Joan Garry's Guide to Nonprofit Leadership. Joan Garry

was so much more than soup. It's hope, compassion — I know we are really feeding people. I saw it first hand when I rode the truck to make deliveries once a month. We had this one client —Madeline— a feisty woman in her early seventies fighting cancer. She was one tough bird. But when we arrived, she melted. Her whole face lit up. And she told us the soup was almost as good as her own ☺.”

       Stir and voilà!You have me at hello. I am drawn in. I want to know more. I may be ready to actually do!

      ∗ ∗ ∗

      Even for an organization whose mission is crystal clear and whose impact is quantifiable, it can be tough to tell a good story.

      Anytime someone utters the magic words — “Tell me about your organization” — you're being handed a big, fat opportunity.

      I know this in my heart, though: Anytime someone utters the magic words — “Tell me about your organization” — you're being handed a big, fat opportunity.

And if I have anything to say about it, you won't miss out on that opportunity.

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR ORGANIZATION

      I just mentioned that the request in this section heading is a big, fat opportunity. Allow me to explain. Whether you're staff, board, faculty, administration, or volunteer, you're a singularly credible messenger and one of the most powerful ambassadors in your organization.

      Through your telling, you can bring volunteers, other board members, elected officials, parents, clients, donors, and press to the organization you care about.

      So you have to get this right.

      Talking about your organization in a way that's compelling, engaging, and memorable is, in my mind, the most important skill you can develop.

      Maybe you're thinking, “I don't often have time to tell a whole story.” Or, more importantly, “I was asked the question but only have a minute. We're standing in a lobby.”

      Different settings demand different tellings.

IN THE LOBBY — THE MISSION STATEMENT

      Let me be crystal clear. A mission statement is not a story. Neither is it an elevator pitch. A mission statement is a written declaration of purpose. It should state clearly whom you serve, what you do, and why you do it.

      A mission statement is not a story. Neither is it an elevator pitch. A mission statement is a written declaration of purpose. It should state clearly whom you serve, what you do, and why you do it.

A mission statement rarely changes. (If the need for a new one exists, it is as a result of some kind of significant strategic shift. More on that topic in Chapter 5.)

      The organization named charity: water, for example, will likely always exist to bring “clean and safe drinking water to people in developing countries.”

      That's to the point, eh? The mission statement articulates the problem and offers hope with charity: water on the job.

      Here's part of NPR's mission statement:

      The mission of NPR, in partnership with its member stations, is to create a more informed public, one challenged and invigorated by a deeper understanding and appreciation of events, ideas, and culture within the United States and across the globe.

      What I like about this one is that it's aspirational. I desperately want the public to be well informed, and I only have to hit the Scan button on the car radio or graze the TV news to know that NPR represents hope. I know what this organization stands for. I know that it will lead me deeper into the news and help me better understand and appreciate the world around me.

      Sadly, mission statements often don't rise to the occasion.

      That last sentence was oh‐so‐kind. Many mission statements are simply big, hot messes.

      They're developed by a group of type A folks (board and senior staff) who become frighteningly tied to individual words and phrases. Words like facilitate (weak), integrate (unclear), and change‐agent (let me guess — you represent people who make change).

      It can become ugly. And the outcome, uglier still.

As a result, precious few of the 1.5 million nonprofits in the US have five‐star mission statements. Typically, your best hope is that they're clinical and soulless; at worst, they're completely incomprehensible.

      So, in that context, how does a mission statement fare in the telling?

      Well, first things first. Mission statements often come across sounding a lot like the Girl Scouts' or Boy Scouts' pledge recited with three fingers in the air and hand over heart: memorized, regurgitated, and often lacking meaning.

      By the way, try opening any conversation with a possible stakeholder with the words “Our mission is… .” and watch the stakeholder's eyes roll into the back of their head — then watch your opportunity fly away.

      A clear mission statement is absolutely critical to every single stakeholder group and is one of the key ingredients in a healthy nonprofit.

      But a story it is not.

      And that's OK. You've only entered the lobby.

      A mission statement is OK to present in the lobby. But if your nonprofit is one of the unlucky ones that has a long, incomprehensible mission statement, offer the one you'd write if you were solely in charge.

IN THE ELEVATOR — THE PITCH

      OK, now you're in the elevator and the same request is made. You have a greater opportunity — though it's not the kind that presents itself when you're sitting next to someone at a dinner party. It's somewhere in between.

      In this situation, a mission statement won't do, especially if you have one of those really bad ones.

Note that you aren't in the full‐on solicitation business here. You don't have enough time. So what is the goal? To inform and to invite:

      Get out the facts quickly — short and to the point — and then say something compelling that makes them want to know more — that invites them into a conversation.

      You have 30 seconds — maybe 60, if you're lucky.

      Here are a few pointers:

       No mission statement. Do not attempt to impress your listener with a recitation of your mission statement. That is not impressive. It is a bad move or a missed opportunity.

       Pretend that your audience is a 10‐year‐old kid. One time, I asked an executive director to tell me about her organization. We were at a cocktail party (not in an elevator). Twenty minutes later, she finally wrapped up.I couldn't help myself — I asked her this question next: “Do you think you might answer that question again and, this time, pretend I am 10‐years‐old?”Her response the second time was shorter. She chopped out all the jargon and spoke simply and clearly. And something about my being 10 led her to speak to me, to think about me and what would engage me. It became much less about her organization and her and much more about me.

       End with an authentic invitation. You could put it in the form of a simple question (such as “Would you like to know more?”) or ask to exchange business cards or email addresses and then follow up.

Are you thinking “one minute and I'm also supposed to get an email address?” Well, you sure ain't if you don't ask.

STEP OFF THE ELEVATOR AND WORK THE ROOM

      As with