Lately, I’ve been approaching most of these challenges the way I really ought to be approaching the rest of my life: throwing the idea out into the universe and asking for an answer to fall into my lap. This sure beats wracking my brain to come up with the answer myself, and the great thing about it is that when it happens, my heart knows it immediately.
I admit that when I saw the “give to a charity” challenge, I groaned a little. Not that I am not a generous person. It’s just that there comes a time when you get charity burnout. Seems that everywhere you turn, someone is doing something for a cause. No one just does stuff for fun anymore. They run for a cause. Walk for a cause. Swim for a cause. Breathe for a cause. Make love for a cause. (OK, maybe not that. Yet.)
And the methodology behind fundraising has become more pervasive as well. Just take a look at your Facebook page, the banners on websites and iPhone apps, the checkout counter at your local supermarket. Not to mention the solicitation phone calls … though these days they have to compete with politicians for the honor of disturbing dinner.
The other fundraising turnoff for me is the fact that I am a Catholic school survivor – having been a student for 12 years and a parent for more than 20. And let’s face it, the Catholic schools have taken fundraising to the level of an art form. Who can forget the army of small uniformed salespeople that set out to ring neighborhood doorbells each year with “Crap-in-a-Box”? Or the cartons of candy that the students lugged home just after Halloween? (Whose bright idea was it to sell candy for $1 a bar AFTER the kids had just gotten four pillowcases full of it for free while trick-or-treating?) Bake sales, Mission Day, pasta dinners, “dress-down days” … between rising tuition rates and year upon year of fundraisers, most of us got to graduation either burnt out, broke … or both!
Still, there are a lot of needy people out there. And so many worthwhile causes. Especially these days, those of us who are lucky enough to have an income – no matter how small – feel almost compelled to give to our neighbors who are not so fortunate. How to decide? Today the universe would have to let me know.
By early afternoon, I’d still not received my answer from the universe but I had received plenty of messages on what NOT to donate to. Like the news that only 3% of the money sent to victims of the earthquake in Haiti had actually reached them.
Then, as I was checking my friends’ status updates on Facebook, I saw what I was looking for. A friend posted the amount she and her 4H group had raised at their BBQ over the weekend to benefit the Wounded Warriors Project. It just so happened it was a little less than a nice round number. And it also just so happened that the amount needed to reach that nice round number was right within my budget. I had wanted to attend this event, but had been out of town the day it was held. And as an added bonus, the Wounded Warrior Project is something I firmly believe in.
With its slogan “The greatest casualty is being forgotten,” the Wounded Warrior Project began – and I quote from their website – when several individuals took small, inspired actions to help others in need. One night while watching the evening news, a group of veterans and brothers were moved by the difficult stories of the first wounded service members returning home from Afghanistan and Iraq. They realized then and there that something needed to be done for these brave individuals beyond the brass bands and ticker tape parades. Read more: http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/content/view/415/876/#ixzz12EtwbA25
The first time I heard about this organization, I was reminded of the story of my paternal grandmother. My father had returned home from serving in World War II extremely ill with tuberculosis. In those days, that was pretty much a death sentence. Yet miraculously the antibiotics that cured him were introduced in time for him to make a full recovery. Nevertheless, there were repercussions, health problems lingered, and the Army was none too eager to pay for them. My grandmother began a one-woman campaign to get Uncle Sam to rectify this situation – and eventually my dad was able to receive disability payments for the remainder of his life. So I see the Wounded Warrior Project as Grandma to the nth degree. Sicilian lady vs. the US government. Sicilian lady wins. Pretty awesome stuff! My check is in the mail.
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