When I was about 12 or 13, we were living in Lubbock and I was just entering the youth group at our church. I'd spent my whole life being a middle child, which often meant that if the older kids got to do something cool, I was one of the younger ones. If the younger ones got to be spoiled a bit, I was counted as among the older three... at least it felt that way to me. So, entering the Jr. High youth group meant that I could participate in youth events that my older sisters couldn't do (being high schoolers) and that my younger sisters weren't old enough for! Yay!
One Sunday afternoon, a spontaneous youth event was forming for the Jr. High kids: a group trip to the dollar movies. This was in the early 90's when dollar movies only cost.... $1! and a $5 bill could get you into the show with coke and popcorn and maybe even a candy. As soon as the evening worship services concluded, I raced from the area where the youth were sitting to find my mom and beg her to let me go. I'd already arranged a ride to the theater and a ride home afterward. All I needed was permission... and some money.
Mom opened her purse and pulled out a billfold. She bypassed the empty compartment where paper bills briefly resided every payday. Tucked back behind medical cards and other wallet debris, she pulled out a carefully folded $5 bill.
I somehow knew in that moment that I shouldn't have asked. That $5 bill represented money that she'd set aside for sometime when she wanted to grab lunch out instead of taking a bag lunch. It may have been a 'rainy day' fund for when she wanted to splurge on a well deserved treat that moms don't want to share with greedy offspring. Whatever it was intended for, she was about to re-purpose it. "Here, Jeff." she offered me the bill.
I backpedaled. "Oh, mom. It's okay. I don't need to go to the movies. I can go next time."
"Jeff, take it."
"Mom, really, you keep it. I'll hang out with some other friends."
"Jeff..."
I continued to protest until she moved in close and stared at me, hard. "Jeffrey!" she said, commandingly. I looked into her softening face and she said, "Part of grace is letting people be gracious to you. Take the money and go have a good time."
I have had several of my therapy clients this week express their difficulty in allowing others to help them, or even asking for help when they obviously are in need of some kindness. There seems to be a feeling of positivity that we attach to helping others that is only matched by the weird shame we seem to attach to needing help. We somehow create a false dichotomy with this idea that some people are helpers and others are the ones who need help when in truth, we are both.
What we somehow fail to realize is that in order for there to be opportunity for ME to help another person, there needs to be another person who is willing to ask for and accept my help. It is a curious thing to note that when we place a positive judgement on ourselves when we help others (and rightly so, as it is a good thing to help others) we also manage to place a negative judgement on whomever is the help-ee. We weirdly manage to tie our self-worth into being in a position to help while somehow needing to avoid being in need of help. Silly humans.
In summing up her own narrative of learning to accept help, a client managed to say in three words what has taken me 15 minutes to type out. She finally accepted the help offered to her by a friend by simply asking herself, "Why fight grace?"
Why fight grace?
Good question.
And now, as you have need, may you position yourself to receive what those who love you so desperately want to offer: Grace. Help. Kindness. Relief. And may you know in that moment that God is loving you through these people.
Always happy to help
-Jeff
*my recollection of this event may have been embellished for storytelling purposes. :)
