I come from a looooong line of independent folk. They were the kind of people who did risky things all by themselves. therefore, I like to reason, it is difficult -nay, nearly IMPOSSIBLE – for me to ask for or accept help. It is so much easier to chuckle an “I got it!” and then stress out and cry and fet when I really, really don’t have it than it is to humbly and graciously accept assistance.
So God does crazy things like bless us with a baby and make me sicker than sick so that kind friends can feed my family. He makes me look haggard when I’m tired and adds a serious waddle/limp to my walk so that friends take one look at me and take the kids for the entire day. He sends persistent friends to paint the hall and redo the bathroom (no more peeling paint! Hallelujah!) while I am clawing to make it through the day at co-op. And speaking of co-op, the Lord has blessed me with like minded friends -kindred spirits, really- to volunteer to sub for my co-op class even though they don’t homeschool or have kids old enough for the course. He has made me an emotional wreck on the phone so that the BFF insists on coming to Rapid from across the state just to scrub and clean and bless our house. God has sent so very many friends to come and be in our grime and dust and love us through it. And He sends surprises like supper delivered at the end of a long day and Chelsey from California and Lacey on call for eminent labor. He is so very good to this stubborn heart.
When Angela would not take my no to her coming six hours one way, she said, “Let me love you in your mess.” It seemed risky and dangerous and my heart said this was the sort of thing I was bred to do. Oddly, in that single profession of love, instead of offense, I found deep, deep peace. I was able to breathe and as I look back over this pregnancy, I can see how God has been helping me breathe all along through the aid of friends.
And in that, there is nothing to be ashamed of.