Last February, everything changed when I broke my foot.

While perched cross-legged on my couch, my foot fell asleep. I didn’t realize the slumbering status of this limb, and I took a step. In an instant, my toes caught on the carpet and I stumbled forward as the entire weight of my body crunched my fifth metatarsal. I crumpled in a heap with my foot on fire, throbbing as my husband drove me to the emergency room.

In the days and weeks that followed, my right foot was rendered unusable. I could not drive, let alone get up and down the stairs to our apartment on the second floor.

For eight weeks, I was homebound. Instead of my usual activities, I was confined to putter around our house, my foot secured in the clunky, black orthotic boot with the Velcro straps. Our children attend a school that is across the city and, suddenly, I had to scramble to find folks to give them rides home. The calendar spreadsheet lay before me on my laptop, and I began texting friends:

“Could you pick up our boys from school?”

I asked for help and assistance, needing all the support I could get for two whole months, five days each week. It was a lot to ask, but I decided to try anyway. And, to my surprise, my friends kept saying, “Yes.”

One person thanked me for asking because she was glad for the opportunity to help. Our church rallied around us and brought dinner to our door for weeks. One friend even came over and cleaned our apartment, top to bottom, for three hours while I sat on the couch with my leg propped.

We are people that show up. If our friends are gripped with a raging fever or are suffering under influenza’s chill, we bring soup. We scribble encouraging notes and deliver casseroles. When someone cannot pay rent, we support them the best we can. These gestures and savory aromas are a beautiful incense of love. This is what the Church is and should always be about. Yet, while our culture values serving others, no one actually wants to be the person in need. The wider world prizes self-sufficiency and sometimes we, even as believers, also strive to steer clear of looking weak or incapable.

It was humbling to ask for help when I broke my foot . . . and, on this journey, I’m learning that honesty and vulnerability will only flow among friends when we choose to go first. The first to help, but also the first to admit our frailty and our need. The Bible tells of four friends who sought to carry an ailing man to Jesus but found there was no way to approach Jesus due to the enormous crowd. These friends climbed onto the roof of the house where Jesus was, beads of sweat trickling down their temples as they struggled to heave their precious load. Once atop the roof, they dug into the straw and tar to form a hole big enough to lower their friend through for the healing he was soon to receive.

This man was miraculously healed and, undeniably, we all want to be like those friends who ultimately carried the man towards help and healing. Yet, consider how courageous it is to be the one on the mat. It is courageous to admit we need help. Though, at times, this process can be frightening or humiliating, still, the practice of disclosing our vulnerability is worthwhile.

Jesus invites us into these seasons of dependence on others, always. People in our communities may even take joy in using their gifts to serve us. You are allowed to be a burden. Friend, this posture is not shameful. It may be the hardest thing you do, but we are invited to go first.

Don’t wait until you break a bone to invite people in.

Leave a Comment