OPINION/COLUMN
I still remember when I was a young boy, dressing up as a policeman for Halloween. I asked my parents for a uniform with a badge, and when I pinned that star to my chest, something sparked inside of me. Even back then, I knew this was more than just dressup, it was the beginning of a calling.
Life has a way of taking unexpected turns. That childhood dream took a back seat for a time, but the calling never died. Years later, when a friend invited me on a ride-along, that old fire came roaring back. Sitting in that patrol car, watching someone answer calls for help, I knew my life had come full circle. Before the academy, before the oath, before the badge, I already knew I was meant to stand in the gap between chaos and calm.
That’s what a calling is. It’s not just a job. It’s not just something you do. It’s something you are.
The public sees the badge, the title, maybe the uniform, but what they often can’t see is the burden we carry. A burden we don’t run from, because deep down, we were built to carry it. I’ve had people tell me, “This isn’t just a job to you, you live for this.” And they’re right. The calling is something you feel in your bones.
But that calling doesn’t come without a cost.
There are physical battles, the toll of stress, long shifts and high stakes. The body can wear down. The fatigue is real. There are mental battles, the trauma we witness, the weight of seeing families torn apart, lives lost, pain that can’t be undone. And there are spiritual battles, because when you’ve seen darkness, you need something stronger than yourself to lean on.
Some officers turn to unhealthy ways of coping, trying to drown out the memories. Others find strength in faith, in prayer, in stillness, in something bigger than the job. I’ve had to whisper prayers of my own during the hard times. Because the calling will test you. But when it’s real, it doesn’t fold under pressure, it’s refined by it.
There will always be those who don’t understand why we do this. Why we keep showing up. Why we keep stepping into danger. Why we take the criticism, the second-guessing, the headlines, and still come back the next day ready to serve.
But the calling doesn’t ask for applause.
It just says: Keep going. And sometimes, that’s all it takes, one quiet “thank you” from a victim, one hug from a family you helped, one courtroom moment when justice is served, to remind you why you answered the call in the first place.
This profession isn’t for everyone. Some move on, and there’s no shame in that. But for those who stay, who keep waking up and pinning that badge on with conviction, it’s because something inside them won’t let go. Jeremiah 1:5 says, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.” That’s what this calling feels like. Like it was placed on you before you ever knew it.
And the calling isn’t just to the community, it’s to each other. It’s the quiet “I’ve got your back” between officers. It’s the strength to support your team, to recognize when a brother or sister in uniform is struggling. The call isn’t just to serve, it’s to lead with purpose, humility and integrity.
I watched my grandson the other day, three years old, wearing his deputy sheriff uniform, looking up at me and saying, “Papaw, I want to be just like you.”
That’s what the calling is all about.
It’s about standing tall, not just for today, but for tomorrow. For the next generation. For the legacy we leave behind.
