Recently, my 7-year-old son, Will, came home with
instructions from his teacher to review his double-digit addition skills. When
we sat together at the kitchen table to work practice problems, he slouched
over the page with his pencil hovering over the first problem for several
minutes before he looked up at me with uncertainty.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
Clearly he did, but he shook his head and continued
pondering the problem through the blur of tears filling his eyes. It seemed he
thought that the answers would come flooding out if he sat there long enough. I
imagined him sitting at his desk at school doing much the same thing, with the
hope that his silence and eager pencil would fool his teacher into believing he
knew what he was doing.
I thought later about the reassurance I gave him: “Everyone
has to ask for help sometimes.” Initially, it had seemed silly to me that Will
chose an entire class period of confusion and panic over simply raising his
hand to ask for help.
But then I considered how much I am like my son.
When life is emotionally difficult or I am struggling with
sin, I’m afraid to raise my hand and ask for help. I’m afraid to draw attention
to myself, admit my weaknesses, or confess my need for fear of inconveniencing
others or being rejected. So often I sit with tears in my eyes and a pencil
poised over a problem I don’t know how to solve while the Lord patiently
questions why I haven’t asked for help. “You have asked Me for help, but have
you asked the loving, wise people I’ve purposefully put in your life? They are
my answer to you.”
We all, at some point, are overwhelmed with burdens that are
too heavy for us each to carry alone. Sometimes God acts in our lives without
using others to meet our needs, but His normal mode of operation is to use
wise believers in the Body of Christ—His church— to help us understand, grow,
and grieve. The catch is that we cannot receive their ministry unless we raise
our hands and ask for help.
What keeps us from raising our hands? We’ve misunderstood the church
to be a group of put-together people, rather than a gathering of broken, needy
people collecting together to drink from God’s grace. Sometimes we feel the
pressure to have everything under control. Or perhaps we’ve experienced
rejection and condemnation from those in the church who appear religious, but
lack an understanding of their true brokenness and need.
Soon after my discussion with Will, my pastor-husband and I experienced
deep discouragement and spiritual neediness beyond what we could handle
ourselves. We needed prayer and love from our community of faith, but I
hesitated to ask for it. Finally, remembering Will and feeling God’s nudge, I revealed
our need to a few trusted friends and church leaders. With love and
thoughtfulness, they came to our side and ushered us to the grace of God,
urging us to drink from His fountain again.
I’m glad I raised my hand.
--this post originally appeared on In(courage) a few years ago, but is still true today
