It's Not About Me
I am proud to showcase my first guest blogger, PAMS 8th grader Grace Richardson, who wrote about the impact volunteering had on her.
vol·un·teer
noun
a person who freely offers to take part in an enterprise or undertake a task.
verb
freely offer to do something.
We go to church every Sunday, and a few weeks ago I started to volunteer at the church. This definition of a volunteer was definitely not me. I wasn't freely offering to do this. My mom was making me. I always dreaded the moment when I had to be with the whiny four-year olds for one whole hour. I thought, "I could be doing something better with my time, like relaxing at home."
My mom always said, "Newsflash: It's not about you."
I always thought this as annoying, rolled my eyes, and walked away with a sassy hair flip. Even though it was only for a measly hour, for some reason I didn't like the idea of helping children go to the bathroom, wiping their noses, and making sure the adult supervisors didn't go crazy. I was starting to get irritated that my parents were making me go to this time-consuming activity.
Just last week, a screaming, autistic girl was dropped off by her exhausted looking mother. "Oh, boy, this looks like fun," I thought.
The mother came up to me and said, "Thank you so much for taking care of her, I needed a little break." I felt a pang of sympathy for her, thinking of all the work it takes to raise a child, let alone a child with autism. The adult volunteers tried to calm the child down, to no avail. Finally, they let her run free, and gave up.
I thought of the mother, and how worn out she was, and decided that caring for her child, Sophia, was the least I could do. I walked up to her, and picked her up. Silently, she rested her head on my shoulder.
Sophia soon fell fast asleep in my arms. Even though my arms grew tired, my heart was so full of loving for her, I couldn't set her down. When the mom finally came, I set Sophia down, and she burst into tears. This little act of caring, by a four-year old autistic girl, touched me greatly.
Now I understood what my mom meant by "It's not about me." Because it's not. It's about giving up a tiny smidgen of your time, and in return, you get an experience that could change you.
Now that seems like a good deal to me.