He spent hours studying, bought a desk, assembled said desk, helped me with dinner, played with little Ladybug and then…
had a really, thoroughly, humiliating (I mean humbling) conversation with me.
All in a day’s work, right?
Do you know what he said, that husband of mine, that ever-loving, completely
obnoxiously beneficially wise man that I married?
In a confident, no-nonsense tone, with absolutely no evidence whatsoever of any fear or uneasiness about my tendency toward immature, impulsive, and defensive reactions, he said:
“Hey babe, I think maybe…. Okayhowshouldisaythis….. Honey, you might be blessed if…….Ummmm……..I just think it might be beneficial….. If you asked somebody for help. “
What?! What do you mean ask for help?! What kind of help!?! Are you suggesting…..that I have a problem?!! You wouldn’t dare….
He wouldn’t dare….
But oh yes. Yes, he did.
He dared. In fact, the man must have a death-wish, because he looked right into my now very fierce and accusing eyes and said it again!
“I think you should ask somebody for help.”
At this point ensued a pause.
A very, very long pause.
“I’m not criticizing you, honey, I promise,” he said hurriedly. “I just mean, maybe you could ask for help, like with Addie, or with, you know, how to grow like you’ve been saying you want to. Maybe there are some women in your life who would give you a hand, or give you some advice.”
Now. I’m sure it’s obvious how such a ridiculous and unreasonable suggestion like this one required every last bit of Kevin’s careful eggshell-walking and dancing around the point. I mean, it’s only logical for him to expect me to explode. Who wouldn’t blow up at a suggestion like that, right?
But I, in my ever-growing grace and mercy (and to Kevin’s ever-living gratitude and relief), did not explode.
I did, however, take a very, very, very long time to respond to this suggestion.
“Okayyyyy….” I said.
(Or something like that. I might have said something about how unreasonable and unfair he was being first, or something like don’tyouknowhowhardI’mtrying before that, and then, after that, I said “Okayyyyy,…..” but who can remember these things?)
Then I took a very, very, very hard look at myself and realized something truly, horribly, terribly awful.
I realized my husband was right.
I’m not even going to mention how difficult that admission is for me, or how, just 2 days ago, I was forced to say those bitter words into the voice memo recorder of Kevin’s iPhone so that he might never forget the blessed day they poured fluidly and smoothly like rocks and daggers off my lips.
Anyway. The point is, I realized he was right.
I need to ask for help.
I need to ask for help with how to grow up. How to love, and parent, and be graceful. How to meal-plan, and garden, and just how the heck to go through a whole day believing I am loved.
Did you catch that last part?
That’s the other thing I realized: That not believing you are loved is poison.
It’s poison because it makes me go around demanding that other people make me feel loved.
It’s poison because I have to have love to give love.
It’s poison because it makes me hide, and I’ve been working really hard at stopping that lately.
And it’s poison, most especially, because it’s just not true.
I am loved. Deeply, truly. I’m loved by a God whose love makes me lovable.
Have you ever noticed that? That being around somebody who knows how loved they are is just really good?
How it feels really safe?
Like, because they obviously like themselves, you can like just calm the heck down and like yourself, too?
See, that’s the opposite of poison.
Like….. the Life-Elixer. (The Elixer Of Life? Whatever.)
Being around them is like fresh air and sunshine. And you walk away feeling like you could probably take on the world, but even if maybe you don’t feel like doing that today, you’re still just really, beautifully Okay, and everybody else is Okay, too.
And that’s really important. Because, as my
obnoxiously beneficially wise husband went on to explain,
If you’re going to ask for help, you have to know you’re worth helping.
You’re worth helping.
You’re loved, and you’re worth helping.
That’s pretty huge, don’t you think?
Don’t you feel like you just need to tape that to your mirror, or your dashboard, or your face, and read it every. dang. day?
I sure do.
(I think I’m actually gonna. The mirror part, I mean. But I won’t judge you if you go for the face.)