Overhead

I recently went to a screening of the movie Uncharitable.  It’s more of a documentary really about non-profits and how the outside world see’s “overhead” in the overall execution of any non-profit’s mission.  Ok ok, I know it’s not the kind of movie most people are like “OOOOOHHH!  Let’s go see THAT on a Friday night!”, but not only am I a non-profit professional, I’m a fundraiser—my entire job is “overhead” …and they gave me a free book and there’s not a lot I WON’T do for a free book.

I left the movie feeling both inspired (yay!) and depressed (boo!). 

Donors don’t like overhead.  They don’t want to pay for overhead.  But what is overhead?  It’s the portion of an organization that’s necessary to run the “business” but that doesn’t directly contribute to the programs that are designed to execute the mission.  If I’m a food bank, the building I work out of is overhead (actually, that’s capital—another big “no no” for most funders).  The utilities that keep the place running are overhead.  The receptionist who answers the phone and coordinates food donations is paid from overhead.  The food?  That’s program. 

But that’s really oversimplifying things.

If I’m a hospital, the doctors, nurses, medicine, equipment, surgical suites, sutures, needles, rubber gloves—that’s all program.  My billing department, computers, security personnel, parking attendant—that’s all overhead. 

If I’m concerned about feeding hungry people, I want my money to go towards the food bank’s food.  If I’m concerned about community health, I want my donation to pay for the doctor (or the rubber gloves—they’re kind of essential).  I really don’t want to pay for the billing person.  And I’m not super excited about paying the electric bill either.

BUT

Without those things, there is no food bank.  There is no hospital.  Trying running a hospital without the lights.  I’ll guarantee you, nothing gets done.

Take my own organization—the amazing sanctuary I work for who helps thousands of farm animals, animal companions, and humans of all ages.  When we rescued a pregnant goat last month, our animal care director took time (program) and used gas (program) to drive a truck (capital) to pick up the goat and transport her back to our veterinary clinic (capital) where our veterinarian (program) turned on the lights (overhead) in her exam room (capital), used veterinary supplies (program) and time (program) to examine the goat an asses her health.  All of that was paid for by donations.

Ok, you say, but MOST of the money was spent on the program.  I’ll pay a little overhead, but most of my donation should definitely pay for the programs.  Sure, that makes sense in this case, right?  Maybe.  Afterall, the clinic and the truck were already built.  Donations don’t need to support that.

But what about the clinic that hasn’t been built yet?  I can personally attest to the years it took to build the clinic that helped this goat (her name is Ayla, by the way and she’s such a sweetheart).  Every single dollar spent BEFORE the first nail was hammered was overhead.  It paid for me.  It took me decades to gain the experience I have and learn how to effectively do what I do.  I have a really expensive piece of paper that says I’m an expert (actually, 4 pieces of paper.  I keep the most important one in a file cabinet somewhere). 

And what do I do, really?  Go to a lot of parties?  Take people out to lunch?  Hardly (I hate parties).  I actually spend a lot of time saying thank you.  And while my “thank you” is genuine (I really mean it), it’s not without agenda.  I say thank you to every single donor—some of them more than once.  I know that without them, none of this exists.  None of it’s possible.  And I want them to know what a difference they’re making…so that the next time I say “please”, they’ll remember that I said “thank you” and give again.  It’s a cycle. 

Pretty simple, right?  Not really.  I have to have someone to thank first.  And that means asking.  That’s the fun part.  That’s the part I really love.  Here’s an oversimplified way it works:

Remember Ayla, our pregnant goat?  As soon as I heard about her, I spent time (overhead) and wrote a letter.  That letter (and some pictures) was shared (overhead) with about 30,000 people in one form or another.  It was emailed to a list of people who’ve said “I care about the work you do and want to hear more about it”.  They’re not all donors (YET!) but they’re listening.  It was posted on social media where we have something like 25,000 followers and from there it’s shared and reshared.  I worked with our PR person (overhead) to write a press release, which I then spent time (overhead) and sent to about 150 press contacts.   I spent time (overhead) reaching out to people I know and telling them personally what’s happening and asking if they’ll help.  Ayla’s story gets out there and people are interested.  They start sending in money to help take care of her.  It takes time (overhead) and systems (overhead) to track, count, and deposit that money.  Once the funding comes in, we can pay (overhead) for all of those program expenses that we incurred during her rescue.  I then pick up my phone (this is not capital, program or overhead because it’s my personal cell phone that I pay for and use mostly for work) and spend time (overhead) to call all of those wonderful people, tell them how Ayla is doing and thanking them for their generosity. 

Which costs more?  In this case, it might sound like Ayla.  She had a lot of health problems because she was so severely neglected.  She had pregnancy complications that required a visit (program) to a hospital (for us, program.  For the hospital, capital.  But they’re not a non-profit).  But what about that overhead?  If it had not been in place, none of this would have worked.  It was overhead that raised the money to build the clinic (capital), recruit and hire a veterinarian and animal care staff (overhead), research and purchase (overhead) the truck (capital) used to transport her and pay for all of the programs. And we’re not even talking about the barns (capital) and pastures (capital) where she’ll eventually live. All of that cost WAY more than the rescue of a single goat.  But all of it was necessary to save her.  Was she worth it?

I didn’t become an expert overnight (and let me be clear—this was NOT all me.  I have LOTS of help).  It took a lot of overhead to get me where I am.  But remove the overhead from this equation and poor Ayla is still stuck out there, unable to stand or walk, carrying babies that without intervention, would not have made it into this world.  But how much should we invest in overhead to get to the program part?

I look for money everywhere.  Becoming a fundraiser has turned me into a mercenary and a skeptic.  I’m very critical of non-profits.  I know how the vegan sausage is made.  It infuriates me when I hear that online casinos are spending billions (trillions?) of money on marketing (that’s overhead, by the way).  Think of all the good that money could do (not to mention all the harm it’s already doing)!

Remember that big football game that happens in February?  Not this last one—the one in 2024.  I can’t remember who played (or who won) but I do remember one commercial that got a big group of people really riled up.  The content of the commercial isn’t important here (but I really liked it and thought it provoked a lot of thought) except to say that at its heart, it was about Jesus—sharing his message and inviting people to meet him.  What was important to a lot of people was how much money was spent on that ad.  Somewhere behind the scenes was a non-profit.  I don’t know a ton about that non-profit and I have no knowledge whatsoever about how they raise funds.  Maybe they got the whole thing donated—I don’t know.  But a lot of people were really mad about how much money was spent by a non-profit on a Superbowl ad.  Those 30 seconds were expensive.  And guess what?  Overhead. 

As a non-profit fundraiser, I’d have a hard time spending that kind of money on overhead (I’d love to—boy would it multiply FAST).  But as a Christian, I know that all resources belong to God (Psalm 50:10) and that He’d spend it all to save just one of us (Luke 15:4).  If a single person came to know Christ because of that Superbowl ad, it was worth it. 

So, how much is Ayla worth?  Every single penny.  She isn’t just one goat (or even 3 if you count the babies).  She is kindness.  She is generosity.  She is motherhood.  She is resilience.  She is compassion.  She is opportunity.  And I will do all I can to save her.  In saving her, I am saving all of those other things.  Without them, we have nothing.  She is love.  And isn’t that what Jesus came for?  His sacrifice was all love.  In saving Ayla, I am worshiping Christ.  That’s His program.