ask for help? are you insane?

I don't like asking for help. You don't like it either.

 

Behold, a smattering of excuses I've used to avoid asking for help in (various) situations:

 

-"I don't want to be a burden"

-"I don't even know where to start with what I need"

-"They won't take care of this for me in the way I want it taken care of, so I'll just do it myself"

-"People are all so busy, I hate to add on more thing to anyone's plate"

-"They can't help by bringing/making me food because they don't know how to deal with my allergies"

-"I don't want to then deal with all the questions"

-"One time I asked for help and that person who said they would ended up letting me down, so I'm not going to do that again"

-"I don't want to owe anyone any favors"

Does this sound familiar? Do you abhor asking others to help you? Would you rather punch yourself in the face?

Of course.

 

Even though so much publicity and messaging exists to reassure you that getting help doesn't make you a freak or weak --

-- you still reflexively recoil at the thought of asking someone to help you. I do too. It's sufficiently ingrained in this age that we avoid such entanglements.

 

Yet it's hard to find a more anti-Christian, anti-human credo to attempt to operate by than "I shouldn't need anyone's help."

Please hear this, with love: many people do want to contribute and assist you in your success. But you (and I) make it hard to do if you (and I) never let anyone lend a hand. 

In a weird way, asking a friend for help serves them. 

When I grant others the honor of showing their care for me, that blesses them. Being able to show unselfish, unconditioned love for another person fulfills. It reminds me (and you) that letting others help widens my (and your) trust for them, and vice versa.

Truth is, we can't do everything by ourselves. We profess to understand and to heed this axiom, but in reality, we attempt to instead do 98% by ourselves. We heed the technicality of this truth, but not the spirit of it.

So ask for help. Start small, and start with someone you trust. Admit what you don't yet know instead of trying to fake it. It's how people get stronger, and how trust grows, and how the world should work.

 

our sweet boy

"To his dog, every man is Napoleon. Hence the constant popularity of dogs." -A. Huxley

My family dog died this past weekend. A part of us knew this was imminent. Yet admitting this seemed to break our hearts extra wide open. Why does it ache so much? Why can't I stop from crying at random times throughout a day? Why does it feel emptier than normal at the house

 

It's love separated by death. That's why. This is not how it's supposed to be.

We adopted him as a rescue more than 10 years ago.

I'm confident that other life experiences will hurt us as much as the death of a family pet. But I'm also confident that it's uniquely, distinctly desolating to say goodbye to a pet.

My mom often says that there's few things on this earth more symbolic of God's love for his people than how dogs particularly love their owners (I can't speak about cats as pets, or reptiles, or any other animal, so I won't speculate -- I'm sure they also provide love and affection in palpable ways).

How did this dog demonstrate such love for me, and my family, that it'd remind me of God's love?

-He always wanted to be near us. It didn't matter how long it'd been since we last showered, or if we'd brushed our teeth yet that morning. Wherever we were, that's where he wanted to be. God is like that too. We're never somewhere that he's not willing to come to where we are to be with us.

-Our dog's love and affection for us is unconditional, as is God's love. It's rare in life to know a love that unconditional that we can trust is unconditional. No second-guessing. No games.

-He saw the best in me, and in us. We didn't need to earn his love, or attain any status, to earn his love. It was there, and it stayed.

-The playfulness. We too often undersell the playfulness of God. 

A friends once told me of a time, in high school, when she contemplated some serious self-harm. One night, she got stuck in a devolving, self-loathing mental/emotional spiral. She began considering how she could hurt herself, and when to do it.

 

Who intervened?

 

The family dog -- bounding into her bedroom with the grace of a dump truck to lick her face, bother her for pets, climb into her lap. The dog broke through the spell of shame. She broke free of the spiral.

Dogs know when we ache. They may not be able to pay off a credit card, or recite math equations, or change a tire, but they are keen students of their pack.

A question I plan to ask God someday: why is the span of a pet's life is so truncated compared to our lives? It cleaves me in two to have to let go of this companion. Why do they have to age so fast? I'd gladly take the pain of this with the love we knew for all these years. But wow, the pain screams.

 

Also: do I believe all dogs go to heaven? 

 

I'll put it this way: I believe in the resurrection of the dead, and of God "making all things new" (Revelation 21), and that would not just be humans, but all creation. The bonds we form with these creatures are a gift from God. It's unfathomable that God would withdraw this gift forever. I look forward to playing with this special dog, my sweet boy again. I love him so.

 

nothing gold can stay

"Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay." -Robert Frost

-----

My kid recently checked out this interesting book from the library. 

 

It's titled Astonishing and Extinct Professions (89 Jobs You Will Never Do). It gives succinct descriptions of long-forgotten vocations, such as Whalebone Rippers, Armpit-Hair Pluckers (ouchie), Waker-Uppers, and so on (if you're looking for a gift to give a nephew, niece, or young cousin in your life, it's informative and enjoyable to read).

Three of the professions caught my ear as the book was read to me: the roles of 'Wailing Women (Professional Mourners)'/'Mutes' and 'Funeral Jesters.' In many ancient civilizations, these pros were paid to come to a funeral, cry, pull out their hair, spread ashes on themselves. They often didn't know the person who'd died. Their wailing helped the family and loves ones of the deceased grieve more deeply. 

 

The mutes were men hired to stand silently with the mourners, to look somber. They walked with the funeral procession. They wore all black, except if a child had died -- then they wore white.

 

The funeral jesters would imitate the deceased person during the funeral procession (can you imagine??). The jester would re-tell their favorite jokes, act out important life moments. They humorously revived the dead for one last time. This would give the grieving a chance to reminisce about the departed in a playful, loving way.

 

"Wow," I thought when I heard this. This reminded me that past civilizations and customs have a lot to teach me. I'm sure you could learn a lot too. There's such wisdom in these ancient practices. 

 

How often do we truly make purposeful effort for remembering good times, and for celebrating good things? How well do we make purposeful effort -- truly, set time aside -- for thoughtfully mourning sad things? Always in a hurry to move past. Onward and upward. Gotta get to the next task, gotta keep moving. Always something else to do, somewhere else to be.

 

The train almost never makes an extended pit stop.

Maybe it should.

To stop to acknowledge a blessing reminds us we've been blessed. It also helps counter the weight we feel when a blessed thing comes to an end. 

 

To stop to acknowledge a sadness reminds us that, save the love of God, nothing lasts forever. As good things come, good things go, and that is the reality of life. Nothing gold can stay. 

What's a blessing you have that you would do you well to stop, to ponder more, and to thank God for it? Surely there's some blessing.

What's a sadness you have that you would do well to stop, to ponder more, and to ask God for comfort and hope in your time of sorrow? Surely there's some sadness.

 

We rejoice, and we weep. Many sadnesses mourn blessings that were never designed to last forever.

 

A time to mourn, and a time to dance. Many blessings are of sadnesses vanquished.

 

God doesn't ask us to experience any feeling in this life that he hasn't experienced. It fills our hearts with joy to feel the blessings. And it hurts like hell to bear the sorrows.

"We are not infinite
We are not permanent
Nothing's immediate
And we pretend like we're immortal" -Gone (Switchfoot)

Gone - Switchfoot

can I ask you a question

Have you asked God for what you want?

Sure, you've talked about it ad nauseam to yourself. To your friends. Again to yourself. Maybe you've talked about it with God. 

But have you asked??

Ask. Put yourself out there, and ask.

It's a simple step, but too often glossed over. We want, we want, we want, we want want want want want want. Wanting isn't always wrong; it isn't always right. Depends on what we want. So we scheme, strategize, plot, maneuver, overthink, obsess to get what we want. 

Why should we ask God for what we want? What does asking God do for us?

1) It reminds us that so much is out of our control. We're not in charge. 

2) It's vulnerable to ask. It means we might hear a 'no.' And some of us would rather do anything than risk hearing a 'no.' Truth be told, sometimes what we want is something we know we know is not good for us, that would do us harm. But we still want it. Hearing no can hurt.

3) Asking can show how much and why we want something. When we have to ask, we may have to explain why we want what we want. Luke 11 has this parable about asking God for something. "...yet because of his persistence he will rise and give him whatever he needs (Luke 11:8)" 

You know this to be true. You ask your parents for something one time but never bring it up again, they would reasonably infer that you want it, but not too badly. So it wouldn't matter much if you did not receive it. 

But if you asked. And you asked again. And you asked again. And you talked about it, heard questions, answered questions, and still kept asking. What does this show? It shows that this is something you really, really want. It matters enough for you to show persistence. 

So ... what do you have to ask God for? What do you want? 

Speak up, and ask.

dance on the teeth of pain

Science re-learned old truths about dancing. I love what this re-reminds us.

In a fresh-off-the-presses study published in the BMJ (British Medical Journal), physical exertion was compared for how well it helped people who suffer with depression.

As you've heard before, exercise helps to fight back against depression's tentacles of despair.

But that's not what -- in this study -- caught my attention. 

It was this, from page 8: 

Dancing does the most to ward off depression. Dancing, by itself. 

Dancing! Better than yoga, mindfulness, tai chi.

"We're going out dancin'

Chase our blues away..." 

-Go Out Dancing, Rod Stewart

"Just dance, 

gonna be OK..." 

-Just Dance, Lady Gaga

"You turned my wailing into dancing, 

you removed my sackcloth 

and clothed me with joy..." -Psalm 30:11

I love when super-smart people (scientists, in this instance) reaffirm wisdom that the Bible elaborated upon in ancient times. We should dance. 

How many times has this happened to you: You're supposed to go out. But you're in a cranky, funky,  nothing-fits-right, life-sucks sort of mood. You rather wallow in this vibe, listen to your sad playlists, eat chips, play a video game, and doom-scroll. BUT you already said you'd show up.

"I don't even know if I want to go," you think. "I'm not feeling it."

But you force yourself to get out. You push yourself to be with people enjoying themselves. And voila -- you have a much, much MUCH better time than you would've predicted.

"Here we have a lot of fun,

Putting trouble on the run,

You find the old & young

Twistin' the night away" 

-Twistin' The Night Away, Sam Cooke

I look closer at these songs about dancing I mentioned above, and I see something I missed before. The lyrics all juxtapose dancing with the chasing away of trouble. Psalm 30 also does this. 

It's as though God designed it like this: dancing plays a role in reinforcing to us that, with our Lord, it'll be OK. The specter of doom wilts on the dance floor.

Of course it's natural to sometimes feel depressed. But why should depression get unresisted squatter's rights on our moods and days? Just because we're in that state doesn't mean we should -- without protest -- accede to all it brings. We can try to push back a little bit. We can work to stand up underneath it.

Sometimes we gotta kick pain in the mouth, and then dance on depression's busted teeth and gums.

I say this with supreme confidence: you do not dance as often as you could. Go do something about that, even if you feel self-conscious. Go get after places and times to dance.

"And David danced before the Lord 

with all his might"-2 Samuel 6:14

embers

In this life, times of great inspiration and hope typically precede times of serious challenge, malaise, or trouble. 

I've yet to figure out why this is. I doubt I ever will. It doesn't always happen. But it seems enough of a pattern to share about it.

Consider these Bible examples:

-Moses spoke with the Lord on Mt. Sinai. Moses & God, a DM chat! 

But ... Moses had to descend. What awaited Moses? Israelites were up to no good: perversely constructing a golden calf to worship. In other words, Moses faced a horrible, absurd situation that he had to deal with, immediately after the epiphany atmosphere of visiting with the Lord (Exodus 32).

-Some wise men from the east visited Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. They brought Jesus some opulent gifts fit for a king, testifying to who Jesus is. Wow, what an inspiring moment! Imagine how wild and otherworldly this would be for teenage Jewish parents such as Joseph and Mary. 

But what happened just after that? A horrible, absurd injustice. This family immediately had to flee to Egypt -- in the night, after an angel's urgent warning -- to avoid a massacre aimed at them (Matthew 2).

-Jesus, after being baptized by John the Baptist, was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to endure many days of temptation (Matthew 4). A tough, tough time of faith followed the time of inspiration.

-Jesus, during the Transfiguration. [First, a word: there's not the time, or bandwidth, to properly encapsulate all this event means, meant, foretold, revealed, continues to reveal -- just know that all the books written about this one event would fill several libraries]. It was a moment teeming with hope, inspiration, out-of-sight sensory, supernatural experience. 

But what came the next day? A horrible, absurd situation awaits Jesus and his disciples. 

Have you noticed this in your life? This ever happened to you? Maybe more than once?

Sure it has. You hear a dynamic, amazing talk. Or you attend an event that absolutely lights (or re-lights) that fire in your heart. Or you see a longtime prayer answered. Or you read a book that reorients how you perceive yourself, to help you forgive. You take a trip -- or a walk on a beach -- that changes your life for the good. 

You become so rejuvenated, like you could radiate LED bleach-white strobe light shots out your fingertips and your hair. That lit fire within you -- it roars with resolve, awe, inspiration. You're an energized, boisterous, walking stack of personified jubilation.

But then? 

But then. 

It eventually changes.

It won't "always" happen that tedious monotony, wrenching pain, or unsettled disillusionment will follow times of great inspiration. I'll just say this: it seems to happen enough in history, in the Bible, with people throughout time, to make mention of it. 

Every fire has to die down to embers sometime. Every wave meets a shore.

So if this is you  ... I'd encourage you to stay with it. It doesn't necessarily mean you're off track. We're never meant to stay in and hoard (this side of glory) those places of uninterrupted inspiration and insight. But those special places and momentous times do serve a purpose. 

They serve a purpose, particularly with how and when we face the harder times, the heartbreak, the disillusionment that life sometimes brings. God's continually reminding us through creation, through others, through the Bible, through a million other ways of this truth: the heartbreak, the s*** of life isn't all there is to life, to say it plainly. It's OK to need reminding of that.

"I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." -Psalm 27:13

There's always one more wave heading to a shore.

There's lots of places out there where someone's stoking some embers to prep for another fire.

Grace never quits.

on Billy Joel wisdom

I remember driving home after seeing my favorite band perform live for the first time.

You might know how it feels after a concert like that. Lightning-esque, energized adrenaline absolutely racing, galloping, scouring through my veins (and my body). I felt like I could channel electricity itself.

Felt something like this?

Maybe more like this...

I arrived home after midnight. Despite my adrenaline, I had to wake up early the next day to stand in a dear friend's wedding, so getting some sleep was vital. I needed sleep.

A younger me might've eschewed this wisdom. "Why go to sleep so soon? -- we gotta ride this wave!" my reasoning might've shouted.

Sometimes, we have to force a wiser way of living upon ourselves than our body may crave in a moment. 

You will learn and re-learn this truth of life. I will have to re-learn it too. 

Our Lord God created us to regularly need sleep, decent food, a regular amount of actual sunshine, silence, prayer, community, human touch, laughter, all that. Everything that God provides in this life. To be human, in other words. We need times of serious rest to follow times of serious work. We are made to work well, work diligently, and to expend our energy toward this.

But we're not made to work nonstop.

One of the numerous reasons why I love Billy Joel's song 'Vienna' (from the 'The Stranger' album and the '13 Going on 30' movie -- an enduring, quality film for its genre) is its implicit reminder of this eternal truth. The lyrics positively teem with this wisdom.

    "Where's the fire, what's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out..."

    "Slow down, you're doing fine..."

    "You can't be everything you want to be before your time..."

    "Take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile 

    "It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two..."

Dear reader: if you've recently wrapped an exerting few weeks of life, it would do you much good to take your foot off the gas and coast a bit (beyond the point where you feel moderately rested). If you can, it'd be wise take the notifications off your phone, to disappear for awhile.

Go play a video game you've already conquered.

Go take a nap with a family pet (note: preferably your own family pet, not some random, feral, goofy-eyed possum from the nearby creek).

Go walk in the brisk air and the sun. 

Go build something useful with your hands, just for the fun of it. If your exertion lately has been mental, it helps to reset with physical activity.

Go re-read a favorite book. 

Go play a board game with a family member. 

Go for a drive.

Go force your body, mind, and heart to adopt -- and stick to it for this time -- a purposefully sustainable pace of getting through a day.

Go fall asleep praying to God.

[Incidentally: have you ever held a baby? Maybe it's your newborn cousin, or an older sibling's firstborn child. If a baby (that's not yours) falls asleep in your arms, it feels like a huge, huge compliment -- because it is. It means the baby feels safe with you. Or if it's a cat or dog falling asleep in your lap -- you feel privileged to be accorded such an honor. Imagine this scenario next time you fall asleep while praying to the Lord -- sleep is a natural response for someone to do when they feel safe and secure in in the presence of another. Maybe, just maybe, God feels this way toward us when we fall asleep in prayer]

Rest up, y'all. We'll gather back on the other side of the new year.

 

"Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." -Matthew 11:28-29 

did God just open (or close) that door?

Maybe you've heard about what God does with doors.

God opens doors. Or God closes doors.

 

We walk through doors that God opens for us. We walk away from the doors that God closes to us. Sounds fairly simple, doesn't it?

 

Perhaps. But not always.

 

For most of my life, I've heard this paradigm in the context of how to discern situations and life choices. And for most of my life, this made sense to me. 

 

But then I heard a talk once that challenged my reflex thinking, and I recorded the quote and wrote it down because it rocked me that much.

 

"Christians get a little too caught up in the open door, closed door thing. They say, 'Well, I'm praying about getting married, or trying some new job, or learning some new skill, and I'm going to see if the Lord opens a door or closes a door.

 

You know, sometimes the door is open. Sometimes the door is closed. And sometimes you need to tear the door off the hinges. 

 

Sometimes you have to say, 'This is a closed door, and God isn't going to make it easy for me.' You look at all the quest stories in the Bible, time after time, God throws up one obstacle, maybe two obstacles, puts people off, makes them face some barrier, and after they face that barrier and persevere, then God gives it to them." -Dr. DD

 

This continually encourages me.  

God's plans for life seldom fit so simply into a closed door/open door paradigm.

 

As I've accrued life and experiences, I'd rarely describe God's will for my life feeling as easy as waltzing through a wide-open door. In fact, few things in life are that easy (except of course, walking through actual doors, particularly supermarket doors that open as you approach). 

 

Usually, it feels like...

-building the door frame,

-securing the frame in place for the door,

-sanding the frame,

-pulling out the splinters accrued from sanding the frame,

-finding the tools to build the door,

-finding the lumber,

-and THEN getting to work on building a door.

 

A takeaway point from this?

 

Often, what's best for life and what God desires for me will involve actual struggle, because ... it's actual life. It will take real effort, and it'll rarely be as easy as walking through an open door. It'll require more of me (and of you) than that. 

 

Give this some thought. 

Luke 11:5-13