The spring semester of 1998, my first semester at Appalachian State, is and forever will be the one of the hallmarks of my life. God offered me redemption, His Kingdom. Up until then I had been quite the Saint Augustine.
The approximate day of my transformation is still clear to me. Boone was getting hit with blizzard type conditions. I had decided after my Biology class I would seek warm solace in the school library so I could read my new book, Meditations From A Simple Path by Mother Teresa. My aunt had given me the book and so I felt obliged to read it. I figured with the heavy snowfall and because the only person I knew there (my brother) was still at work, this would be the perfect day to start.
Those next few hours of reading could be compared to Enlightenment for a Zen Buddist. Some would describe it as "the words jumping off the page at you." For me, God was giving me the grace to "come and see." Just as God had lovingly used Andrew to draw Peter to Jesus, God was using Mother Teresa to draw me deeper into my faith and closer to him. I was dumbfounded. Despite the colossal sins I had committed God still loved me!
There is no true way to describe the metamorphosis I went through over the next few weeks. Except to say, I was ready to denounce all my worldly possessions and become a missionary. I had come to the realization that if I was to call myself a Christian, I had nothing to show for it.
I immediately wrote to a couple of Catholic religious orders inquiring about summer volunteer programs they may offer. Of all the orders I wrote to it just so happened that the Missionaries of Charity (Mother Teresa’s order) were offering the only summer lay volunteer program I was really interested in. They were sponsoring a day camp in the South Bronx with room and board free. Sold! I had always wanted to go to NYC.
Reality hit imagination with a hard jab. I just about left the ring. The taxi dropped me off at a polluted concrete doorway in the heart of Harlem (where the female volunteers slept). Why had no one bothered to tell me that 127th St. was in the heart of Harlem. My heart and pride sank as I was deserted in the Queen of Peace convent chapel by one of the sisters. This was not what I had planned on. This was not downtown Manhattan where movie stars roamed the streets. Nobody prepared me for the car alarms and bus exhaust that replaced birds and their serene songs.
The month and a half I spent volunteering was by far the most excruciating time of my life. We (me and the rest of the volunteers) easily worked 12 hours a day which is not that bad until you throw on top of the hours 90 degree temperatures, the third floor of the building, and no air conditioning. Moreover, during camp hours I was in charge of 15 five- and six-year-old boys. I was lucky if the boys were previously aware of any form of discipline. The boys were lucky if they knew one or both of their parents.
That month and a half was also the most exhilarating time of my life. As if God had not been gracious and merciful enough, in His splendor He allowed me to comprehend why the Missionaries of Charity were so full of joy. Their lack of earthly possessions allows their relationship with the Lord to be completely unencumbered. Thus, the Lord always comes first (Mk. 8:35), something only joyously fathomable once experienced. These simple little concepts had for the first time in my life filled the inexplicable void, the emptiness that no worldly theory or material possession ever had or could.
I cannot imagine where I would be today without them.
