1 in 525,600 minutes

How do you measure a year in the life? 

How about love? Measure in love. 

I'll admit it.  I have never seen Rent.  I first heard this song on Glee, and since then I have been obsessed with the meaning behind it.  Time is a made up concept, right? It exists, but in a very strange way.  In our memory (which can be altered), in our present moment (which is fleeting and can't be grasped), and in our anticipation (Dr. Brommage, if you're reading this, I hope I didn't totally butcher St. Augustine's take on time).  So if we can't really measure time by something tangible then how do we know that our time has been well spent? How do we know if we've been useful? What do you do with the 525,600 minutes of each year? Well, Rent did a really good job of answering all of those things.  Love.  Love is the perfect measure of our time spent on this earth.  

"If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." 1 Corinthians 13:2

Without love we aren't living.  We are simply existing.  A life that is without love is not a life well lived.

I have no idea what my life's work will be.  I have no idea what agency I will be working with come August either.  I do know that God is calling me out of my comfort zone and into a year of service to others. There is no better way to love others and to show them the love of Christ than to serve them, and, for right now, that is my calling.  To serve and to share love.  

I found out on June 7, 2014 that I had been accepted to be a Young Adult Volunteer in San Antonio, Texas. I don't know where I'll be working while I'm there, but I do know that I am terrified.  In a good way of course! Over the past few weeks I have had informational conversations and discernment interviews with several sites, and San Antonio is the second most terrifying place that I talked to.  In San Antonio, we live in community (true of all YAV sites that I talked to), create a community with the people in the house, cook with them, clean with them, and create a home for ourselves.  I'm going to live simply. This is scary and new. Gluttony is my deadly sin, and simplicity will be the biggest challenge off the bat. I'll be attending a church in the Latin American neighborhood I'll live in.  No, I don't speak Spanish, but I bet you I will by the time my year is over! 

What led me to the YAV program? 

I went to the Montreat College conference this year and felt pulled (that pesky Spirit!) to go to an informational meeting for "A year of service for a lifetime of change." What the heck is this? What do these people do? What's this all about? I kept having questions pop into my head about it, so while my friends went to another small group, I made my way to the YAV meeting.  I was interested and immediately felt myself get defensive. I got scared.  I could feel that calling in me and was already hating it. You know how you do something, but you're not happy about it? You know how you feel pulled to something and know you need to do it or you won't feel satisfied? That's the feeling I had. 

How did I finally accept this calling?

This is assuming I've accepted it.  I'm excited and know that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be but I'm scared. Terrified.  Freaking out, really.  I don't know how you accept your plans being shattered (I was going to teach for a few years and then go to grad school) and your life being turned upside down. 

My mom's reaction made me feel more at ease with this.  She seemed excited, but in that way that parent's have.  You know when they don't want to spook you by being too excited or turn you off of something? Or when they refuse to influence your decision with their thoughts about what you should be doing? It was like that.  I was nervous and she was completely calm (only completely calm after she found out I didn't want to do YAV abroad).  

I finally thought that I might be able to do this.  

Why San Antonio?

My only answer for that is God. Like I said before San Antonio was the second scariest place I talked to. That's not a reference to the crime rates, by the way.  It's just one of the places that is the furthest from where I've lived both in terms of distance and the city itself.  I've never been to San Antonio, nor have I been to Texas.  I'm not sure what this city has in store for me, but it's time for me to see if I can mess with Texas.  Apparently you're not supposed to do that or something...and it seems like I'm forgetting something. . .OH! The Alamo. According to every general American History class I've taken, I'm supposed to remember the Alamo. 

If anyone ever reads this blog I'm sure there will be more questions, but, for tonight, I need to be done. Feel free to ask and I will answer. I'm an open book.