I never did drugs growing up, unless you count coffee, not that I do. But while I never did drugs, I have been hooked on something else as controlling, and it is this heady premise: I can do it myself.
I know you are all shocked to hear I was ever like this, knowing what you presently know of me, but yes, I really was an independent soul, even back in the day. To seal the deal, I live and breathe in a culture that claps for me to keep it up. While I suppose there is something to be said for pulling your own weight, it’s quite another thing to make that your modus operandi (a phrase I am emboldened to use thanks to a freshly brewed infusion of the aforementioned java).
I started early. Apparently, my first day of kindergarten, I rebuffed no one less than the very principal of the school, a gentleman who wanted to help students onto the bus. Anxious to assert my independence, I yanked my elbow to myself and assured him, “I can do it myself!” — a mindset that has continued pretty much unabated to this very day.
The reality is that it is hard for me to ask for help, push a request out of my mouth, express my need, put my future in someone’s hands. Often I don’t want to tire people out by giving them yet another task. And often I genuinely like figuring something out on my own, setting a goal, writing my list, checking it off. I enjoy a feeling of completion, of competence.
Even daunting propositions call me — I like to think I can do them, anyway. I believe that, being made in the image of a working, creating God, there exists a true, good drive to take on a challenge and cross the finish line with it. And so I would not say it is always misguided to work independently.
But.
When it means that I am unwilling to acknowledge my need, and admit I just can’t do it myself, then my lifelong mantra runs me right into a wall. If I never ask for a hand with all these bags I’m carrying, the weight of innumerable duties and decisions grinds my spirit to powder as I try to do it all myself. Instead of breaking the tape, my pride renders me ineffective, unproductive, and weary. I miss the music of life. I was made to live in connection with others. Independence has its place, but it also has its limits.
When Jack passed on, I got a lot of helpful advice: Feel your way. Avoid major decisions for at least a year. Take your own car so you can leave when you need to. And this: Ask for help. I wrote it down because I needed to remember that I was told I should do it — Ask for help.
A few days ago, because I (finally) asked, and because two friends (immediately) answered, we were able to take a 6 hour job and knock it out in 3. They showed up with good will and sleeves rolled up. We all got dirty and the job got done.
As the Good Book says, “Carry one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ… A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you should love one another (Galatians 6:2, John 13:34).”
Thanks, friends. I couldn’t do life without you.