By: Scott Marder, American Red Cross

On the last morning of my deployment to northeastern  Arkansas, I sat down at a small table in the hotel’s lobby restaurant to eat one final bowl of oatmeal before heading home. After two intense weeks supporting people whose lives had been upended by powerful tornadoes and catastrophic flooding, I was eager to return to the comfort of my own bed, my family, my life.

But something happened that I didn’t expect.

As I scrolled through a slideshow of photographs from my deployment—images I’d taken to help tell the story of this disaster and the people it affected—I felt a lump rise in my throat. Photo after photo of destroyed homes, scattered belongings and shattered lives filled my screen.

And with each image came a flood of memories.

I remembered the family whose home had been reduced to rubble, their children’s toys tangled in the debris. I remembered the haunted look in a woman’s eyes days after the storm, still struggling to process what had happened. I remembered parents desperate to provide comfort and stability to their kids in the middle of so much loss. I remembered the linemen working tirelessly to restore power, the neighbors and strangers who arrived with backhoes and heavy equipment just to help, asking for nothing in return.

And I remembered the hope.

That hope didn’t come from a single person or place. It came from a community rising together. It came from a convoy of Red Cross vehicles rolling down muddy streets, bringing food, water, cleanup kits and comfort. It came from volunteers who paused to listen, to hug and to be present—sometimes spending an hour in the mud and rubble with just one family who needed to share their story.

That’s why we do this work.

Every Red Crosser I met cared deeply. They gave their time, their energy, their hearts. Because when disasters strike, people don’t just need food or shelter. They need hope. And when that big, white Red Cross truck pulls into a neighborhood, it’s not just a truck. It’s a symbol. It means someone is here. Someone cares. You’re not alone.

During this deployment, we opened shelters and offered warm meals. We gave out hygiene supplies and clothing to families who had lost everything. We listened to stories of heartbreak and resilience. We cared for physical needs and offered emotional and spiritual support to help people take the first steps forward.

But it never feels like enough.

There are always more needs than we can meet. More pain than we can ease. And yet, time and again, I heard those words: “Thank you. We don’t know what we would have done without you.”

What we provide—what you help us provide when you volunteer or donate—isn’t just a hot meal or a dry bed. It’s the strength to face another day. It’s the reassurance that even in the darkest times, we are not alone.

I like to think I left a little piece of myself with each person I met on this deployment. But I also took something with me: a renewed sense of humanity. A deeper understanding of compassion. And a powerful reminder that the hope we give others is often the very thing that renews our own purpose.

Disasters will continue to happen. Lives will continue to be upended. But as long as there is a Red Cross, there will be hope.

If you’ve ever wondered whether one person can make a difference—let me tell you: you can. Join us. Volunteer. Donate. Give blood. Be that symbol of hope. Because sometimes, just knowing someone cares is what gets a person through the unimaginable.

And that is the heart of the Red Cross.