Last year, this magazine wished me good luck on my new journey. I was off to conquer a vice that had been a big part of my life for ten years. I can still smell it, on my clothes and on my weekend nights out. I can see its haze and flowing movement across the bar. But somehow I am still able to resist. As of this month I am one whole year with out a cigarette.

It hasn’t been the easiest year. Life’s stresses and hurdles could have made for an easy backslide into carcinogen intake, but I’ve been able to abstain. I don’t know what it was this time, but I am glad so far that it hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would.

I started smoking when I was 16 or 17. Before that, my buddy and I found a random pack when I was 14. It had one stale Marlboro Red 100 in it, and we gave it a try. It was gross, but satisfying. I can think of million reasons why I started, but I bet it was just as simple as all my friends did it, and I did too. There was no real peer pressure or anything, just stupid curiosity I guess. And yeah, I thought I looked cool.

Smoking was a big part of my life. I was the jerk who bummed so much I became notorious. No seriously, notorious. My friends started calling it “Troying.” I’d buy my own packs or share with people I was dating. From Marlboro Lights, The Filtered Lucky Strikes, Kamel Reds, Parliament, and Pall Malls, I went from social smoker to fully addicted.

A year ago, I met someone. This someone is a cancer survivor at only 25. It’s not so much that I quit for her, but it finally hit me to quit. Her cancer wasn’t from smoking, but it made me realize that I wanted more out of my life—and every time I lit up in front of her, it was like a slap in the face to her, even if she says it wasn’t. I was done.

I just quit. I didn’t stay home out of its grasp, or smoke an occasional one here and there. I just quit. If anything, I forced myself to be around it. I still went out all the time and just dealt with it. I also wasn’t going to hate myself if I failed. I would just start over again and go for it. Maybe I’m still with it second-hand, but I feel I am doing well.

I don’t think I will ever be without a craving. When I see a fresh pack of Parliaments, it takes a lot not to ask for one, but it’s getting easier. I keep on with it, and I’m not totally without vice in my life, but I can be thankful that one is still absent.

My father is a pastor; I grew up attending church every Sunday and Wednesday like clockwork. But by the time I turned 18, I was burnt out. I was tired of feeling like a hypocrite, tired of masking my uncertainty with a smile, a raised hand, or a bowed head.  The more I doubted, the more I wavered, the more I threw myself into church, praying my commitment would erase my confusion. After years of disappointing theological discussions with my parents and at church, I came to the conclusion that church was not for me. My personal belief in an inclusive God could not be reconciled with the exclusive belief of those around me. I was dissatisfied with how, in my mind, churches failed to live up to their message of love.

Maybe if I had been involved with the same church programs as Courtney, my story would be different.

Courtney is a member of Eastminster Presbyterian Church, but she isn’t content to be just a pew-warmer. As well as doing communications for Eastminster (whose Sunday evening worship program, Ekklesia, you might recognize from ads in NakedCity) she is also involved in their youth group, “242.”

When we started talking, I realized that we had more than a little in common. But where my journey had an endpoint, Courtney described her commitment to God as a lifelong journey. We talked a little bit about the sacrifices she’s had to make for her commitment, but there weren’t many. Forgoing evenings spent at bars having too much to drink, Courtney chooses to spend her evenings with her church, family, and friends, growing closer to them and God. I don’t think she counts it as much of a sacrifice. So if sacrifices weren’t a cost of her commitment, what does it cost to commit yourself to God here on earth? According to Courtney, the true cost of commitment is love. She’s quick to tell me, “The greatest commandments are to love God and love people.”

When I asked what she and Eastminster were doing to commit themselves to helping the needy in Wichita, she told me about the kind of mission many churches aspire to, but few accomplish: Love Wichita, a citywide, non-denominational service project. Courtney explained that last September, thousands of people from 35 churches gathered forces to beautify the city and help those who need it. Yard work, house work—no task was too menial. With the support of the mayor, and even more churches, they’re gathering the troops for their next siege this April.

For those of you looking for active ways to show your commitment to God by loving your neighbors, Courtney had this to say: “I do think that if we learn to look outside of ourselves, and what we need, or what our church is doing, we would find people who need love.”

Interested in helping Eastminster help those in need in Wichita? Check out lovewichita.org. The only cost is love.