Hope

There’s a thin line between holding on and letting go—between hope and hopelessness. I know that line well. Some days it feels like I’m walking it in the dark, trying to find balance when everything around me is tipping over. If I’m being honest, this isn’t me preaching to anyone—I’m preaching to myself. Because sometimes hope feels like the only thing left standing between you and the abyss.

For first responders—firefighters, EMTs, dispatchers, cops—it’s not just the job that wears you down. It’s the calls you can’t forget, the faces that show up when you close your eyes, the empty house when your shift is over. It’s the bottle you reach for to quiet the noise or the arguments that come when you’ve got nothing left to give. PTSD, addiction, divorce—they’re not statistics to us. They’re scars, proof that we’ve been through the fire, literally and figuratively.

Hopelessness isn’t just sadness. It’s the quiet belief that nothing’s ever going to get better. It’s when the light at the end of the tunnel feels like it burned out a long time ago. But hope—that’s different. The philosopher Marcel once said, “Hope is for the soul what breathing is for the living.” It’s not just wishful thinking. It’s a stubborn defiance against despair. It’s saying, “I may be down, but I’m not done.”

Louis Zamperini, the Olympian turned WWII POW, lived that truth. Beaten, starved, tortured—he had every reason to give up. But even in a Japanese prison camp, he clung to hope. He said that as long as he still had faith—just a flicker of it—his captors could never truly break him. That’s the power of hope: it refuses to die, even when everything else does.

For us in the first responder world, hope can look a lot of different ways. Sometimes it’s prayer whispered in the dark. Sometimes it’s a buddy checking in at just the right time. Sometimes it’s just waking up one more morning and saying, “I’ll try again today.” That’s what survival looks like—it’s not pretty, but it’s real.

And maybe that’s the thing—hope doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it’s just a heartbeat that won’t quit. It’s faith holding on by a thread. It’s knowing that no matter how heavy the night gets, the sun will rise again.

If you’re reading this and you’re fighting that same darkness, know this: you’re not alone. I’ve been there too. And the truth is, hope isn’t some distant miracle. It’s already inside you, waiting to be believed in again.

Because at the end of the day, when hope is all you’ve got—that’s enough.

Stay safe out there.

-Tom

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11

We are a trauma-informed 501(c)(3) on a mission to bring hope, healing, and restoration to first responders and their families- Through chaplaincy, crisis response, formal training, and peer support initiatives, we strive to educate and offer support. Please consider donating today at http://www.riseupfight.org/donate