Hubby finally forced me into the tub tonight. Now, don’t go running with visions of Pig Pen in your head. I just prefer showers. Tonight, he insisted I take a hot bath to soothe my aches and pains and just relax for longer than a drive-through shower. As is often the case, he was right. By helping me in, he was helping me out. Now, my troubles didn’t go down the drain or evaporate with the bubbles, but that hot soak gave me proper perspective—and not just of my unpolished toes.
I’m a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, writer, editor, and teacher. It’s my job to assist. And I think I’m good at it. I can pray for you, compliment you, correct your grammar, comb your hair, and babysit your little people. I will cook you a meal, grace you with a smile, bless you with a kind word, or tell you a thing or two. I can lead, guide, steer, and discipline. I will snuggle, cuddle, pat, hug, and kiss you, change your television channel, read to you, teach you piano, or help you solve a math equation. Though I may not call you very often, I will text, e-mail, “like” your posts, and love you dearly from afar. I’ll travel hundreds of miles to see about you or help you cross the street.
But what I try my hardest not to do is ask you for help.
Well, today, I’m sad to say I needed plenty of that four-letter word, and I literally got more than I asked for. I tried to rebuff all this goodwill, to mark “return to sender” on the love that flowed so naturally from other wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, friends, writers, editors, and teachers. Through the steam from the tub, I could clearly visualize all these people who prayed for me, cried with me, offered me a hand to hold and an arm to lean on; my sister in Christ who moved my car and then followed me nearly all the way home; the folks who checked on me and encouraged me; my little people cleaning up behind me; Hubby cooking and managing the household after work. Most of all, my soak gave me time to picture my pride, that ugly thing that makes me spiritually weaker than whatever it is that’s sapping me physically. I pray that God forgives and removes this pride before it weighs me down further and drowns me. I thank God–and those caregivers–who wouldn’t take “No, thank you” for an answer.
Maybe you’re like me: you’re someone who gives your all—everything but the truth of your own need. You see this as strength. Well, it’s time to stop fooling yourself. Don’t let pride come between you and God. If you can’t ask for and receive help from the people who love Him, how can you truly cast your cares upon your Lord and Savior, trusting He cares for you? (1 Peter 5:6, 7)
It’s wonderful to bless others and give. But don’t bite the hands that only want to feed you love and blessing.
“Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me. And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:8-10