Why I Needed Help (And Why That's Okay)

Last year around this time, my husband and I were given a gift. Not money. Not a vacation. It was the gift of time, sweat, food, and a whole lot of love from our church family.

Here’s why.

The fall of 2024 fell like a line of dominoes someone pushed a little too hard. First, my doctor found a skin cancer that led to surgery in October. Then in November, I had a nodule on my thyroid removed. Pathology report came back: cancer. December brought another surgery. Then, there was radiation in January. I felt like I had my own reserved parking spot at the hospital.

And as if that weren’t enough, our house decided to get in on the action.

The first leak showed up right after one of my surgeries—water pooling on our kitchen counter from a pipe in the attic. We called a plumber. Fixed. Done.

Except not.

Next leak: laundry room. Enter our friend Dale, who crawled into the attic and patched things up.

A week later, another leak. This time, the kitchen and dining room flooded on the very day our daughter flew home from her study abroad trip. Welcome home, sweetheart! (Don’t mind the indoor swimming pool.) Again, Dale to the rescue.

And then came the big one: 4 a.m. on the morning I was scheduled for radiation, Stewart woke to the sound of water pouring through the family room ceiling, right onto my brand-new chair. The rug was soaked. We shut off the water, drove to the church to shower, and by sunrise, Dale was back, crawling into our attic like it was his second home.

By the time it was all said and done, we’d had seven leaks. Seven! The culprit? Rats. Chewing through our pipes like they’d been invited to an all-you-can-eat buffet. We got rid of the rodents and reinsulated the attic, but not before half our house had a nervous breakdown.

Here’s the real story, though: the people who showed up for us. Dale, again and again, without complaint. Nathan and his brother, who swooped in and rescued our soaked chair and rug, returning them good as new. Friends who dropped off meals when I was too tired to move. Every single one of them carried us when we were exhausted, overwhelmed, and frankly, too waterlogged to carry ourselves.

And that’s the part I’ll never forget.

I’ll admit, at first, it felt a little awkward receiving so much help. We’re taught from the time we’re kids that it’s better to give than to receive, right? But then I realized: this is what community looks like. They love us, we love them, and when the tables turn, we’ll show up for them. There’s no shame in that—just shared life.

What if it’s not “better to give than to receive” but “better to give and receive”? What if the healthiest, most Christ-like way is balance?

Jesus modeled this perfectly. He had no home of his own, no bank account, no Amazon Prime membership. He depended on the generosity of others. People fed him, sheltered him, even clothed him. (That seamless tunic the soldiers gambled over at the cross? That was a wealthy person’s gift.) Jesus poured himself out for us, but he also received what we could offer. And in doing so, he honored us.

Paul lived the same way. He gave everything he had to the churches, but he also openly received help—money, food, companionship. And he didn’t apologize for it; he celebrated it. He called it partnership. Friendship. Grace.

That’s the thing about balance. If we only ever receive, we risk becoming entitled. If we only ever give, we risk becoming proud—or martyrs of our own generosity. But when we give and receive, we create connection. We weave trust. We make space for community to flourish.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer once wrote, “One easily overestimates the importance of one’s own acts and deeds, compared with what we become only through other people.” Translation? We need each other. Always.

So, I’m grateful—achingly, deeply grateful—for the people who came running when we needed them. I’ll never be able to thank them enough, but I’ll try, because gratitude changes us. Gratitude reminds us we’re not alone. Gratitude keeps us alert to the needs of others so that when it’s our turn, we can show up with the same casserole, toolbox, or cheerful spirit someone once brought to us.

This is how we embody the holiness of Christ—not by muscling through on our own, but by living in this rhythm of giving and receiving, blessing and being blessed.

May you be blessed by someone else’s generosity today. And may you be the blessing someone else is praying for tomorrow.