09/28/2026
A Letter From the CEO
As September comes to a close and we settle into fall, I find myself thinking less about how we mark Hunger Action Month and more about what we carry with us when it is over. The mornings are cooler, the light is changing, our gardens are giving up the last of what they have grown, and another season at Grow It Forward is beginning to take shape. It feels like a natural time to reflect—not only on hunger, but on what it takes for a community to keep showing up for one another.
Lately, I am apparently carrying a new title, too. One of our volunteers has taken to calling me “Reverend.". A few weeks ago, I had the honor of standing at a pulpit and sharing a reflection on Matthew 14:13–21, the feeding of the 5,000. Since then, “Reverend Amber” has stuck.
To be honest, faith is something I have struggled with over the years. I have questioned it, wrestled with it, walked toward it and away from it, and at times wondered what I believed at all. But I have come to understand something: this work requires a tremendous amount of faith.
Sometimes faith looks like planting a seed and believing something will grow. It is looking at pantry shelves on Wednesday and trusting we will have food for the families arriving Thursday. It is committing to feed hundreds of children before knowing exactly where every dollar or meal will come from. And when we are called to help feed thousands of people throughout our community, we carry a basket full of faith that somehow we will be able to answer that call.
Maybe that is why six words from that scripture have stayed with me: “You give them something to eat.”
The disciples looked out at thousands of hungry people and did the math. Too many people. Too little food. When they looked at what they had, it wasn't much: five loaves and two fish.
I know that feeling.
There are days when we look at the need before us and wonder how what is in our hands could possibly be enough. Not enough food. Not enough funding. Not enough people. Not enough hours. Yet somehow a farmer calls with extra produce. A donor walks through the door. A volunteer shows up. A business holds a food drive. A grant comes through. Someone gives $5 and someone else gives $5,000. People place what they have into the basket, and we keep feeding people.
I am being asked to practice that kind of faith in a very real way right now.
There are moments in the life of an organization when you begin to wonder whether what has carried you this far will be enough to carry you where you are being called next. I find myself in that space—dreaming, questioning, doing the math and imagining what might be possible for the future of Grow It Forward. I don't know exactly where those questions will lead us. Faith doesn't mean ignoring the practical questions or pretending the numbers don't matter. Maybe it means doing the homework, asking the hard questions and still being willing to imagine what could happen if a community brought its loaves and fishes together.
After more than a decade of this work, I have learned that hunger isn't always visible, either. Long before I founded Grow It Forward, I knew what it was like to need food myself. At 19, I experienced homelessness, and in 1999 I walked into a food pantry because I needed help. More than 25 years later, I still remember the vulnerability of saying, “I need help.”
That is why dignity matters so deeply to me. Hunger does not have a dress code, and hardship doesn't always announce itself. A diagnosis, a layoff, a death, a divorce or suddenly becoming a caregiver can change a family's circumstances remarkably fast. We see only a few seconds of someone's life; we don't see all the chapters that came before.
Recently, I was reminded of that in an incredibly small but powerful way. An elderly neighbor had been picking up food from our pantry for a close friend who sadly passed away. During our conversation, she told me her friend had really been hoping we might have apple juice at the pantry.
We didn't.
Apple juice. Such an ordinary thing. But for someone nearing the end of their life, it was a treat they were hoping for. I wept.
That day, I wished we had apple juice. Not because it would have solved hunger or changed what was coming, but because sometimes dignity is being able to say, “I'd really like some apple juice,” and having someone place it in your hands. It reminded me that this work isn't measured only in pounds of food, meals served or people reached. Sometimes it is measured in something as small as a bottle of juice.
So as September gives way to October, I find myself thinking again about those five loaves and two fish. Maybe faith asks us to stop focusing only on what is missing and look at what is already in our hands. An hour to volunteer. Tomatoes from the garden. A bag of groceries. A few dollars. A listening ear. An open seat at the table. A bottle of apple juice. A neighbor willing to help another neighbor.
As Hunger Action Month ends, perhaps those are the questions worth carrying with us: What are you hungry for? And what is in your hands?
Maybe that is the kind of faith I am beginning to understand. Not certainty. Not having all the answers. Not knowing exactly how everything will work out. Just believing enough to show up, to plant, to give, to welcome and to feed—and trusting that when enough neighbors place what they have into the same basket, somehow there can be enough.
So, no, I don't think I'll be changing my title to Reverend anytime soon. But I may let my volunteer keep calling me that. It reminds me that perhaps faith isn't something we have to completely figure out before we practice it.
As we settle into fall, may our baskets be full and our tables always have room for one more.
— Amber L. Daugs, CEO & Founder
