I don’t think they get it in Washington. They just don’t get it. I may be one small fish in a large ocean and overlooked. But I never saw this coming; I never got it until it got me. I truly hope and pray no man, woman, or child in this country has to deal with the stress, worry, and pain I have dealt with over the past five months, hanging on to that last thread of hope in a nation that is falling apart. Every voice—every person—counts in this election. Please let your voice be heard.”
I couldn’t resist and sent Debbie another $200, again knowing it would not be enough. Despite the driving urge to bail her out myself, I knew neither of us could keep going this way. So I drew on the only other resource I knew how to tap: the passion to inspire others. By telling her story, Debbie and I would launch a social experiment to elicit random acts of kindness for a stranger. This would be a grassroots effort to help those who, like Debbie, have slipped through the cracks and are $1,000 from homeless. Debbie is one of many, I suspect, who has exhausted all available sources for financial and employment aid (governmental, United Way, churches, and more), and for whom—incredulously—many legitimate charities will not help either precisely because she is not employed, or because she is not destitute enough. Yet.
I wonder who will heed the call to help Debbie, especially today when none of us can be sure just how much we might have to help ourselves. I know it’s scary. More than once, I’ve had to confront my own cowardice and muster the courage to put myself on the line for her. Worse yet, I have pondered the awful possibility that I’ll issue an appeal and no one will answer the call—then what? Have I attempted to be “my brother’s keeper” only to make the situation worse? Only to create false hope for a woman whose hopes are dashed to bits already?
