Wrapping Up With MVC
“He who goes about to reform the world must begin with himself, or he loses his labor.” ― St. Ignatius of Loyola
My year with Mercy Volunteer Corps is coming to a close. As of today, I have two months left. I know I'm going to get pretty sappy the more that I think about this, so I want to attempt to get some thoughts in writing before I become completely overwhelmed by the inevitable influx of emotions. I've learned a lot this year; about my new city, about other people, but mostly about myself. I love how just when you think your life can't possibly change any more than it already has, God surprises you. And this year has been nothing but surprise after joyful surprise. What have I been surprised with?
1. Cincinnati. I never expected to love this city as much as I actually do. Yes, I love California, and I love my hometown there with my family and friends, and I love beaches and sushi and perpetual nice weather and all those lovely things. I haven't gone completely crazy as to think that Ohio beats California on those fronts. But I can still love Cincinnati at the same time, and love it, I do. Enough that I plan to stay here next year and see what more time in the Queen City will bring me. Don't ask me what my timeline is past that, because I don't know. I gave up planning my life out years ago when every checklist and well-meaning outline I had fell through and shattered at my feet. I'm done planning what my life is supposed to look like. I'm done trying to define success. I'm done trying to go along with timelines pushed on me by societal and cultural influences. I'm done with all that, and I'm just trying to be happy in a city that makes me so.
2. Personal growth. I think every member of Mercy Volunteer Corps this year entered with the understanding that they were going to grow. But I'm sure what shocked every single one of us is where and how that growth occurred. Newsflash: I have major issues. I will be the first one to proclaim that I do. Yes, I have talents and virtues, but I'm also an incredible over-thinker, impatient, critical, and sarcastic. I try my best to temper these tendencies but sometimes they get the best of me. And there's nothing like community life to bring out your worse qualities in spades. If you're not proactive they can override the better parts of you, and you'll either end up more convinced of your own greatness than when you entered, or remain exactly the same person as you were when you started. If I'm going to enter heaven, I need a lot of personal work, and this year has only proven to myself just how much. I would like to think, however, that I've improved, even if there are some things I am not willing to let go (like the correct way to set a table).
3. My goals. This is where the quote from St. Ignatius of Loyola comes in. When I was fresh out of college, I had a lot of grandiose dreams. It didn't much matter how I got there, but I was going to change things. Lord knows, there is a lot in this world that needs changing, and I could be a person to do it. As time went on, the more I realized that perhaps changing things on a grand scale wasn't really going to happen for me, so I could focus on my community instead. As I did that, it became more glaringly obvious that I was lacking in some key areas. It was then that I settled on the truth: I seriously could not ask of people more than I was willing to do myself. How could I? How could I expect understanding and sympathy from others if I wasn't willing to give it? How could I purport to know about the world if I didn't get out and see it? How could I demand love and respect and time from those around me if I didn't first extend it? How could I claim to know anything about life if I didn't really live? Slowly my goals started to shift from changing the world to changing myself. I don't really desire grandiose things anymore, and my goal has boiled down to one: love and be loved. But that in itself is a lifetime of work, and nothing more worthy, I think.
When I imagine what it could be like when I die, it goes a little something like this:
I float up to enter the pearly gates and the Lord is there to greet me. In one fleeting moment my life is laid before me. On my right hand side is a line of people: everyone I ever loved well. Every homeless person I ever acknowledged, every heartbroken friend I ever sat with, every lonely person I ever listened to. On the left, those who I missed an opportunity to love: those whom I ignored, laughed at, refused to see. I desperately hope the line on my right is longer, and that is why I am so thankful for my year with MVC. That is why I work so hard to love. So that at the end of my life I can truly say that I did not lose any labor; that the work I did on my own heart paid off by blessing others first; so that I can hear, "Well done, my good and faithful servant... enter into the joy of the Lord."
