“You go on in, dear,” she said to the man next to her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

The man patted her shoulder and walked away; I assumed that was her husband, Frank.

“I just wanted to apologize for being so brusque with you at the office today,” Gwen said to me, taking hold of my elbow. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just a little overwhelmed.”

“I understand,” I said, though I didn’t. I still thought she was holding out on me regarding important information about the need for the J.O.S.H.U.A. money.

“Have you been inside yet?” she asked.

“Yes. The family seems to be holding up well,” I replied. “So far, anyway.”

“Poor Marion,” Gwen said. “I don’t know what I’ll do when Frank dies. I only pray I go first.”

Still holding my elbow, she led me with her into the main room where we joined her husband in the long line that snaked almost to the door.

“So, Gwen,” I said after she made the necessary introductions, “I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about the hunger relief business. I don’t know much beyond what I’ve seen on those late-night TV commercials.”

She enthusiastically launched into an explanation of how needs were identified and then how the money they raised was distributed. As we slowly worked our way up in the line, she talked about Feed the Need’s efforts toward education regarding proper health and hygiene, nutrition, farming, and medical care, all of which helped improve a needy community’s standard of living. As she spoke, I recalled a mission trip I once took to Mexico as a teenager with my church. The need there was so great, and our group’s resources so limited, that I had spent most of the time on the verge of tears, aching for the suffering that could’ve been so easily alleviated with a little money from other, more prosperous countries. That trip had overwhelmed me with despair, and it had taken me years to come to grips with the devastating poverty I had witnessed there.

“Do you really bring in enough money to these countries to make a difference, though?” I asked. “It seems to me that the suffering is just so tremendous.”

“We can’t look at it that way. For every water pump we install in a village in Africa, for every well we dig in Korea, for every health worker we place in Mexico—we’ve made a difference. We’ve changed someone’s life for the better.”

“I suppose it all helps the giver, too. Gives them a feeling of altruism, of making a difference themselves.”

To my surprise, Frank grunted and turned his head.

“Oh, you hush,” Gwen said to him. “Yes, Callie, it does help the giver. We live in such a wealthy country; we should all be sharing that wealth.”