A Darrell Donnelly Story - Co-Lead Pastor of Camino De Gracia Church

The air was warm, touched by the scent of earth and trees, when I sat with Darrell Donnelly, a new friend and fellow Crossroads member, preparing for an interview. We came to talk about the peace that has woven through Darrell’s life—sometimes subtly, sometimes with overwhelming clarity.

"Darrell, can you give me a little background, just a sketch of your life?"

Darrell looked thoughtful, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I was born in eastern Colorado, in a small town. Life was simple. My parents moved us to Colorado Springs when I was young. I grew up there, going to school, and playing sports, but always returned to the farms in the summers to work. That was where I learned hard work—responsibility.”

His voice grew softer as he continued, “There wasn’t money for college, so I joined the Marines. The plan was to earn enough to pay for school. But life, as you know, doesn’t always go as planned. Desert Storm happened, and before I knew it, I was in Saudi Arabia, among a hundred thousand other troops, ready for war.”

“And how did that shape you?" I asked.

“There was a night,” Darrell began, his eyes narrowing as though focusing on a distant memory. “We were stationed at the border of Kuwait, just waiting. Our captain told us that the enemy ahead, the Iraqi Republican Guard, was fierce. He said to look at the man next to you because 80% of us might not make it back. That was when everything became real.”

He paused, letting the moment linger before continuing. “I’d been baptized when I was 14, went to church, did what I thought was right. But that night, sitting in my foxhole, staring at the possibility of death, my faith became more than just something I did on Sundays. It became everything. I prayed, told God that if He got me through this, I would serve Him. It was more than a promise—it was a surrender.”

I said, "They say facing battle has a way of focusing the mind."

Darrell smiled briefly. “Yes, it does. Facing death brings everything into sharp focus. But something incredible happened the next day. When we finally crossed the border, the enemy didn’t fight. They surrendered. Hundreds, thousands of them. They were hungry, thirsty, defeated not by our weapons, but by exhaustion, by the airstrikes that had cut off their supplies. It was over in a matter of days, and hardly a shot was fired.

"Through it all, I felt peace. It wasn’t the absence of fear, but the presence of God. Even in the chaos of war, there was this deep, unshakeable peace."

I asked, “Was that the closest you came to battle?”

Darrell nodded. “Yes, it was. After that, we packed up and shipped everything home, and within weeks I was back in the States. Life moved on. I got a job with the post office, met my wife Deanna, and we began building a life together.”

He shifted in his seat, his tone growing more somber. “But life wasn’t done testing me. A few years later, I lost my son in a car accident. He was just 17. No seatbelt. One moment, he was here, and the next, he was gone.”

I could feel the heaviness in the air, the grief that still lingers years later. "How did you cope with that loss?" 

Darrell sighed, his eyes soft with memory. “I wish I could say it was easy. But it wasn’t. There were days when the grief was overwhelming when I questioned everything, including God. You go through all the stages—shock, denial, anger. I would open his door, half-expecting him to be there, as though this was all a bad dream.”

He paused, his voice cracking slightly. “But through it all, even in the deepest moments of pain, there was peace. It didn’t make the pain go away, but it carried me through it. Friends, family, and even strangers surrounded us like God’s arms wrapped around us. I trusted Him, even when it didn’t make sense. That’s when I felt the call to ministry. I knew I had a choice—either let the grief pull me away from God or let it draw me closer. I chose to trust Him, and in that trust, I found peace again.”

I leaned back, remembering my own losses. “It’s hard to imagine a greater loss.”

“That’s true, but five years later, we faced another. My stepson took his own life. He was just 26. It was different, and harder in some ways because it felt preventable. I remember coming home and finding him. I can’t even describe that moment. But even then, even in that unimaginable pain, there was a voice inside me saying, ‘Do you trust Me?’”

Darrell swallowed and continued. “And I did. Through it all, through every loss, every heartbreak, that peace has remained. Not because I’m strong, but because He is. I’ve learned that peace isn’t about the absence of tragedy—it’s about the presence of God in the midst of it.” 

We paused for a moment and I asked, “What keeps you going now? What carries you through the daily grind of life—being a husband, a father to your daughter, a postal worker, a pastor to the Crossroads Spanish folks?”

Darrell smiled softly, his gaze thoughtful. “Purpose. There’s purpose behind the pain. I believe that every struggle, every loss, is used by God for something greater. I’ve seen it. My wife and I have been able to share our story with people all over Latin America—people who have experienced loss, and who are looking for hope. When you’ve walked through something like that, people listen. They can see the peace in your life and wonder where it comes from.”

His eyes shined with conviction. “And that’s when you tell them. You tell them about the God who carries you through the darkest nights, who brings peace when there shouldn’t be any, who gives hope when everything seems lost. That’s what keeps me going. That’s what gets me up in the morning.” 

I was moved by the quiet strength in Darrell’s words. “It sounds like you’ve found a way to live that transcends the ups and downs of life.”

Darrell nodded. “I have. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain. It doesn’t mean I don’t grieve. But it does mean that, no matter what happens, I’m not alone. God is with me. His peace is with me. And that’s enough.”

We sat quietly for a moment, the warm breeze whispering across the mountains.  The peace that Darrell had spoken of seemed to fill the campground, a tangible presence holding us both in its gentle embrace.