Column Call me an idealist, but I want to serve forever
By TARA DIX
It seems that when I tell people of my choice to do volunteer work
after college, a common response has been And then what will you
do? I doubt these curious souls mean any offense, but I must admit that
after the seventh, eighth and ninth person said this to me, I started to take
some.
The implication is that a year (or more) of volunteer service is
not enough to explain my aspirations in life. Apparently, theyre looking
for a more solid answer, something with a little more practicality, something
with a paycheck -- something realistic. Someday I will have to get a job that
pays, theyre thinking. Youre only 22, but you cant volunteer
forever.
Call me a foolish idealist. Say that Ill figure it out when
Im older. Tell me that youll wait to see what I think after a few
months of it, but I want to volunteer the rest of my life.
I want to give myself to the service of others. I want to live
with only what I need and believe that God will provide. I dont want to
forget what I have determined to be true over the course of my admittedly short
life, which is this: A life of service and simplicity is the only way for me to
find peace. I certainly dont want to abandon it because it isnt
realistic in 1990s America -- because I dont think
thats reality at all, its merely the status quo.
I think we associate idealism with youth because we all give up on
it sooner or later, we all get our reality check. But I dont
think anyones happy about it. And I dont think anyones
happier for it. I dont believe we give up our ideals because we realize
they arent valid or true -- we give them up because we see it will be
difficult to achieve them. And with every person around us that gives up, too,
our task becomes all the more difficult.
But I know it can work, because my parents always lived simply. We
never had a fancy car. Our house was comfortable but modest. Family photo
albums reveal the pattern of hand-me-downs, as the same outfits appear on
different children throughout the years.
When I was younger, particularly in my junior high years, this was
a source of embarrassment for me. I didnt understand why I couldnt
have Guess jeans and a Liz Claiborne purse. I hated it when my parents picked
me up in our old Mercury Marquis that rattled and clanked and moaned. I thought
we didnt have these coveted items because my parents didnt make
enough money to provide me with the things all the other teenagers had. I
thought we couldnt do any better.
Now as I reflect on the reasons why I chose service as a way of
life, it all comes back to my parents. In a culmination of every teaching
moment, it finally occurs to me that their simplicity was not a result of an
unsuccessful go at the white-collar rat race, nor a lack of ambition, nor even
perhaps a situation that prevented them from obtaining high-paying employment
-- they simply didnt see a reason for excess.
Indeed, it seems I was right all along. They could not have done
better. They modeled for me the value of what is true in this world, that a
simple lifestyle is the only just way to live.
I want to raise my family that way, too. Maybe my children
wont understand, as I didnt, when they are young, but they will
respect me when they are older.
As for now, I am doing my best to help raise five teenage girls
who havent had the benefit of a proper home. I moved from Indiana to
Fullerton, Calif., to take part in a program called Girls Hope. We take girls
10-14 years old out of their at-risk environment and bring them
into a nurturing home-setting, as close to a true family as we can be, in order
that they may realize their potential, their talents, their worth.
Im living with five girls whom no one would have blamed for
giving up long ago -- but theyve chosen to persevere. They chose to
pursue the ideals they have set for themselves in the face of desperate
adversity and every type of naysayer.
By others, they have been labeled hopeless. They have been
excluded, outcast. They have been bruised. They have struggled on their own.
Still, hope remains.
How I pray it always will. How I pray there will never be that one
straw to break their precious backs. Oh, that these girls will never say,
I have fought long enough against these odds and now I must
resign.
I pray they will never be what everyone expects them to be. And I
pray I can learn from their example.
Maybe my hopes will be dashed; maybe my ideals will be drowned in
the reality of our capitalist, every-person-for-himself society, but I pray
every night they wont.
So why have I chosen service? Because I have discovered my
reality. And what will I do after Im done? I hope I never will be.
Tara Dix writes from Fullerton, Calif.
National Catholic Reporter, September 25,
1998
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