the auditorium is long gone. In his place stands a man who finally understands the immense weight of leadership, the heavy burden of command, and the true meaning of respect.<\/p>\n

“I’ll be there, Ryan,” I say softly, a genuine smile breaking across my face for the first time in years.<\/p>\n

That Friday, standing under the bright Virginia sun, my father and I stand on either side of Ryan. As I pin the gold bar to his collar, I realize that respect isn’t demanded by a rank, and it isn’t automatically granted by a bloodline. It is forged in the fires of adversity, proven by daily integrity, and eventually, recognized by those wise enough to see it.<\/p>\n

What do you think of this story? Please leave a like and share your thoughts in the comments. Your support means a lot to us and inspires us to keep writing more meaningful and powerful stories. Thank you! \ud83d\udc4d\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019m Major Nikki Voss, United States Air Force. If you asked my dad, a retired Army Sergeant First Class, or my little brother Ryan, a hotshot Marine, they\u2019d tell you I sit in an air-conditioned room pushing papers. “Chair Force,” they call it. A safe, lazy life. They think I’m a fake soldier who took […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":89539,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-89538","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-new"],"yoast_head":"\nBlood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order... - Purposeful Days<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order... - Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I\u2019m Major Nikki Voss, United States Air Force. If you asked my dad, a retired Army Sergeant First Class, or my little brother Ryan, a hotshot Marine, they\u2019d tell you I sit in an air-conditioned room pushing papers. “Chair Force,” they call it. A safe, lazy life. They think I’m a fake soldier who took […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-07-05T18:54:41+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Daily life\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Daily life\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"9 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538\",\"name\":\"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order... - Purposeful Days\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-07-05T18:54:41+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/0798909bd6049a0fa637904efb5949f7\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg\",\"width\":1000,\"height\":1000},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order…\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\",\"name\":\"Purposeful Days\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/0798909bd6049a0fa637904efb5949f7\",\"name\":\"Daily life\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/649783f78a7f7ccf455b548a38fbd731b4a456beb76aaeb2a655077f4c3ea71a?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/649783f78a7f7ccf455b548a38fbd731b4a456beb76aaeb2a655077f4c3ea71a?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Daily life\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=7\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order... - Purposeful Days","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order... - Purposeful Days","og_description":"I\u2019m Major Nikki Voss, United States Air Force. If you asked my dad, a retired Army Sergeant First Class, or my little brother Ryan, a hotshot Marine, they\u2019d tell you I sit in an air-conditioned room pushing papers. “Chair Force,” they call it. A safe, lazy life. They think I’m a fake soldier who took […]","og_url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538","og_site_name":"Purposeful Days","article_published_time":"2026-07-05T18:54:41+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1000,"height":1000,"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Daily life","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Daily life","Est. reading time":"9 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538","name":"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order... - Purposeful Days","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg","datePublished":"2026-07-05T18:54:41+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/0798909bd6049a0fa637904efb5949f7"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Officer_dragging_soldier_in_combat_202607060145-1.jpeg","width":1000,"height":1000},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=89538#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Blood poured into my eyes as I dragged my unconscious captain across the shattered concrete. With one hand pulling his dead weight and the other firing my rifle at charging insurgents, I knew my family still thought I sat safely at a desk. Then, the radio crackled with a terrifying order…"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/","name":"Purposeful Days","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/0798909bd6049a0fa637904efb5949f7","name":"Daily life","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/649783f78a7f7ccf455b548a38fbd731b4a456beb76aaeb2a655077f4c3ea71a?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/649783f78a7f7ccf455b548a38fbd731b4a456beb76aaeb2a655077f4c3ea71a?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Daily life"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org"],"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=7"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/89538","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=89538"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/89538\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":89540,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/89538\/revisions\/89540"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/89539"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=89538"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=89538"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=89538"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}