Here are two different ways to tell the story of Jack, an 87-year-old Korean War veteran who found himself struggling to make ends meet and ultimately found solace and purpose through a food bank.

Version 1: The Immersive, Redemptive Arc

Jack’s hands trembled as he opened the box, the familiar scent of peanut butter wafting up. It had been years since he’d bought a jar for himself. These days, his Social Security check barely covered rent and medications, let alone anything extra.

He sighed, sinking into the worn kitchen chair as sunlight caught the medals on the wall—symbols of a time when he wore his uniform with pride, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brothers in arms. Those days felt like they belonged to another man entirely.

Life after the war had been a grind: factory jobs, raising three kids, and finally retiring when his body couldn’t handle the work anymore. But with his wife gone and his children scattered, loneliness crept in like an unwelcome guest. The cupboards emptied faster than he anticipated, and there were days when he chose hunger over asking for help. Until the day he couldn’t anymore.

The weight of his pride fought with the ache in his stomach as he stood, frozen outside the food bank’s door. When he finally stepped in, the smell of coffee and the low hum of conversation made him feel out of place, like he didn’t belong. His cheeks burned as he avoided the eyes of the volunteers, focusing instead on the floor beneath his worn shoes. But when one of them approached, her voice was warm, her smile kind.

“We’re glad you’re here. Let’s get you set up, okay?”

Something in Jack loosened, a knot he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. The volunteer handed him a food box and gestured toward a table where others were drinking coffee and chatting. For the first time in years, he felt seen.

“You’re a vet?” another volunteer asked later, noticing his hat. “We could use someone like you to help out here. You know how to lead, don’t you?”

Jack had scoffed at the idea, but the next week, he returned—this time as a volunteer. Sorting cans, bagging fresh produce, and chatting with other seniors who showed up to pick up their boxes—it gave him a reason to get out of bed each morning.

One day, a woman lingered at the door, her hesitation mirroring his first visit. Jack called out, “Come on in. We’ve got coffee.” When she relaxed and stepped inside, he felt a warmth he hadn’t known in years. He realized he could offer the same comfort he’d once been given.

“You’re not just giving us food,” the woman told him later. “You’re giving us dignity.”

Jack smiled as he handed her the bag, feeling the same pride he once felt when his actions saved a fellow soldier’s life. For the first time in years, Jack felt like he mattered.

Version 2: The Descriptive, “Tell, Don’t Show” Style

Jack is an 87-year-old veteran of the Korean War who has struggled with loneliness and financial difficulties in his later years. After his wife passed away and his children moved away, Jack found himself unable to make ends meet on his Social Security income. He often had to choose between paying for groceries or his medications.

Eventually, Jack turned to his local food bank, where he started receiving senior boxes with essential items like canned goods and fresh produce. He was initially embarrassed to ask for help but was welcomed warmly by the volunteers.

After a few visits, Jack decided to give back by volunteering at the food bank. He now spends his time helping to organize food distributions and talking to other seniors who rely on the food bank. Volunteering has given Jack a new sense of purpose and helped him feel less isolated. He says that he now looks forward to each day because he feels like he is making a difference.

The Questions That Matter

Which one of these is more compelling?  Which one reads like a 6th grader’s, expository book report?

Which one connects Jack’s struggle and his redemption in a way that feels authentic? Which one makes you feel Jack’s shame, his pride, his humanity?

Now ask yourself:

• Which story makes the reader want to stick around until the end?
• Which story makes Jack feel like a person, not a plot device?
• Which story do you think Jack himself would want told about his life?

Storytelling is a learned skill with rules and those rules are grounded in science.  Narrative psychology tells us that redemptive arcs—those stories where adversity gives way to growth and purpose—resonate deeply with our human need for meaning.  And a story well told lights up the same parts of the brain as if you physically experienced it.

Having scored hundreds of fundraising emails and letters we know with high certainty that most copy is devoid of story or is all tell, no show. These non-stories fail to convey the struggle, the transformation, the hope and they shortchange the story—and the person at the heart of it.

If we want our audiences to care, to connect, to give, we have to do better. We have to take them on the journey.

Matching Story to Reader

But a story well told only matters if it matches the reader.  Who should receive this vet story? In 99% of fundraising, you write the appeal and then decide who to send it to based on internal business rules – e.g. RFM buckets or model deciles.

In the behavioral science world of better fundraising, we flip this. Who is the audience? What are their values and goals, and how do we show them that supporting us aligns with those values?  We conducted research that unearthed a Military Identity, and we use a variety of methods to identify those people on the file. Then we curate stories for them.

This approach isn’t just better storytelling; it’s better fundraising.

Kevin