How I Didn't Ask for a Million Dollars

And how it changed my life.

(Note: This story is shared with the donor’s edits and permission. He asked me to use his name, too. I took another person out of the story at their request.)

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There is one letter I wish I still had in my possession.

It was a formal letter of solicitation. Personalized. Carefully worded. Printed on letterhead, creased in thirds, tucked into an unsealed campaign envelope. The sentence that mattered read, “...would you please prayerfully consider a gift or pledge of $25,000 to this important campaign?”

Of all the letters I’ve prepared and mailed or handed over, I wish that letter was framed and hanging on my office wall, so I could smile at it every morning. And it plausibly could be! You see, I never handed that envelope to the addressee.

I succeeded in keeping it in the pocket of my sportcoat, on that all-important donor visit 20 years ago. The night I got the gift that changed the direction of my life. The biggest gift I never asked for.

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In an earlier chapter, I shared that my first professional undertaking was as a pastor. Two churches in succession, 18 years in total. Toward the end I was leaning toward a new career in development. I earned a certification, got myself ready.

My bishop offered me a part-time job, leading a statewide campaign for seminary scholarships. I accepted the job, and with it the pre-existing campaign steering committee, a campaign plan, and a $3 million goal.

The inherited plan was to work our way around seven communities, forming campaign committees in each one, holding events, meeting people, asking for contributions. We started close to home.

Local campaign leaders were invited. I dazzled them with stats and videos; I let them know we hoped they would make the first commitments, and that I would be calling on them.

If you’re even a little aware of fundraising best practices, you recognize the classic campaign structure. You are also wincing at the dearth of cultivation moves. Looking back, I cringe at the memory of how I charged ahead. I was probably impatient; I was next to clueless. (Spoiler alert: my solicitation was also sub-awesome.)

Our first personal visit was with Duane and Phyllis. I was to meet them at their home one evening in February. I had a game plan. I had role-played. I brought the campaign folder, with all its glorious charts and testimonials; it was going to set up the “ask.” In my breast pocket was the solicitation letter asking the campaign’s first donor for the first donation. This would be my very first ask: $25,000! I was ready: blue blazer, new nametag, high hopes.

Duane and Phyllis welcomed me in. I had envisioned having this encounter in their formal living room, but they walked me right through it, past the dining room, directly to the kitchen table. (This was the first thing they taught me that evening…you want to be at the kitchen table!) Phyllis offered cookies and coffee. We munched and chatted.

Soon we shifted from small talk to business. “Well, I would like to know what you two think of this important campaign…” That’s the last thing I remember saying.

Phyllis sat up straight, then leaned in to share how important this program is to them both. She glanced at Duane — he nodded. She talked about the urgent need to recruit new young pastors. She testified about how we can’t expect them to take student loans for seminary, then go to some small town or rural setting where they are so desperately needed with big loans to pay — that’s not going to work! She said they are all for it, and that they had talked about their gift, and Duane was going to tell us about it.

Something told me to be quiet, and to stay quiet.

Duane started in. Deliberately, looking over his spectacles, he described a gift of stock they were going to make to the campaign. He mentioned the name of the stock. He gave the number of shares. I multiplied it by the stock price — can my math be right??

Duane turned and looked over his glasses at his wife, eyebrows raised in marital communication which I took as, “Keep going, or stop?” Phyllis gave him a look that said, “You know what we talked about. Keep going, mister.”

That’s the second thing they taught me that evening: most of what really matters in a solicitation meeting takes place on the non-verbal level. “Don’t talk,” I kept telling myself. “Don’t even move. Do not take that envelope out of your pocket…”

There was also some cash, said Duane, they wanted to give to the campaign. He gave the amount. They like the bishop so much. Would we please express their thanks to her?

At this point my voice started working again. “Oh, I think the Bishop will be coming here very soon to thank YOU.” I jotted down the figures. Duane said, “Yes, it should come out to just over one million dollars all together.”

One. Million. OMG.

I probably offered an appropriate prayer to close the meeting. I really don’t remember. I do recall getting to the car and asking myself, “Did that really just happen??”

The memory of that visit is still clear, like a movie I love to watch. A movie with two heroes, and neither one is me. I still marvel at what that one gift has accomplished. And how it changed my life.

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The campaign was a success. (How could it fail, when the first gift covered one-third of the goal?) Many young people went to seminary, then into ministry. Phyllis was happy about that. Duane was invited to the seminary board of directors. He was happy about that. The Bishop saw a dream become reality. Many are still happy about that.

I looked amazingly good on paper, like I really knew what I was doing. I was offered the corresponding national position in Chicago. I was happy that the shift from pastor to fundraiser really happened.

That was nearly twenty years. Last month I ate cookies at that same kitchen table with Duane. And though Phyllis is now gone, we still smiled together thinking about it all.

I think about the letter that — thank God! — didn’t make it out of my pocket. Maybe I tossed it in recycling. Or it’s waiting in some box, and it will turn up when I have nothing to do but go through old files. Anyway, I don’t have that blessed letter. It’s okay. I have kept much from that experience with those fine people. I have more than enough.

That’s the third thing I learned from them. Duane and Phyllis are examples of how a person gets to live when they have more than enough.

Kelly Wendell is the editor of “To Be a Fundraiser”. She is Coordinator of Communications for South Dakota State University.

Next week I return to my rhythm of a post and a response! There are some great fundraiser friends lined up!