Some members of a nearby church stopped by today and offered to rake our yard. No strings attached.
My first thought? There must be someone else on our block who needs their help more than I do. So that’s what I told them hastily as I pondered whom my neediest neighbors are. Any elderly widows? Single moms of unruly kids?
And then the nice guy at my door brutally twisted my arm by asking, “Are you sure?”
By what I can only assume is the grace of God, a bunch of thoughts came raining down. Actually, they may have been bricks from heaven.
My son was lying on the couch recovering from surgery. I had been up every few hours through the night to give him pain medicine. My husband was gone fishing, as he was two weekends ago. He would be gone hunting the next two weekends. My daughter was with Grandma to give me a break from the autism that robbed me blind of lifelong dreams. I’m 52, working two part-time jobs that I treat like full-time jobs, and parenting two special needs kids. Oh, and my thumb. The skin on my inner thumb, unaccustomed to hard work, has a blister still healing from two weeks ago when I raked the yard.
It was that last part – the tiny, mostly-healed blister – that allowed me to be open to possibly saying yes to these people who simply wanted to spread blessings by helping others.
But how did having a leaf-free yard help me? How about a weekly massage instead? Now THAT would help me. Maybe a protective pod that would induce AND MAINTAIN sleep at night. Or a machine that eliminates fat and calories from Gina Maria’s garlic cheese bread … while multiplying said cheese bread daily. Okay, a little more meaningfully, a cure for autism? Bingo! But raking? I didn’t really care what the lawn looked like at this point.
So I fought back against the nice guy with my hardest, meanest punch: “No thank you.”
Then the miracle. Without thinking, I continued on to say that maybe they could just help pick up that one pile of leaves so it wouldn’t blow away into our neighbors’ yards. He agreed, then said they could just rake some of the other leaves around it as well. I agreed, then blurted out the inconceivable:
“I would actually, really love your help.”
As a dozen people gathered on my lawn to replace leaves with blessings, I sulked back into my house feeling guilty for accepting their help.
WHY? WHY??? Why is it so hard to accept help?
Why does it feel so much better to give than to receive?
Why is it easier to minimize our troubles than recognize the pain they bring is real, legitimate even?
I don’t feel like I deserve help because … I don’t use my time wisely to get those things done. I don’t want to impose. I don’t want to appear weak, imperfect or incapable. My problems aren’t nearly as bad as other peoples’ problems. And then lots of “I shoulds”.
I should be able to fix my problems myself. I’m the mom, so I should happily parent my children. I’m the wife, so I should effectively keep our home clean and cook hot meals. I’m an adult, so I should consistently get places on time and send thank you notes. I’m the host, so I should graciously provide the food and drinks. I’m healthy so I should manhandle those leaves and lift that furniture by myself. By myself. I’m capable, so I should be able.
I should be able.
I should be able.
I should be able.
So there it is, I guess. I think I should look life in the eye and say, “I got this.” Well life, I don’t. (Life doesn’t respond to my confession.)
So back to the dozen do-gooders in my yard. They only interrupt my afternoon to ask me to close the garage door to prevent leaves from blowing in and to request plastic bags to pick up my dog’s droppings. I share a few of my “blocks” with them to justify why I’m willing to submit to their kindness. “My son’s recovering from surgery … my daughter has autism … my husband’s out of town.”
They offer to pray for me, for us. I pull my barefoot, soon-shivering son outside and a handful of people surround us. They tell God our problems. They ask for healing, comfort. They put our challenges right out there before God and ask Him to help. One of them says we don’t believe in coincidences, that they were brought to my house for a reason. Through my tears, I agree – and we all say Amen.
This group not only cleared by lawn; they cleared my spiritual head.
Instead of looking life in the eye and wishing I could say “I got this”, I’m reminded to have that same (short, very short) conversation with God – but skip to the part where I admit I don’t (got this). Not even close.
This time I get a response. God has a response.
And it’s a good one.
Isaiah 41:10 fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
Psalm 68:19 Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.
Psalm 55:22 Cast your burden upon the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never allow the righteous to be shaken.