When Did Asking for Help Become a Conversation With a Computer?

A Kansas pastor fighting an extraordinarily rare kidney crisis has made nearly 200 requests for greater visibility. His experience raises a larger question about technology, compassion, and whether the human touch is disappearing when people need it most.

By Rev. Dr. Steven D. Mills | Publisher, On The Dial

For more than three decades, I’ve worked in an industry built around human connection. Radio taught me that a voice can reach through a speaker, cross hundreds of miles, and make somebody feel a little less alone. I’ve watched broadcasters raise money for struggling families, bring communities together after tragedies, and use their microphones to accomplish things that seemed impossible. Today, as a pastor in Garden City, Kansas, fighting an extraordinarily complicated medical battle, I’ve discovered something that has made me think differently about the world we’ve created.

We’ve made it easier than ever to reach millions of people. But have we made it harder to reach one human being?

I never imagined I would be asking that question while fighting for my own life.

I’ve survived cancer twice. My battle with Hodgkin’s lymphoma included a bone marrow transplant, and in 2021, I survived colorectal cancer. Unfortunately, the treatments that helped save my life contributed to the kidney failure I’m battling today.

I’m now on dialysis, searching for a compatible kidney donor.

But my situation is extraordinarily rare.

My calculated panel reactive antibody level, known as cPRA, is approximately 99.9999%. That means my immune system is so highly sensitized that finding a compatible kidney is exceptionally difficult.

I need to reach an enormous number of people because somewhere among them may be the person who could help save my life.

And that brings me to GoFundMe.

My campaign has submitted nearly 200 requests asking GoFundMe to consider sharing my story with its broader audience.

Not requests for the company to give me money.

Not demands that my situation be considered more important than someone else’s.

Simply requests for additional visibility.

I recognize that GoFundMe receives countless requests from people facing heartbreaking circumstances. I also understand that companies must have systems to manage the enormous volume of information coming through their doors.

What I don’t know is whether my requests have received individual consideration, how they have been evaluated, or whether they have reached the people who make decisions about featured stories.

And that’s precisely why I believe this conversation matters.

At what point does someone look beyond the submission process and see the person making the request?

Technology has accomplished extraordinary things. It has allowed families to raise money across continents, connected patients with medical communities, and given ordinary people access to audiences that once belonged exclusively to major media companies.

I’m grateful for those possibilities.

Without digital platforms, millions of people might never have encountered my story.

But somewhere along the way, we’ve also become comfortable allowing automated systems to handle deeply personal circumstances.

We submit forms. We receive automated acknowledgments. We follow links to help centers. We complete another form and wait for another response.

And sometimes, after doing everything the system asks, we still don’t know whether another human being has truly heard us.

I’m not suggesting that GoFundMe relies exclusively on computers to evaluate requests. I don’t know how my submissions have been processed, and it would be unfair to pretend otherwise.

I’m asking something broader.

Shouldn’t there be a point, particularly when someone’s health and future are at stake, when a human conversation becomes part of the process?

Not because every request can be granted.

Not because every story can be featured.

But because people deserve to feel that their circumstances have been understood, even when the answer is no.

There is an enormous difference between receiving a decision and feeling invisible.

Throughout this journey, I’ve experienced remarkable kindness.

Social media creator Josh Liljenquist helped tell my story to millions. Radio personalities have invited me to share my circumstances with their listeners. People I’ve never met have contributed financially, sent prayers, and encouraged others to investigate living kidney donation.

Recently, someone from GiveSendGo personally called and prayed with me.

That telephone call did not produce a kidney. It did not eliminate my medical bills or resolve the uncertainty surrounding my future.

But it reminded me that somebody on the other end of this enormous digital world understood there was a human being behind the campaign.

And that mattered.

A simple conversation can restore something that automated systems sometimes struggle to provide.

Hope.

My experience has also made me think about the industry I’ve loved for more than three decades.

Radio is embracing automation, artificial intelligence, centralized programming, voice tracking, and increasingly sophisticated digital systems.

Many of these technologies have legitimate benefits. They can improve efficiency, reduce repetitive work, and help broadcasters serve audiences in ways that weren’t possible a generation ago.

But there is a danger in confusing efficiency with connection.

Radio’s greatest strength has never been the transmitter, the automation system, or the software running in the background.

It’s the human being who knows when to turn down the music and listen.

Think about the morning-show host who takes a call from a struggling parent. The program director who recognizes that a local family’s medical crisis deserves attention. The station manager who makes a few telephone calls and suddenly connects someone with resources they never knew existed.

Those moments cannot be measured solely in ratings points or advertising revenue.

And they should not disappear because technology makes it easier to avoid them.

What if radio stations made a commitment to review genuine community requests with actual people?

What if someone at every station had the responsibility of identifying one local family each month that could benefit from the station’s reach?

What if broadcasters used their collective platforms not merely to entertain audiences but to connect people facing extraordinary challenges with others who might be able to help?

It wouldn’t require every station to raise thousands of dollars.

Sometimes it would require only a telephone call, a conversation, or a minute of airtime.

Technology can deliver the message. Humanity determines whether we care enough to send it.

I want GoFundMe to understand that this column isn’t written out of anger.

I’m grateful that the platform exists. I’m grateful for every donor who has contributed through it. I’m grateful that technology has made it possible for strangers to support people they may never meet.

But I’m also asking the company to consider something.

My campaign has made nearly 200 requests for help sharing my story.

I’m a husband, a father, and a pastor who has spent much of his adult life trying to serve other people.

Today, I need help.

My medical situation is extraordinarily complicated. My financial responsibilities continue to grow. And the search for a compatible kidney remains painfully uncertain.

I would welcome the opportunity to speak with someone on GoFundMe’s storytelling or community outreach team.

Not to demand a feature.

Simply to explain why reaching a larger audience could make a meaningful difference in my chances of finding a compatible donor.

If the answer is no, I can respect that.

But I would be grateful for a conversation.

Because sometimes the most meaningful thing an organization can offer is evidence that somebody was listening.

This isn’t really just about GoFundMe.

It’s about every company, media organization, broadcaster, and institution that interacts with people through increasingly automated systems.

We are building a world where technology can answer questions in seconds, generate content instantly, and distribute messages to millions.

Those are extraordinary achievements.

But we should never become so impressed with what our systems can do that we forget what people need.

A mother waiting for medical assistance doesn’t need another complicated menu.

A father trying to keep his family together doesn’t always need another automated acknowledgment.

And a pastor searching for an extraordinarily rare kidney donor doesn’t necessarily need another million views.

He needs the right person to see his story.

And perhaps someone with the ability to help make that happen.

I still believe in the power of technology. I still believe in the power of broadcasting. And I still believe that organizations like GoFundMe can change lives.

But I believe something else just as strongly.

The most powerful technology in the world is still no substitute for a human being who decides to care.

If we remember that, perhaps we can build something better.

A world where efficiency and compassion work together.

Where systems support people rather than distance us from them.

And where someone asking for help doesn’t have to wonder whether anybody is actually listening.

I’m still searching for my ONE.

And I’m still believing that somewhere, someone will hear me.

A Personal Note From the Publisher

I’m Rev. Dr. Steven D. Mills, senior pastor of First Baptist Church in Garden City, Kansas, and publisher of On The Dial. I’m a two-time cancer survivor now fighting end-stage kidney failure while searching for an extraordinarily rare compatible kidney donor.

If you’re interested in exploring living kidney donation or helping share my story, please visit https://FindMyOne.org.

If you’d like to help with my overwhelming medical expenses and transplant-related needs, my GoFundMe is available at https://gofund.me/5ad91bcf2.

You don’t have to be my ONE to help me FIND my ONE.

Thank you for listening, caring, and helping me fight for more tomorrows.

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