There was desperation in the voice of the woman who called me yesterday. She wanted to know if our agency could help her. She had been staying with friends since her power was turned off for nonpayment of the electric bill, and then her friends' power was turned off, too. She and her daughter needed a place to go. She was working two jobs and had an apartment lined up, but it wouldn't be available until Oct. 1. Could I help her?
No, I said. That's not something we are able to do. My agency's limited funds are restricted to helping people in disasters, such as house fires. Had she tried the Salvation Army? She had; it had no funds left for utility bills. I referred her to the Wilson Crisis Center and wished her luck.
This scenario is not new or unique. I've been fielding similar calls for months. People in distress are nothing new — the poor are always with us, the Bible says — but this recession has made more people poor, and more people desperate. Help with utility bills (Wilson's electric rates are notoriously high) is the most frequent request, but I've also heard requests for help with phone bills, rent and medical equipment.
It's painful to say no, but you can't help everyone, and if you try, you end up not helping those whose needs are greatest. I didn't ask for the woman's name or how to contact her. If I had, I would have to reconsider my response. I cannot use the charitable funds I'm responsible for to help her, but I'm fortunate enough to have enough money of my own that I could pay for a motel room for her for a few days. Maybe that would give her enough breathing space to get her life together.
Maybe that would relieve the anguish I feel when I remember the quiet desperation in her voice.
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