Would that I were better at this...

I had to ask for help today. 

Over the past year and a half, I have certainly asked for more help than I have in my entire life.  Surely an accurate accounting would prove such a claim true.  I will say that today was the second most embarrassing request for help that I have ever made.  I shall spare the details.

Last Friday, I truly needed help.  I was hoping that someone would have called to check in, but such was not the case.  I needed to get to an appointment but didn't feel free to ask someone from the parish here for help.  If you call me and offer, I have learned to be better at asking, but cold turkey requests still bother me.  Some of those folk have been overwhelmingly helpful, yet it is not in my skill set to ask for help.  At least, not unless I feel safe about it.  And, mostly, since I have been here, I have felt like a burden.

The whole assumed food poisoning fell me low just days after getting here.  And then this...battle...with my innards.  Long, long days of being ill.  Crap.

Well, today I absolutely had to have help.  I could not venture out.  I could not wait until someone called to check in on me. I had to ask all on my own.  But not only did I have to have help, but the help was of a personal nature.  Double crap.  Sometimes, I really, really, really miss the South. 

The more time I spend up north of the Mason Dixon line, the more I miss the South.  The heat would prevent me from ever moving back, but the longer I am away, the more I realize just how much of a Southerner I actually am.  Asking for what I needed there would have been far, far easier.  Maybe it is just because what there is part of life here seems to be inappropriate...even crass. 

Or...maybe...it is because I am just fundamentally incapable of interacting with human beings other than a short, short, short list.

I will say that the more time I spend here, the more I wish I had gotten out of Dodge sooner.  Indiana is worlds away...an entire universe it seems...from the DC area.  I was humbled by how gracious the one who helped me was, how she made it seem like I had done her some sort of a favor, how the whole time she has fetched and carried, called and stopped by, she has been looking foward to when I am better and we can venture out together.

My goodness, she has seen me literally moan in pain, weep like a baby, and be so listless I barely noticed her presense and she still is looking foward to galavanting about with me...not that I galavant these days.  We have had a few great big guffaws during my extended convelescence.  What a utter joy that has been!  How loving and merciful my Good Shepherd has been.

Even in my confusion.
Even in my hurt.
Even in my despair.
Even in my fatigue.
Even in my nausea.
Even in my fever.
Even in my pain.

Jesus Christ, Son of God, has been merciful in such a way as I can understand.  Even in my unbelief.

The other day, I had this glimpse of what it means for Christ's faith to be that upon which we depend, not our own. I was too tired to write about it.  The thought, the glimpse...it is gone.  I have been thinking deeply about Baptism and about the Living Word, though.

I have wanted, really since before I arrived, a house blessing.  If I had my way, it would have been done the moment I stepped foot in the house.  I have also very much wanted my adoptive family here, which makes waiting a necessity.  Yet now I have thought, with the amount of time passed and the things that have happened, that my reasons for wanting it are moot.

Someone asked me why and so I told her.  Her reply back was both helpful and confusing.  Of course, lest you misunderstand, it was beautifully written and clear as a bell for probably the entire rest of at least the Christian world.  For me?  Mud.  My reasons for mootness still seem clear.  Yet part of what she was saying sounded just like Luther's explanation of the Sacraments.

Water is just water.  Out of a river. Out of the facet.  Out of a Dasani bottle.  It simply doesn't matter.  What makes it holy is the Word attached to it, specifically the Word spoken in the name of our Triune God. 

I cannot really say why it is that that has stuck in my head or what it has to do with asking for help but somewhere, in my silly mind, it is all connected.

Late last fall, I asked someone how she moved past something.  She told me that she learned to say to herself.  Today I am better than yesterday.  How much doesn't matter.  Today I am better.  I am better than I was last month.  Last year.  I am better.

I am better than I was yesterday.  Still a fever and still unloving innards.  However, the eating plan seems to be helping.  I am better. 

Would that I were better at asking for help. Would that I were better at trusting. Would that I were better at understanding. Would that I were better at believing. Would that I were better at grasping the sweet, sweet Gospel.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!