H is for Help

Two years ago when our oldest daughter was getting ready to graduate from high school, I decided she needed a graduation party and I proceeded to plan a Sunday afternoon open house for about 100 people. Shortly before her party, I was talking to a friend on the phone while driving home from work and lamenting about all that needed to be done for her party. She asked me who was doing her cake. “Cake?” I questioned. “I’m supposed to have a cake?” “Of course, honey,” she replied nonchalantly. “But don’t worry – I’ll make it for you.” I immediately burst into tears. Apparently, I had taken on way too much and I needed help. A lot of help – and I did not even know it. But I didn’t want help from her – not because I didn’t appreciate it, but because she had a daughter graduating from high school, she was throwing a (bigger) party, and, she was having surgery that same week. And now, she wanted to help me? I should have been helping her.

I like helping other people. I like coming alongside someone else and easing their task so they do not need to shoulder it all by themselves. But, that said, I do not like being helped with something I said I could do. It makes me feel irresponsible, weak, and incompetent when I can’t finish what I promised to complete. And when my dear friend in the midst of her stress and busy schedule offered to help me with mine – I broke down. The truth was I needed help. I needed someone to come along side me and finish what I could not. I needed her help. But, that’s what our relationship has always been - since day one.

When our oldest daughter was in eighth grade, we decided to place her in a local public school for the first time. To help with the transition of making new friends she took a drama class. At the first drama parent meeting, the teacher announced that the students would be traveling to New York in the spring and that the parents needed to work on fundraising. A few weeks later, I found myself sitting on a bench outside of a Sam’s Club, selling raffle tickets. I remember the day so very well. It was cold – bitter cold and the wind was ripping through the hall where we sat and I was freezing. The eighth grade drama students were running around, begging – I mean asking people to buy raffle tickets. Several adults were there too, chaperoning with me. One of the chaperones, an adorable woman, with chocolate brown hair, perfect make-up, beautiful jewelry and cute boots sat down next to me on the bench. She threw a blanket over us and cuddled up next to me like we were the best of friends. I was a bit startled - I didn’t even know her name, but I was cold and she was nice. So we sat there together for the next several hours laughing at the children, laughing at the people walking by, laughing at ourselves, and laughing especially hard over two of her children who were literally rolling on the ground in front of the Sam’s club door.

A few days later, she called me and asked me if I would consider joining her bunko group. I told her I would talk to my husband and get back to her. My husband and I talked about it and I told him I really wanted to do it, not because I like bunko (because, I really don’t) and not because it was nice to have a night out, and not because I needed new friends – but because I wanted a group of friends that I could minister to, that I could pray for, that I could help. And this sounded to me like the perfect opportunity.

But that’s not how it played out. From the moment I met her – she has ministered to me. She has prayed for me, loved me, cared for me and has helped me in more ways than I will ever be able to repay. She has taught me to laugh over things I never knew were funny. She has taught me how to love selflessly and fiercely. She has taught me how to stand up to wrong without fear of ‘offending’ someone. She has taught me to live with openness and transparency. And she has welcomed me into her circle of friends that has spread to my entire family. My daughters adore her and she treats them as if they were her own flesh and blood. Our relationship humbles me because it is a constant reminder that I do need, I do need help, but most importantly – I need her.