“Two-hundred-fifty hours must be completed by senior year,” said my headmaster

at freshman orientation. I thought to myself, why in the world do I need to complete 250

service hours to graduate? Truth be told, I wanted him to know that I didn’t have enough

time and I had better things to do. Although I dreaded the entire process, I had no real

choice.

Helping at children’s church became my first source of hours. The whole situation

brought chaos from the start: music blaring, kids running around, screaming and fighting.

After standing there for about fifteen minutes, a little blonde girl walked through the door

with her mom, appearing uncomfortable and scared. After her mom walked away, the

young girl let out a piercing scream. Not knowing what to do, I took her out of the loud

room to calm her down.

We sat down on the floor and began to play with stacking blocks and 25-piece

puzzles. Silenced and focused, she aligned and stacked the blocks one by

one, slowly drying up her tears. The little girl grinned over the order and completion, an

unusual trait for someone so young. As we worked many  puzzles, I could tell something

made her different; she had an intellect like no other. At the age of four, she knew every

letter of the alphabet, the sound the letter made, and an object or animal to correspond

with it. Her screaming restarted. While crying, she walked over to a table, grabbed a

paintbrush, dipped it in the water, and touched it to her soft skin.   Instantly, the crying

ceased. She turned, paintbrush in hand, and began to make light circles and lines on my

forearm with the leftover water in the brush. I watched her little body relax, but knew no

reason for the change.

 When the sermon finished, the precious child’s mom walked in and saw

me quietly holding her daughter. Mom looked astonished and began to explain. Olivia

was a kindergartener with autism, and had never stayed in children’s church for the entire

service until this week. Everything clicked: the lack of communication, the screaming

because of sensory overload, and her extreme intelligence. It all made sense.

Week after week Olivia came to church and we spent the entire time together. We

grew so much with one another and became the best of friends. Olivia not only matured

me, but became an integral piece of pushing myself to step into doing things I would have

never considered doing before I met her.

Walking into the children’s classroom that first Sunday opened my eyes and

changed me forever. When challenged with the task to complete 250 service hours, I

initially responded with a selfish outlook, but through the process, had my heart changed.

I no longer dreaded the required service, but saw the joy in serving others and glorifying

God. Olivia sparked my desire to do more. Because of Olivia, I decided to pursue

pediatric occupational therapy, helping kids like Olivia develop into their greatest

potential. In addition, this experience motivated me to seek out other service

opportunities such as working at Brenner Children’s hospital, working at a therapeutic

riding center for disabled children, and participating in a summer camp for fostered,

adopted, and at-risk children.

Through this experience, I learned open-mindedness in all circumstances. Even  in

times when I didn’t want to do something, I tried to do it with my heart invested. I

learned that I never know when I will have a chance to impact someone else. The

greatest gift I give someone is my time because I give  a portion of my life that I can
never get back. Two-hundred-fifty hours, 15 thousand minutes, 900 thousand seconds.

Time is time; we all have it. What a lesson to glean from such a requirement.