Meaning of Service

So it's summer and I've sold my soul for ~$1000/week to teach rich kids science. After three weeks on the job, I can definitely say these children are of a different breed from the underserved kids I have worked with in the past. But I'll save those stories for a different time.

I've been thinking a lot about my future. More specifically, I've been worrying over whether I should be doing more for my projected career path. I still have no idea what specialty (or non-specialty) I want to go into. I'm spending this summer working for $$$ instead of doing any meaningful research or volunteerism. I feel like I burnt out all my ambition trying to get into medical school and now that I'm here, I've been coasting. Honestly, I could be working harder and doing more, but after a year of being in the workforce, I feel like my priorities have shifted. I'm too old to be making myself try things I don't enjoy in an attempt to fatten my resume. I'm over building and investing in relationships with new people. I'm beef jerky -- med school applications have leeched me of my succulent youth and vitality. I don't want to lean in...I just want to lie down. (Baby Cobra is my life goal right now.)

Anyways, I haven't emerged from my months-long blogging dry spell (just) to complain. There's been a lot going on in my father's side of the family and watching my Dad weather through it all has reminded me of all the reasons why I appreciate him so much. Even though sometimes he frustrates me on a visceral level that only family can attain, my Dad is a good man and I am proud to be his daughter.

This weekend, my Dad took us to visit an older woman with whom we attended church back in the day. Grandma ZQ is now 93 years old and I have the vaguest, almost fantastical, recollection of her in a knitted white cardigan and a silk scarf. My parents met her when they were still young Christians -- my sister was still little and I barely alive. My only recollections of that church involve stealing sugar cubes from the coffee cart to suck on and flashing the audience (and my horrified parents) from the stage on Palm Sunday.

Though I barely remember her, Grandma ZQ embraced us each like family as she welcomed us into her home. She was so excited to see us, she was breathless as she herded us around her pristine apartment. She kept on repeating that she was "so happy to see us". At first, this struck me as rather weird. Her name was one that I had heard around our house every once in a blue moon, but I could not remember the last time that we had visited her. But as we sat with her Saturday afternoon, she regaled us with stories about the things that my parents had done for her over the years.

Grandma ZQ was diagnosed with cancer when she was 35. She was told she had two years to live. She was part of the first test group of patients to receive rudimentary radiation treatment in China. Out of that group, she was the only one to survive. Her family was once well-known in China, but they lost it all in the cultural revolution; her family home remains a historical landmark to this day. Rather than being embittered by her losses, Grandma ZQ is one of the most positive human beings I have ever met. She was just so grateful for everything that she had and generous with anything extra she'd been given.

When my parents attended church with her, Grandma ZQ was diagnosed with another form of cancer. My father urged her to seek care, but most of her children were still in China, her only child in the US was busy at work. There was no one to take her to her treatments at Stanford. My Dad, being my Dad, volunteered to drive her. He and my mother took turns driving from San Jose to her home in Newark and stayed with her during her treatment at Stanford before driving her home. Grandma ZQ recounted the time that my father bought her a humidifier because the radiation treatment had debilitated her salivary glands, leaving her mouth and sinuses dry -- she even recalled that it had cost $59. (Mind like a steel trap, that one!) A lot of the things that she remembered and was still touched by, my parents didn't even remember doing. It just served as a reminder that people will always remember the way that you made them feel, even when you don't. There were probably times that my parents felt that they had bit off more than they could chew as they drove Grandma ZQ back and forth from her appointments, but I know that they had no regrets that afternoon as they saw how much their actions meant to her.

But that's just so much like my Dad. When he commits to doing something, he does it 100% and more importantly, he does it joyfully. I know I take more after my mom in this aspect. I'm more likely to think practically about how much something is going to cost me and how sustainable my actions will be. I also tend to get fed up with things once they become an annoyance or burden. But I thank God for that afternoon with Grandma ZQ. Not only did we leave laden with homemade buns and wontons (she emptied her fridge and thrust them upon us despite our vehement protests), but I left with a reminder of the true meaning and purpose of service. We are not called to serve merely when convenient, but whole-heartedly in all aspects of our lives. I hope that the next time such an opportunity presents itself, I will remember my Dad and Grandma ZQ and have the strength to do the right thing.