Reaching Out

When I was eight years old I had my tonsils out. I remember not feeling very bad the first day I got home, but by day two I was miserable.

My parents had pulled out the hide-a-bed in the t.v. room so I could watch movies and so they would be closer to me while I recuperated. My mom spent the first two or three nights sleeping on the pull out bed with me so she would be close if I woke up and needed her.

The second night I did wake up in the middle of the night in a lot of pain. I still remember lying silently in the dark as tears streamed down my face and into my ears and I felt like I had a pile of broken glass in my throat. It was more pain than I had ever been in up until that point and I felt helpless.

I could feel the warmth coming from my mom who was asleep right next to me. I knew I could just reach out and tap her on the shoulder and she would happily get up to get me medicine, a popsicle, or just hold me as I cried, but for some reason I didn’t. I didn’t want to wake her. I felt like I had to endure the pain on my own. I laid there crying for what seemed like hours until I finally drifted back to sleep.

I thought about that time yesterday as I sat in a Women’s Conference yesterday and the speaker talked about his mother being there for him during a time he most needed it. My mother had also done all she could to be available to me when I needed her, but I had not done my part to let her know when that time had come and we both missed out.

It made me think about how many times in my life I had missed out on other’s willingness to help when I needed it. I could certainly think of times when I had made offers of help to friends, but because I didn’t know exactly how to help and they didn’t tell me, nothing came of it.

I am sure I will still be on both sides of this scenario many times in my life, but I am hoping that by being aware of it my heart will soften and I will humble myself and ask for help when it is offered and that I will be more in tune to the needs of those around me.