Not to just make this longer, but I preface this post to apologize for the length. Too tired to edit tonight!
****
I have watched my dad do this over and over, for thirty some years. He puts his hands together and rocks back and forth and then will quickly step back, and in a little voice he will say, "I do it myself." I should remember, I was there, and he is quoting me, but I don't remember. Except that I do, because I did it yesterday.
My dad tells of a little girl, blue eyes and a chub face who loved to do it all on her own. She was independent, even when it wasn't beneficial. The thing about little girls is they grow up. Sure, there are (in my case) the same blue eyes, and freckles, and ... the stubborn streak. Cute, perhaps when younger, but maybe not so attractive when all grown up.
While I don't talk about it much on here, I am a single gal. Aside from periodically once in a while moping about, "Woah is me," I am good. I have Pearl. I have my family nearby (and family not nearby- don't worry I know how to find you!) I have friends in walking, phone-calling, traveling distances. I honestly love living. I love looking forward to God doing great things. I do, however, spend a lot of time with me. And, sometimes I am just short. (Not that I am every tall.... unless I wear tall shoes..another story) My arms are not long enough, and okay, I am just not always strong enough to do what I need to do.
That being said, why do I feel it necessary to show the world that I can do it all alone. Sure, I can whip up a good roast, along mashed "tators" (for all my Texans) and green beans. Yes, I can paint a wall. Sew? Yes. I can even go to sleep now, and walk around in the dark of my house, sans dog.
Ask for help?.... Who? Me? No. Nope. Uh-uh. And, it is to my detriment at times.
There have been many funny, funny stories, as I travel through the Life and Times of Stephanie. Yes, I poke at myself because I know I'm ridiculous. But tonight. Tonight I had a moment. For whatever reason I determined that I was going to move a large, large piece of furniture, up the stairs because I needed it to be moved tonight (?). I don't know why. It was funny. I was actually laughing, until at one moment I was realizing the precarious position I put myself in (as the dresser-ish I was hauling up the stairs, tried to haul me back down with). That isn't even the point of my rambling tonight.
The point is, I don't ask. Not even that I don't ask people, friends, family. I don't ask God. The truth of what it says in the Bible is there in black and white.
"Come to me and I will give you rest."
"Come to me you who are weary and heavy laden."
"Peace I'll give to you."
Furniture moving aside, life has been feeling like a whirlwind, and I'm sucked in. There are very few moments when I feel the calm. Instead I feel the wind and the crazy waves sending me flying through the air. I want to yell at life to, "STOP!" It doesn't.
There are things, every day things, family things, worry things that pile up. "I do it myself," though. I can handle it all on my own.... Except I can't.
If I would just stop in those moments and say, "God please help," the winds don't all die down. The waves don't disappear, but the anchor I need to keep me grounded, is firmly wrapped around me, and I won't fly off anywhere.
I am not alone. You, one of you (out of maybe the two who read this thing) is reading this thinking you are alone, and that no one can help and that you have been sent to sea in a sinking ship with nothing to bail water but a banana. Life's circumstances are hard. There's no where to run to, and no where to hide.... but there is a Help. The Help we all need.
It can be humbling to ask for help. I never think of myself as a prideful person, but there it is. Ugly pride putting a stamp on my forehead. (And not even in a good color.) Tonight, Jesus met me on the stairs. Not literally (because I could have literally used his help!) but after securing my crazy dresser-ish in a good, non-falling position, he reminded me that I have been doing a lot of this lately. I have been piling on the burdens. I've been, "I do it myself,"-ing. Piling on the weight and carrying around everyone's weariness. It is NOT MINE and they do not belong to me.
Psalm 81 talks of a trying time, but then speaks of the promise that when we cry to God, when we say to Him, "help me," He does. Bam. That's it. He helps. If you are uncertain reading this, and you want to know more... ask. Ask me. I can point the way.
Life is hard. Doesn't it make it all the better when you have a great travel companion?
****
I have watched my dad do this over and over, for thirty some years. He puts his hands together and rocks back and forth and then will quickly step back, and in a little voice he will say, "I do it myself." I should remember, I was there, and he is quoting me, but I don't remember. Except that I do, because I did it yesterday.
My dad tells of a little girl, blue eyes and a chub face who loved to do it all on her own. She was independent, even when it wasn't beneficial. The thing about little girls is they grow up. Sure, there are (in my case) the same blue eyes, and freckles, and ... the stubborn streak. Cute, perhaps when younger, but maybe not so attractive when all grown up.
While I don't talk about it much on here, I am a single gal. Aside from periodically once in a while moping about, "Woah is me," I am good. I have Pearl. I have my family nearby (and family not nearby- don't worry I know how to find you!) I have friends in walking, phone-calling, traveling distances. I honestly love living. I love looking forward to God doing great things. I do, however, spend a lot of time with me. And, sometimes I am just short. (Not that I am every tall.... unless I wear tall shoes..another story) My arms are not long enough, and okay, I am just not always strong enough to do what I need to do.
That being said, why do I feel it necessary to show the world that I can do it all alone. Sure, I can whip up a good roast, along mashed "tators" (for all my Texans) and green beans. Yes, I can paint a wall. Sew? Yes. I can even go to sleep now, and walk around in the dark of my house, sans dog.
Ask for help?.... Who? Me? No. Nope. Uh-uh. And, it is to my detriment at times.
There have been many funny, funny stories, as I travel through the Life and Times of Stephanie. Yes, I poke at myself because I know I'm ridiculous. But tonight. Tonight I had a moment. For whatever reason I determined that I was going to move a large, large piece of furniture, up the stairs because I needed it to be moved tonight (?). I don't know why. It was funny. I was actually laughing, until at one moment I was realizing the precarious position I put myself in (as the dresser-ish I was hauling up the stairs, tried to haul me back down with). That isn't even the point of my rambling tonight.
The point is, I don't ask. Not even that I don't ask people, friends, family. I don't ask God. The truth of what it says in the Bible is there in black and white.
"Come to me and I will give you rest."
"Come to me you who are weary and heavy laden."
"Peace I'll give to you."
Furniture moving aside, life has been feeling like a whirlwind, and I'm sucked in. There are very few moments when I feel the calm. Instead I feel the wind and the crazy waves sending me flying through the air. I want to yell at life to, "STOP!" It doesn't.
There are things, every day things, family things, worry things that pile up. "I do it myself," though. I can handle it all on my own.... Except I can't.
If I would just stop in those moments and say, "God please help," the winds don't all die down. The waves don't disappear, but the anchor I need to keep me grounded, is firmly wrapped around me, and I won't fly off anywhere.
I am not alone. You, one of you (out of maybe the two who read this thing) is reading this thinking you are alone, and that no one can help and that you have been sent to sea in a sinking ship with nothing to bail water but a banana. Life's circumstances are hard. There's no where to run to, and no where to hide.... but there is a Help. The Help we all need.
It can be humbling to ask for help. I never think of myself as a prideful person, but there it is. Ugly pride putting a stamp on my forehead. (And not even in a good color.) Tonight, Jesus met me on the stairs. Not literally (because I could have literally used his help!) but after securing my crazy dresser-ish in a good, non-falling position, he reminded me that I have been doing a lot of this lately. I have been piling on the burdens. I've been, "I do it myself,"-ing. Piling on the weight and carrying around everyone's weariness. It is NOT MINE and they do not belong to me.
Psalm 81 talks of a trying time, but then speaks of the promise that when we cry to God, when we say to Him, "help me," He does. Bam. That's it. He helps. If you are uncertain reading this, and you want to know more... ask. Ask me. I can point the way.
Life is hard. Doesn't it make it all the better when you have a great travel companion?
1 comment:
I am that same girl, Stephanie! Remembering to call on God is a discipline I'm still working out as well, but boy does the load seem much lighter when we ask God for help!!
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