I was driving along the edge of Lake Erie the other day, listening to an interview with Darell Hammond about KaBOOM! I was momentarily distracted when he said “we work with the grassroots and the grasstops to address the play deficit.”  At first, all I could think was, “where are the jargon police when you need them?”

But I was drawn back into the discussion when he told a story from his childhood – one about he and other neighborhood kids who competed to see how high they could swing, standing up, hoping to get enough velocity to swing the whole way around.  While attempting one of these standing 360 feats a piece of the swing broke and he fell.  He noted that he got pretty scraped up, but no attorneys got involved, there wasn’t a petition to close the playground, he (and other neighborhood kids) were just back on the swings the next day – standing – trying to swing up and over the swing set.

I thought about my own experiences (and the scars still visible on my hand and both knees) from my own childhood mishaps while at play.  But I also thought about the feeling of swinging over a creek on a vine – and making it to the other side – or those perfect summer days playing a pick-up game of ball.  In fact, most of our play was on the street or in empty lots rather than an actual playground.

It was a long drive so this took my mind to the way in which nonprofits have had to create a dynamic in which there is a BIG PROBLEM that has to be defined in order to capture donors and volunteers.  Hammond defined a “play deficit” and the “play deserts” that cause physical, emotional, and intellectual harm to our children.  He connected these to increasing rates of childhood obesity and poor school behavior and performance.  I don’t doubt this.  Play is not only about learning to get along with people, physical activity, and creativity – it’s also about risk taking and pushing the limits.  KaBOOM! has done a brilliant job of bringing a lot of resources to building playgrounds in places that need one.

However, creating this negative frame of reference always bothered me when I was running a community-based organization.  Sure, my communities were some of the poorest in the region – communities that had lost their economic heart and a lot of young residents when the steel mills closed.  But they weren’t communities without good people, good ideas, and a willingness to work.

The calamity that hit them was created by much bigger international market forces and reverberated throughout western Pennsylvania – and other steel-making places around the country.  But to get the resources needed to reshape still viable residential neighborhoods and support the remaining core of small manufacturers in the region meant defining the negatives – the deficits and deserts – and pushing the assets far down the list.

I remember a drive through one of those communities – Rankin – with Paul Grogan, who was then the President of Local Initiatives Support Corporation (LISC).  Paul noted that the housing stock didn’t look that bad compared to some of the other places that LISC was working.   That comment really frustrated me.  (Sorry, Paul.)  I think I answered with something like, “Does a neighborhood have to reach rock bottom before it’s worth investment?  Wouldn’t we be better off intervening while there’s still some decent housing and a neighborhood to build on?”  (LISC decided that the answer to that was “yes.”)

All of us are looking at a very difficult funding environment in which these critical questions come up every day.  More and more often foundations are asking for the ROI when they make a grant – or less elegantly – where’s the biggest bang for the buck? How big is the problem and how creative the solution?  Do you go to the biggest problems that require the most significant time and resources?  How long do you sustain the investment?  Does that influence the approach?

All big questions – and ones that make me appreciate the challenges in making these decisions.

What’s your experience been like as a grantseeker or grantmaker?  Do the deserts get all the attention at the expense of the gardens that may be facing a temporary drought and just need some water to bloom again or are the deserts so vast they can’t be ignored?

Last week, the New York Times reported that the League of Women Voters did more than raise some eyebrows with its high-profile television ads calling out two US Senators for voting to limit the EPA’s regulatory ability to enforce such standards as the Clean Air Act. The ads, costing $1.5 million, targeted Democratic Senator Claire McCaskill (MO) and Republican Senator Scott Brown (MA), both of whom are up for re-election in 2012.

Brown’s camp accused the League of siding with a “liberal” agenda, while McCaskill and other Democrats also cried foul, calling the ads “not helpful.” But beneath the predictable campaign damage control lies the fact that those on both sides of the political aisle were so utterly shocked that an organization like the League of Women Voters would take such a direct approach.

Accustomed to the League’s more comforting strategies of publishing voter guides and politely issuing position statements, even some League members themselves were taken aback when the organization finally raised its voice to be heard over the noise in the modern political arena.

It was this break in character, in fact, that made the ads so powerful.

I’ve experienced this myself, on a personal level. With a quiet demeanor and a tendency to listen and analyze information in group settings rather than express every idea that comes into my head, it’s a rarity when I speak up, drive home a point, or voice frustration or dissent. But when I do, you can bet I have the ears of the group. And I also understand that with that power comes the responsibility to use it wisely, lest I lose it.

The League of Women Voters’ recent decision to step outside of its own comfort zone, and to risk its image in the minds of others who prefer its more passive persona, is one that I was glad to see it make – not only because it seemed to confirm that the organization does have power at its disposal, but because as League advocacy committee chairwoman Judy Duffy said to the Times, it honors the activism of its founding mothers, who “were not shrinking violets.” At the same time, I hope that it continues to wield this power judiciously, in a way that strengthens its identity, rallies its constituents, and advances its mission.

In what ways might your organization – or you as a professional – consider judiciously stepping outside your box to take a stand, flex your power, or make your voice heard?