I hope I don't get fined for this.
I took the following from a few pages in Denali Knight Weiler's book, Arising: A Year of Service Handbook for Volunteers. It isn't my words (duh) but the feelings and such explain much about what I have learned this year. Of course, not everything in it is what I went through exactly and I definitely don't drink coffee, but though the physical parts aren't exact, the thought is. It is a beautiful, challenging, and imperative lesson to learn. I was INSANELY lucky to have this book before I left.
"I had always associated service with adventure. I’m reluctant to admit it but part of me believed that harsher conditions somehow equaled more valuable service or at least a greater degree of spiritual growth. Thus after four very comfortable years in college, I was ready to ‘rough it’ for a while. Of course, my desire was to serve Baha’u’llah but I had specific criteria for how this service ought to be. ‘I’m ready for severe tests!’ I’d insist in my nightly prayers. ‘Send me to the most desolate corner of the earth – I can handle it, I promise!’ Eager to prove my devotion through physical and material hardship, I envisioned sleeping on a dusty floor, washing my clothes in a bucket and drinking instant coffee with river water. I couldn’t wait to begin. Though I prayed constantly for guidance, I was secretly hoping that God would direct me to a remote Andean village or a minuscule island in the South Pacific or the coldest depths of Siberia …
But instead I ended up here, where – during the first two months of my period of service – I sat at a desk in an office, accessioning (that is, dating, stamping and registering) pile after pile of books. It didn’t seem right at first. Surely the Youth Guidance Department of the Concourse on High had made some mistake! I mean, wasn’t my boundless youthful energy being wasted on this sedentary desk job? And what of these posh accommodations: hot showers, a telephone, Internet access and coffee shops?! Aren’t I supposed to be suffering a bit more？
I stayed put, however. And Time, that ever-reliable educator, taught me some invaluable lessons about the nature of service – well, Time and A Manual for Pioneers, in which Ruhiyyih Khanum states: ‘…everyone who pioneers, or arises anywhere to teach the Cause of God, should do it for the sake of God, offering this service to God alone and expecting rewards from Him and no one else; if he has any other expectations he will invariably be hurt and disappointed.’ After all, was I doing this work for God…or was I doing it for myself?
Service, I’ve come to realize’ will not necessarily be exotic or adventurous, nor will it provide us with ‘Survivor’-style tales to share with the folks back home. It may not be what we expected or even what we’re best suited for…but it will, of a certainty, be exactly what we need. The work of our beloved Cause is not always adrenaline-pumping. Sure, at times it involves jet-setting across the globe to blazon His name from riverbank to mountaintop, canoeing down the Amazon to teach a children’s class, conducting a study circle in Quechua by candlelight or proclaiming the oneness of humankind before great assemblages. Yet, oftentimes, the work of the Faith lies in what we initially deem to be the most menial of tasks: photocopying, licking envelopes, filing papers, scrubbing dishes…or, in my case, accessioning books.
As far as the ego is concerned, the latter type of service is much less gratifying. It won’t teach us a new language or how to wield a machete; it won’t enrich our senses or give us a nice tan (it won’t even give us callouses on our feet!). It probably won’t impress our friends either. But wait, isn’t service all about humility and detachment in the first place? And isn’t this quieter, less scintillating work just as meritorious in the sight of God?
I finally understand that the value of service is not measured by the sweat of our brow or the distance we’ve travelled or amount of material hardship we’ve endured. Instead, its merit lies in our spirit of love and selflessness, the radiant acquiescence with which we accept the work we’ve been given and the patience we show in facing whichever tests God, is His great benevolence, lovingly sends our way. ‘I swear by My life!’ Baha’u’llah assures us. ‘Nothing save that which profiteth them can befall My loved ones.’
As my period of service here draws to a close, I look back over those first few weeks of frustration and doubt with a contented smile. I know now that I’ve been given those tests I’d prayed so earnestly for – yet they arrived in unfamiliar packaging. And though my body was stuck in that office, up to its elbows in reference books and rubber stamps and accession records, my soul was turning cartwheels and jumping for joy."
