Accepting help...

I do not accept help very well.

My Dad raised me to be an independent girl. He taught me how to do everything, so one day should I not have a “man” I could make it on my own. J I put air in my own tires, etc., the whole nine yards.

I even had this problem when Adam and I began dating. You see, I knew how a gentleman was supposed to treat a lady. Adam opened car doors, and just about every door we entered (still does and always better!).  But, sometimes I wouldn’t let him. I had two good arms—why shouldn’t I just open it if I get to the door first? He almost broke-up with me in high school until I promised to allow him to open all the doors.  Ok, well not almost broke-up, but we had a serious conversation about it (Don’t I wish we could go back to those simple days where that was what our serious conversations were about!?). I was determined to show him how independent I was…I guess to show him that I didn’t “need” him, and we were only dating because I was allowing it. Weirdo!

I was also taught that if I couldn’t carry all my own luggage, then I had too much stuff. Maybe Dad just told me that because he was tired of carrying Mom’s 15 bags. J

Only once up until now have I allowed someone to service me.  

Adam had training in Nashville and since it was the summer I could go and stay with him for a night. We were going to go eat and then out with his work friends. When I got there, I drove around the block of the Renaissance in downtown Nashville 3 times looking for a parking lot. I finally realized that you couldn’t park if you are staying there…it was only valet. Really a place that only does valet? We were big-timing it! Well, I was feeling pretty awesome that day anyway. Maybe it was my new skinny jeans or the “western looking” dress I bought 5 minutes before leaving at Anthropologie so I wouldn’t have to wear teacher clothes when we went out. So, I swung in with my 11 year old Civic, paint peeling off the hood, like I owned the place, dropped the keys in his hand and gave him a tip. I carried my luggage inside to the counter. Once I told them my name and she looked up the room number, (my husband was “Platinum status” by now because of all the traveling with Ernst and Young…thanks EY) “George” rushed over to pick up my bags. I told him, “Oh, no thank you, I can carry them myself”. He said, “Oh, no ma’am, please allow me.”, and took them before I could respond. Still feeling pretty good, I allowed it. On the way up the elevator to the “special” platinum members floor he asked me what my husband did for a living….butterin’ me up the whole way. Feeling like the Queen of Sheba, I gave him a $15.00 tip. Of course, when Adam got to the hotel after work, I told him how fancy I felt and how much I gave him as a tip. His eyes bulged and he told me that just because I felt fancy didn’t mean we were fancy and that next time $2 would be sufficient.

I have had to learn some things since having the girls. I can’t do everything on my own anymore and I need help.

A couple of weeks ago, I was determined to go to the grocery store with them by myself. They were 10 weeks old. I had a long list of groceries. Adam told me I was crazy and putting unnecessary stress on myself since he passes Publix on his way home he would just always go. The stroller we are using right now (until they can hold their heads up a little better) doesn’t allow you to put much in the bottom. And since our car seat didn’t fit in the top part of the buggy, I stood in the parking lot for 20 minutes trying to figure out the best way to do it, even though I had it all planned in advance inside my head. I refused to push a double stroller in front of me and pull a grocery cart behind. My “friend” at Publix just happened to be gathering buggies at the time and saw me. He tried to help but I politely told him that no matter how long it took I was going to figure it out. So, I put Claire in the large part of the buggy, and Camryn strapped to me in a Baby Bjorn. Everyone stared. We made it through and I think Claire held 2 cans of green beans, coffee creamer, and cheese. It was the first time I let anyone help me carry the groceries out to my car. I was so proud of myself (I am woman, hear me roar—I guess?) just proving that I could go to the grocery by myself with  them. I even called Christen and Leigh on my way home to tell them about my experience so they could be impressed too.

Well, it has happened several times since then even though I try not to go to too many complicated places without Adam.  My aunt was in the hospital for surgery, and I was determined to get flowers and some goodies up there. I decided to go to Edgar’s Bakery. Thank goodness that Edgar’s had some pre-made floral arrangements so I didn’t have to unload the girls, load them back up, and then unload them again at another store, then load them back up… again. I also picked up a loaf of banana nut bread and some thumbprint cookies. When I got to the register, the lady checking me out called for help from the back. Once the guy got up there she said, “Hey, go help this lady out to her car. She’s going to need it.” 

You see, I am not the one that is supposed to need help though. I am to be serving others! I want to help/serve/do. I have my whole life. I am MUCH more comfortable being the Indian than the chief.

What is He trying to teach me?

When we serve others we are serving Christ. I know that full well. Ephesians 2:10 says “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Basically, we have been saved to serve. But, have I already reached a point in my life where I need to have the grace to receive help from others? Can we serve effectively if we do not allow ourselves to be served sometimes?

Pass the salt,

Ash