I’ve been hesitant, for whatever reason…I don’t really know, to talk in this space about my thoughts on charitable giving.  It’s quite personal to me, and I don’t want to soap box and give anyone that warm, guilty feeling…mmmm, yummy guilt.  But I think today I will share my story, and share a message about finding a charitable cause that is personal to you. It’s something that has come to mean a great deal to me, and I hope you’ll enjoy my journey.

Long ago, I was a what you would call a hard heart.  My late teens and early twenties were tough years, and they left me quite calloused and self-centered.  I make a commitment every day to leave that part of me behind, but some of those feelings haunt me still.  There have been times when I haven’t had enough…of whatever: love, support, food, money….we’ve all had hard times.  But, despite ignorantly thinking anyone could help themselves if they just wanted it badly enough, I grew up and did what all good Americans are told by their Corporate Superiors to do: I gave a bit of my paycheck to The United Way.  I don’t mean to badmouth the United Way…they are geniuses at procuring charitable giving, $3 at a time.  And there were times when $3 is about all I had to give; I was happy to give it to the United Way with their gigantic a la carte list of causes.  But I never connected to it.  I never thought of myself as someone who gave 2 hoots about charitable giving as a core value.  I just checked the box and watched the red line on the thermometer-shaped cardboard cut out in our Corporate Lobby go up, as the local Chairmen shot for lofty goals that probably amounted to amazing things.  It was cool, but it wasn’t personal.

And then one day while working in research at the IU School of Medicine, a man on the verge of homelessness came in, and asked to join a research study…any research study.  Anything at all.  He just needed enough money to buy a bed.  He’d been everywhere, trying to get a bed.  He had an apartment that he was sharing with someone equally down on his luck, and they were sleeping on the floor.  They were getting older.  They were pretty sore.  It didn’t need to be new…just softer than the floor.  I tried all day, but he didn’t meet the criteria for any study on our unit.  I let him leave, and even now, almost 15 years later, I cannot forgive myself.  That man left without a bed, and I didn’t know that I was supposed to find one, and not give up until the job was done.  But I do know not a day has gone by in 15 years that I haven’t prayed for him and thanked God for steering him into my path.  I have never been the same, because no matter how hard things may have been, I’ve always had a roof and a bed.  There have been times I swore I’d never eat eggs or ramen again….but I had a bed. And that poor old man didn’t, and clearly lacked the ability to secure one.

From that day forward, I realized I need not look far past my front door to see opportunities for local giving.  People needed help right now, right next to me, and not just those represented on a cardboard cut out in the lobby of my office.  Still, I hesitated: what could I do?  I had just a little extra, and who would want my $10?  As it turns out, Wheeler Mission wanted it.  Wheeler Mission is a homeless shelter that has been in Indianapolis since 1893.  My $10 every 3 months bought blankets, Thanksgiving dinners, and pajamas.  I was emboldened.  $10 makes a difference?  I got a newsletter from them, so it must have!  I started thinking about what causes meant something to me.  Homelessness?  Yes!  Feeding the hungry?  Absolutely!  Who doesn’t want to feed the hungry and homeless?

Time passed, and feeding the hungry started chewing at my brain, even more than homelessness.  Still, on my own, with serious college debt, I had just a bit extra.  Every week when I did my grocery shopping, I bought an extra “something”: a box of macaroni and cheese, some Hamburger Helper, maybe a box of Cheerios.  I am kind of funny about feeding the hungry: I’ll only buy brand name.  I don’t even buy brand name for myself, but I want those in need to know: in my eyes, they deserve it.  We don’t choose where and to whom we are born.  We don’t choose all of our circumstances.  We don’t always choose our education, and we certainly have nothing to do with our own IQ.  I like to believe that most people do the best they can with what they know, and every human, everywhere, deserves brand name Pop Tarts in my eyes.  Generic pop tarts taste like cardboard.  No one should eat them….and that’s all I’ll say about that.

I would keep this tiny stash of groceries in a bag in my kitchen, and about every 6 weeks, I’d drive through a scary part of town to Gleaners Food Bank. 95% of their money goes directly to those they serve, and last year, they donated the equivalent of 20,000,000 meals in Indiana.  That’s right: 20,000,000.  Their warehouse has huge semi tractor trailer bays where Wal-Mart and other large food suppliers unload millions of pounds of donated food each year.  I walked past them with my one, little, brown bag.  Did I feel silly?  Absolutely.  Did the office volunteers who took my sack make me feel silly?  Never.  Ask a hungry person what one grocery bag full of food would mean to them.  Because that’s all any of us can really do: help one person at a time, one meal at a time.

Then I met Greg, and well…Greg?  He thinks on a larger scale.  Greg does things like build houses, and fight fires as a volunteer, and serve on boards to reintegrate prisoners into society; he has donated hundreds of his own hours into building databases for charities who could never pay for his skill set.  Greg will drop his weekend like a hot potato to build a playset for a child without at Dad.  I know he will, because I’ve watched him do it.  It was Greg who showed me that charitable isn’t something to think about at Christmas time…it’s something you ARE.  He doesn’t give when it’s convenient.  He gives when God calls him, almost without fail.  Watching God send Greg all over this city has taught me a thing a two I wouldn’t have learned on my own.

A few years ago Greg and I found artificial Christmas trees on clearance, and we got this great idea to give them to people who didn’t have Christmas trees.  When I look back on it, it seems silly to think that if they couldn’t afford a tree, they couldn’t afford presents, and wouldn’t presents be a smarter thing for us to give?  Nevertheless, we bought them, and my Mom bought enough decorations to cover them.  We took them to The Wheeler Mission who, at that time, held an annual “Christmas Room” for families to pick out new presents if they couldn’t afford to buy for their children.  Surprisingly, they were overjoyed.  That very day a woman had stopped by the shelter asking for a Sharpie marker.  She wanted to draw a tree on her living room wall so her kids could have a Christmas tree.  I think I cried for a week when I heard that story.  The Christmas Room quickly made our annual list of “causes we support”, along with The Fuller Center for Housing, and The Progress House.

Then the Recession came along, blowing a hole in every charitable organization in this state.  The Wheeler Mission had to close down their Christmas Room, and here I was, with a car full of fake Christmas trees and basketballs (you never know what I might be buying with my secret buying ways..you didn’t think I’d let the Gifts War knowledge go to waste, did you?).  The kind folks at Wheeler directed me to The Shepherd Center, a local charity who took over The Christmas Room.  I was surprised to find that it was mere blocks from my very first home in historic Irvington.  The Shepherd Center is a place of successes, and it is here that I learned that giving isn’t just about hearing stories that pull at my heartstrings: it’s about winning the good fight.  They believe in breaking the cycle of poverty by stopping it at its core: by helping children and families gain core skills to rise out of poverty.  And they can prove that it can be done.  They keep maps of where their kids go to college: kids who grew up with empty cupboards and a less than zero upbringing.  They keep stats on the academic progress of every child who enters their programs.  Last summer alone, 88% of their campers improved their core academic skills, and 12% maintained.  Not one child fell behind.  They send these kids home with backpacks full of food for the weekends and evenings; food that they can open and eat on their own because it’s quite possible there is no one home to cook for them.  They sent me a letter after the Christmas Tree year and asked if I would donate money so kids could eat over Christmas break.  Are you KIDDING ME?  We all talk, and talk….and TALK about feeding hungry kids.  The Shepherd Center simply sent me a note and said, “Hey Lori, we’ll feed them.  Right here.  RIGHT NOW.  In your own city.  Today.  We just need to buy some food and some backpacks.”  So there you have it: my love affair with The Shepherd Center was born.

And my charitable giving suddenly (kind of like how wisdom tends to arrive) became PERSONAL.  I didn’t mail a check, I drove it over.  I wanted to see this Shepherd Center for myself.  It occupies a converted Lions Club, and is very well maintained.  Even in the core of the city, it has gardens and playgrounds and a church.  It isn’t fancy…it’s functional.  As I drove away, out of the corner of my eye, I spied a kid walking by with a backpack of food.  I fed that kid.  RIGHT THERE.  A kid getting fed was no more complicated than that…me running one simple errand.  No bitching and moaning about Capitol Hill and National priorities and School Lunch Programs.  No worries about overhead and red tape.  Just me, my minivan, a jot across town, and a small check.  Kids…get…fed.

I write this arduous post because I hope if you don’t support a charity that makes you feel like you are making a real difference, I hope I will inspire you to find one.  If you don’t have money, you might have time.  If you don’t have much time, you might have a very useful talent.  When Greg was laid off last year, he didn’t have money, but he had talent and time.  A couple of folks who knew him asked if he’d donate some of his gifts to local charities who needed organizational leadership.  Greg was more than happy to help, and behind the scenes, it did a lot for his spirit.  From those connections, people who volunteered at those charities liked Greg’s work, and hired him at their own businesses.  Through Greg’s giving, he found work that fed our own family for an entire year.  If you put good energy out there, it will come back to you.

Find what’s personal to you, and make it real.  Make it local.  And you’ll discover, it will matter.  A good first step is to look online and sign up for a newsletter from a charity you think might interest you.  Chances are, the newsletter will give you the information you need to get started on your charitable way.

Yesterday The Shepherd Center sent me their newsletter: Summer Excel Camp has started and they are short on sunscreen and Hula Hoops.  They are short on other things too, but sunscreen and Hula Hoops jumped off the page.  A) I have skin cancer and it SUCKS.  SUUUUCKKKSS.  And you know what sucks more than skin cancer?  Chemo.  That “really strong cream” turned out to be CHEMO-WHICH-SUCKETH after all, and there are moments every single day that I think maybe I’ll just learn to live with the cancer and throw this killer cream in the trash.  And I had parents who always covered my skin.  What about the kids who can’t even buy food?  Do you think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell they have sunscreen? No kid on my watch is going to fight his way through poverty only to get skin cancer. B) Hula Hoops?  Really?  The Shepherd Center has asked me for food, educational books, milk, diapers….but Hula Hoops for their summer camp?  That was new.  That was fresh and fun!  That request just had to be answered out of sheer joy for the program that sent impoverished kids to college with laptops last year.  Heck, they even have a program to teach kids raised in poverty how to order at a restaurant once they get to college, so they won’t feel like outcasts. You bet those campers should have Hula Hoops!

I gave the girls the list of needs and Kelly really felt all children should have popsicles, including and especially herself.  Sara thought the 100% Juice Boxes were critical.  So today the 3 of us trucked over to the East side and delivered our camp supplies.  The girls loaded the shelves at The Shepherd Center themselves.  And maybe, just perhaps, I saved 2 Hula Hoops for 2 little girls who tried to empty their own piggy banks last night, just to make sure all Indianapolis children had popsicles and juice this summer.  Ah, my beautiful girls.  They make me so proud.

Helping the needy isn’t sad.  It isn’t depressing.  It’s wonderful.  It’s enlightening. It’s important.  It’s urgent and right next to you.  Won’t you join me?  If you support a charity near and dear to your heart, share in the comments.  I’d love to hear about your causes.

P.S. After writing this post, I saved it as a draft, thinking if even one person read this and thought I was boasting, I’d die from embarrassment.  I want to inspire, not preach.  I’ve done my share of wrong, and no matter how many popsicles I buy, I feel as if I’ll never make amends for my own humanity.  I could not care less if anyone thinks I’m boasting about Greg.  He’s a God among men and inspires me every single day to be a better person.  I honestly don’t know where he finds the strength and the time.  You’d think he were here with us 24/7, and yet he serves on 3 different Not-For-Profit Boards outside of his full time job.  So I “drafted” it, assuming I would delete it, as I have many other posts.  I loaded the kids up for a late afternoon run to the grocery, realizing that with all this chit chat about hunger, maybe I should stop typing and feed my own children.  On our way out of the store, parked directly in front of my minivan, was a couple loading and securing a used mattress onto the back of a pick up truck.  Right in front of me…BLAM.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again…God is many things, but subtle isn’t one of them.  I KNEW Jesus sent me that man to teach me a lesson and pull my sorry butt out of my self-involved pity party.  I KNEW IT. So I’ll put this out there, hoping that if even one person feels the wave of love I feel every time I open a Shepherd Center newsletter, that’s one more kid who won’t go hungry this summer break.  And Godspeed to us all dear friends. Godspeed.