Food is vanishing. Waitlists are growing. And hope? It’s harder to find—unless you know where to look.
Vanishing food at food banks. SNAP cuts. Waitlists we never expected or planned for.
Where do we find hope?
Every day, the phone rings just outside my office.
And every day, I hear our staff speak with the kind of calm compassion this moment requires.
“No, we don’t have space right now.” “It could be another two months.” “Have you tried xxxx food bank?” (I know even that food bank is overwhelmed and probably sending their overflow to us.)
Across the country, anchor food banks are bracing for more than 30% cuts in supply—when they were already stretched thin. Nonprofits are anticipating a wave of demand as SNAP benefits disappear. Families who were already waiting are being asked to wait even longer.
I know from so many conversations with my colleagues:
People doing this work are discouraged.
People doing this work are disheartened.
Each morning, I try to take a few minutes to ground myself. To breathe, to reflect, to ask:
Where can we look for hope right now?
For me, hope is different than optimism.
I’m not optimistic that federal meal programs will be restored anytime soon.
I don’t expect quick reversals of SNAP decisions.
But hope lives elsewhere.
Hope was in a corporate partner who moved quickly to release an emergency RFP—trying to help nonprofits weather what’s coming.
Hope was in a room full of community leaders at Rotary Club of Nashville, where I had the privilege of leading the invocation, and where people held space—yes, prayed—for families facing hunger.
Hope was in a gathering at United Way of Greater Nashville, where over 50 nonprofits came together not to compete, but to coordinate.
And hope walked through our doors again and again this week—more than 100 volunteers giving hours of their day to say: this matters. Feeding families matters.
In a moment where systems feel stuck, I still believe in people.I believe in community.
Whatever our politics or policies, I keep seeing the same thread:Most people still want to do the right thing.
Most people still believe we’re responsible for one another.
They show up because they care—and they leave changed because of it.And when I see that—when I hear it in the hallways and feel it in the work—I remember:
Optimism might be in short supply right now.
But hope doesn’t have to be scarce.
Sometimes, it shows up in how we carry each other through.
To those doing this work—in nonprofits, in business, in faith communities, in families— where are you finding hope right now?
Across Nashville and beyond, nonprofits are facing unprecedented strain: steep SNAP cuts, overwhelmed food banks, and more families in need than ever before. At The Store, we hear it every day—the calls, the waiting, the heartbreak. But even now, hope is showing up.
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