Waleed Hamza's journey is nothing short of extraordinary.
His life began in Baghdad, Iraq, where he grew up in a Muslim family under the shadows of war and political turmoil. He was born just months before his father was killed in the Iran-Iraq War in 1982—a tragedy that marked the beginning of his turbulent life.
"I was only 14 months old when my father died," Waleed recalls. "He wasn't in the military, but during the war, Saddam Hussein called for ordinary citizens to join the army. My father was one of them."
It was a time of intense propaganda and fear. Saddam had opened up the "public army" for recruitment, and like many others, Waleed’s father enlisted—only to be sent to the front lines, where he tragically lost his life.
His mother, devastated by the loss, had plans to leave Iraq. Her father, a diplomat, was being transferred to Egypt, and she hoped to take her young son with her. But Saddam's regime had other plans.
"When my mother tried to leave, Saddam’s forces stopped her at the airport. They brought her back, and my father’s parents insisted that I stay in Iraq," Waleed explains.
Subsequently, she was forced into marriage with his uncle, as is customary in many parts of the world when a spouse dies. Waleed grew up in a somewhat fractured home. Still, his mother, who had largely been left alone to raise him, showered him with affection.
"She loved me deeply," he says, "because I was the only link to my father."
But his uncle, thrust into a situation he didn’t choose, remained emotionally distant. "He wasn’t abusive, but he wasn’t loving either," Waleed reflects, acknowledging the strain within the family. Despite these challenges, Waleed excelled in school, particularly in English.
"I loved English," he says with a smile. "It was my strongest subject. In my senior year, I was reading everything I could get my hands on—books, literature. English was my passion, ironically, more so than Arabic."
By the time the Iraq War broke out in 2003, Waleed was nearing the end of his college career, studying English in Baghdad.
When the U.S. invasion of Iraq began, Waleed was thrown into a whirlwind of uncertainty.
"It was terrifying," he admits. "The government broadcast constant propaganda, saying that Americans would destroy everything. But by then, many of us had already seen through the lies."
For Waleed, the invasion wasn't just a political event; it was deeply personal. His country was collapsing under the weight of decades of war, sanctions, and poverty.
"I had friends who were drafted and sent to Basra when the U.S. troops entered," Waleed recalls. "They came back in two weeks, telling us there was no real leadership or weapons—everyone just abandoned their posts. Meanwhile, Saddam was still pretending everything was fine, putting on a show for the public."
For Waleed, it was a strange blend of disbelief and hope.
"Some people thought maybe things would get better," he says, reflecting on the mixed reactions of those around him. "One of my friends said, 'Maybe now we won't have dirt on the sidewalks anymore.'"
But things quickly escalated. After Paul Bremer, the U.S. administrator in Iraq, disbanded the Iraqi military and government, chaos ensued. Waleed, now working as a translator for the U.S. Army, experienced firsthand the devastation that followed.
"I started off doing routine patrols, translating for the military. But then the violence exploded—bombings, firefights, and insurgents flooding into the country. Everything changed overnight."
Waleed’s role as a translator became far more dangerous as the war intensified. He moved from supporting humanitarian missions to conducting dangerous operations in volatile regions. In the early days of his work, he was assigned to the Civil Affairs unit, which helped rebuild communities by providing generators and water pumps. But that mission quickly shifted as the violence around him grew.
"I saw death firsthand," Waleed says somberly. "We had to recover the bodies of Iraqi soldiers and POWs. That experience really hit me. I went from seeing soldiers as friendly faces to realizing how brutal this war was."
The loss of life, the destruction, and the constant tension began to wear on him.
By 2004, Waleed had seen enough to become disillusioned with everything he had once known.
"I went from being a naïve kid to someone full of rage," he admits. "I felt betrayed by everything—by my country, my faith, my government.”
Some time later, he volunteered for a Special Forces unit, thinking that maybe, just maybe, I could make a difference."
His experience with the Special Forces marked a turning point in his life.
"They treated us like assets, not liabilities," Waleed says, recalling the shift in how translators were viewed. "We went through rigorous training, and I was issued a weapon and uniform. It felt different. I wasn’t just translating anymore—I was becoming part of something bigger."
However, the violence only deepened, and the loss of fellow translators weighed heavily on him.
"We lost many good friends. Some were killed, others were kidnapped,” Waleed recounts steadily. “There was one traitor among us—a guy feeding our movements to the insurgents. A close friend of mine was abducted, tortured, and executed. That shattered me."
By this point, Waleed had been so transformed by his experiences that he no longer saw religion the same way.
"After my father's death and all the violence, I became consumed with anger," he admits. "I saw religion as a lie. I was focused on vengeance. Taking a life—it changes you."
Yet, in the midst of all this, Waleed’s life would take a dramatic turn. In October 2010, he left Iraq under the Special Immigrant Visa (SIV) program, which allowed Iraqi translators to seek refuge in the United States.
He settled in Raleigh, North Carolina, where a new chapter of his life began—one that would lead him not just to safety, but to an unexpected transformation in faith.
His first exposure to Christianity came through conversations with people who lived with an understanding and compassion that was unfamiliar to him.
"They didn’t talk about violence or revenge. They talked about love and forgiveness," he recalls.
Day by day, moment by moment, Waleed’s heart softened.
"I started reading the Bible, and something inside me changed," he says. "I realized that the anger I had been carrying all these years wasn’t going to heal me. Forgiveness wasn’t just for others—it was for me too."
Looking back now, Waleed reflects on his healing: “It didn’t happen overnight, but through service and helping others, I found meaning. I’m able to relate to veterans and civilians who are struggling because I’ve been there.”
His path eventually led him to a unique ministry with a specific mission.
After marrying Hannah, they both participated in YWAM's school in Kona, Hawaii, which allowed their children to attend school as well. It was there that Waleed underwent a transformative process of healing, guided by the program "Restoring the Foundations."
Waleed’s ministry, Redefined Warriors, focuses on helping veterans understand their true identity and purpose. It provides practical support through programs, including trade schools for veterans to learn new skills and re-enter civilian life.
Through it all, Waleed has come to understand that the healing process doesn’t end.
“God’s plan for us unfolds one step at a time, and I’m still learning,” he says. But the work he’s doing with Redefined Warriors has become his life’s mission: “Helping veterans rediscover who they are and why they matter in God’s big plan is what I was created to do.”
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Hollie, received your book “words that never leave you“ yesterday. Concentrated wisdom from humanity in extremis. Well conceived and well done.
This treasure trove of inspiration will never leave my library.
I love stories of people who find peace after such a difficult life. I know people who went to YWAM Kona, it’s a truly transforming place. To realize that there truly is a loving God in the midst of the world’s chaos is beautiful.