Check Out Cassidy Cannedy’s Story

Today we’d like to introduce you to Cassidy Cannedy.

Hi Cassidy, so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work-life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today?
If you had told me years ago that a girl from Oklahoma, surrounded by red dirt and man-made lakes, would one day work in civil engineering on major research projects, study marine science, train tigers, and end up working for The Salvation Army in Colorado…I probably would’ve laughed. Nothing about my path has made logical sense, and that’s exactly why I’ve always known it wasn’t accidental. Every strange turn has felt like God gently nudging me where He wanted me to be.

I grew up in Edmond as the youngest of four, and when I was six, my family moved to Tulsa. At sixteen, while most teenagers were flipping burgers, I walked into a civil engineering lab and started testing concrete and asphalt. It wasn’t your typical job for a teenage girl, and honestly at first, I had no idea what I was doing. I was contracted out to lead major research projects across several states, including helping with work at the DFW Airport. At first, it was intimidating, I was young and surrounded mostly by older men who weren’t quite sure what to make of me. But over time, I earned their respect. That job taught me how to work hard, stay teachable, and let my actions speak louder than my words.

Naturally, people assumed I’d go into civil engineering. But in eleventh grade, I felt a deep, unexpected pull toward marine science. On paper, it made no sense. I was a girl from Oklahoma, about as far from the ocean as you can get. And yet, the Lord kept placing this calling on my heart. It was a field where not only do many people not believe in God, but some actively try to disprove His existence.

It wasn’t an easy choice. Many of my family and friends questioned my intentions, and I learned quickly that even well-meaning advice doesn’t always align with God’s plan. People kept asking why I was trying to leave, but what they didn’t understand was that I wasn’t trying to leave anything. I was simply trying to follow. Follow the One who was leading me somewhere new.

Following that tug led me to the University of Mobile, where I earned my degree in Marine Science in three years and graduated at age twenty. That should’ve been the hard part, but honestly, the hardest part came right after when I applied to more than fifty jobs and heard “no” over and over again. Eventually, one yes came from a well-known zoological facility in Florida, and for two years I lived a life I’d only dreamed about. I trained cheetahs, tigers, orangutans, and so many other incredible animals. What captivated me most wasn’t just the training itself, it was the psychology behind it. Animals can’t speak, so you learn to read the smallest signals: a flick of the tail, a shift in posture, a subtle change in expression. You learn to interpret behavior and anticipate reactions. That experience deepened my respect for the complexity of life and taught me that understanding often comes not through words, but through observation.

But as time went on, the place I worked changed. The focus moved away from caring for the animals and toward profiting from them. And I felt God asking me to walk away. Leaving was terrifying. I had no plan, no next step, no sense of security. I was angry and confused. Why would God pull me away from something I thought He had led me into? But that season of uncertainty became the place where I finally learned what it means to trust Him completely.

The day before I resigned, I received a call offering me a job at The Salvation Army in Fort Collins. I hadn’t applied. I wasn’t “qualified.” Yet when I visited, I felt a peace I couldn’t explain. It felt like God whispering, “This is where I want you.”

If there’s a theme to my life, it’s this: God keeps placing me in rooms I never expected and certainly never felt “qualified” for. My story isn’t about achievement or planning everything perfectly. It’s about saying yes. It’s about walking forward even when I don’t know what the next step looks like. It’s about learning that faith isn’t comfortable. It’s costly. But it’s worth it.
The more I look back, the more I realize my story is really just God’s faithfulness written across the years. I’m living proof that when you surrender your plans, even the good ones, He will lead you exactly where you’re meant to be. And He will use your story in ways you never would’ve imagined.

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
No, it hasn’t been a smooth road. Going against culture is inconvenient, and choosing to live a life of faith in a world that often doesn’t prioritize it comes with real challenges. Following God hasn’t meant taking the easiest path. It has meant making choices that don’t always make sense to those around me. I have had an internal struggle for a long time, and it’s that I don’t often see my successes as achievements, because in my head it was my obligation to achieve them. Letting go of my own expectations has been painful. I eventually realized that what I was mourning wasn’t something I had actually lost. It was just the version of life I had imagined for myself.

On a personal level, the constant moving in my twenties has worn me down. Rebuilding community again and again is exhausting. I’ve missed birthdays, holidays, and all the small, everyday moments with my nieces and nephews. Reading bedtime stories, helping with homework, hearing their laughter fill the house. Instead, I watch them grow up through photos and FaceTime calls. Every milestone I miss leaves a quiet ache. A first lost tooth, a soccer goal, a birthday candle blown out. Moments that should have been shared now live only on a screen, reminding me that their lives are moving forward without me in them.

I watch my siblings move through their own seasons without me by their side. I cannot hug them on the hard days, celebrate with them on the good ones, or simply share the quiet moments that turn into lifelong memories. My parents are getting older, and each day I am away is one less day I get to sit with them at the kitchen table, hear their voices in person, or laugh together face to face. The thought that one day the remaining moments may be fewer than the ones I have already missed is a grief I cannot fully escape.

The ache is subtle but relentless, threaded through daily life like a shadow that never leaves. There are nights when I cry quietly, thinking about all the milestones I will not be there for, the hugs I cannot give, the memories I will not get to help create. Every picture and every video call feels bittersweet. They remind me of the life God called me to step away from in order to follow Him, a calling that often requires sacrificing presence and proximity.

And yet, in all of this grief, I have been drawn closer to God in ways I never expected. I have learned that joy and contentment are not rooted in physical closeness to the people we love. They come from surrendering to His calling and trusting that every season, even the lonely and difficult ones, is preparing me for something greater than I can see right now. Faith is not built in comfort or convenience. It grows in the trust that even when my heart aches, God is with me. He holds every longing, every tear, and every sacrifice, and He is using all of it for a purpose I hope to one day understand.

Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I serve as the Community Engagement Director at The Salvation Army in Fort Collins, a role that is unique within the organization. I am the first person to hold this position at this level, which brings both excitement and a healthy dose of intimidation. My work spans a wide range of responsibilities, from managing social media and donor relations to cultivating partnerships with other community organizations. While I don’t always help people directly, everything I do is focused on creating connections and resources that make a real difference in the lives of those in need.

What I am most proud of is that my accomplishments have never eclipsed my commitment to actually helping someone in need. In a world that often celebrates visibility and measurable “success,” it would be easy to get lost in the likes, shares, or donor recognition. But that has never been my goal. My focus is on the people—the lives behind the statistics.

My satisfaction comes from knowing that God sees what I do, and that the person I helped feels supported and valued. Serving without expectation of credit is challenging in a culture that measures worth by recognition, but it is profoundly freeing. It shifts the focus from self to others, from accolades to action, from “Did anyone notice?” to “Did anyone’s life get a little better today?”.

What matters most to you? Why?
What matters most to me is my relationship with the Lord. Some people might hate that answer, but it’s the truth. My relationship with God isn’t about fear of hell or trying to earn His favor. He is the only one I have never had to convince that I was worth His time or attention. With Him, I don’t have to perform or pretend to be anything other than who I am. He loves me exactly as I am, and I know I can bring every imperfection, every insecurity, every failure to Him, and He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t get overwhelmed by my mess. He doesn’t wish I were someone else. That unwavering, consistent love is what I cling to, and it shapes everything about how I move through life.

Outside of my walk with God, my family and friends mean more to me than anything. Living in four different states and having loved ones scattered across the country and around the world has made me painfully aware of how quickly time passes. My oldest brother is in Washington with his wife and three kids. My sister is in Australia with a baby on the way. My other brother is in Florida with his wife and child. My parents are in Oklahoma. Friends I love dearly are spread out from coast to coast.

I have learned that love requires intentionality. Distance does not automatically shrink relationships, but it will if you let it. So, I call even when I’m tired. I travel even when it’s inconvenient. I show up for the moments that count. I lean into the laughter that spills across phone lines and the conversations that stretch long past midnight. Even from far away, I want the people I love to feel supported. I refuse to let distance diminish the love I have for the people who matter most, and I will always make them a priority, no matter the miles or the time zones that separate us.