Weekday mornings are tough on me. My oldest son needs to be at school at 7:45. Since his school is a few miles away, I have to have all four children up, fed, dressed and in the car by about 7:15. We drive to the school, find a place to park, unload the kids and walk a couple blocks to where the kindergarteners line up. My oldest hugs the little ones and goes inside. The rest of us start back to the car. Wednesday is garbage day, so I always make sure my cans are at the road Tuesday night. On most mornings, at least one of them has been emptied before we leave. I am always rushed, however, and never find the time to bring it in before running off with the kids. A few weeks after we moved here, I came home from the elementary to find my cans were already returned to the side of my house. It started happening regularly.
One morning, after I had come home to find the garbage already brought in, I heard the recycling truck outside. I went on with my morning work. A few minutes later, I heard my recycling can being pulled up my driveway. I ran to the window, eager to see who was bringing it in. A retired couple lives across the street and one house down from me. They were here when the neighborhood was built in 1970. I had met them a couple times. If anything, I should have been serving them. But this man had been faithfully bringing in my garbage can every week. I don’t know why he did it. Perhaps he saw me struggling with my small children and a husband who was always at work. Perhaps he hated to see the can left at the curbside for very long.
Whatever the reason, it has led to a friendship between our families and changed the dynamic of my neighborhood. We are no longer a part of the isolationist world that is emerging everywhere. They have told me how glad they are to see children playing outside again. I have told them how much I enjoy their stories of the railroad and raising a family here. When we stand in the front yard and talk, sometimes other neighbors venture out and join us. So much good has come from that one simple act of love.
On Wednesday, the US House of Representatives passed “The Generations Invigorating Volunteerism and Education Act,” known as the GIVE Act. This piece of legislation includes a provision to create a task force to explore, in part, "whether a workable, fair and reasonable mandatory service requirement for all able young people could be developed and how such a requirement could be implemented in a manner that would strengthen the social fabric of the nation."
My heart dropped as far as it could when I read that sentence. The government is actually going to explore whether they can require young people to give service. I am overwhelmed by the evil nature of such a thought. When I was in school, I was required to read certain books. Now that I can read whatever I want, I avoid the ones that were assigned to me, along with anything else by their authors. Requiring service is going to destroy the very nature of it, take all pleasure from it, and make people resent doing it. Can you imagine how my experience would have been different if the service was something required of my neighbor?
Opponents to the bill think it is a huge waste of money in difficult times and it was created specifically to indoctrinate young people and funnel more money to leftist causes. These may be legitimate concerns, but they are not what send shivers down my spine. Do you know why the people in foreign countries do not donate money the way Americans do? They are praised for being so generous because of their government’s forced “charity.” All aspects of love are gone. All aspects of free agency are gone. The world is turning away from service, charity and love, and I can think of nothing more wicked or dangerous. Do not suck the love out of service by allowing it to become a requirement. Mandatory service is nothing but slavery with a pretty name. Let’s continue to serve our neighbors because we love them.
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