Weak, Weaker, Weakest

Some people have no problem at all asking for help, and I must admit, I admire those people. People who can readily reach out to others for help when they are ill, when they are hurting emotionally, when they are struggling spiritually. And I also admire the people who offer assistance when someone calls out in the midst of a deep need. People who prepare meals or clean house for a friend who is sick, people who listen and counsel when another's heart is breaking, people who point the way to the Father when someone has lost their way.

Most of the time, I'm relatively good about helping others ... most of the time, but not always. Asking for help, however, has never come easily for me. Somewhere along the path of life, I became convinced that I had to be strong, to somehow be able to handle everything that came my way on my own, to always be the one to whom others came for help. And somewhere, somehow, I learned to cover my sickness, my pain, my sin ... to hide behind a mask of strength and a veil of perfection.

While I want to believe that I never need to ask for help, the truth is that at times my illness is so severe, my hurt so painful, my sin so deep, the only way out is to open up and allow someone else to see inside of me. To let a friend to take my hand and walk beside me, to love me unconditionally, to pray for me and with me, to take care of me, to help me.

I'm learning that help may come in human and divine form. I'm learning that asking for help shouldn't come only when I have carried my burden so long that I am too weak to take another step. I'm learning that when I ask, there are friends who will answer. I'm learning that God is always there, waiting for me to whisper, "I need help."