“But I can’t do that thing,” said the lady as she waved her arms around. She meant sign language. I had asked her if I could sit beside her in a church service, and share her books for the songs and readings. This would help me follow and, in the case of the songs, leave my hands free to sign them.
It is a privilege to guest blog for this site. I was asked
to pick out a key way the church has played a part in my journey, and the above
story sprang immediately to mind. Because it’s a story of someone doing what
she could, despite at first being concerned about what she couldn’t.
Since I was diagnosed with NF2*, and subsequently lost the ability to do various things, including hear, people doing what they can for me have been vital to my journey. People who pray for me. People who speak clearly for me to lipread them. People who carry my cup of tea for me (I have bad balance). People who welcome me. People who are patient. And much, much more.
On a family holiday in the Lake District last August, we decided to climb up to a waterfall. On balance (pardon the pun), it would have been sensible for me to stay behind. But my seven-year-old niece came to me and took my hand; “I’ll help you walk.” And she did. For as far as she was able, and then her mummy took over. My niece couldn’t physically help me over the really difficult parts, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help. She went in front and told me when there were rocks to avoid tripping on. She did what she could. The lady at church, and my niece, looked beyond what they couldn’t do to what they could. Acknowledging the ‘can’t’, and embracing the ‘can’.
After the service – during which I did share the lady’s books – I thanked her for helping me. She took my hand and, putting ’genuine’ into the word genuine, she said, “It was my pleasure.” It was my pleasure. She really meant it, I could tell. Helping me – yes, me – had given her pleasure. She hadn’t found me a nuisance, or an embarrassment, or an inconvenience.
Often, I can be apologetic, thinking I’m making life difficult for people, hesitant to ask for help. But, if I hadn’t asked, that lady would have missed out on saying ‘it’s my pleasure’ and meaning it. If I hadn’t accepted my niece’s help, if I’d pushed her away, then yes, I’d have missed out on the waterfall. But more than that, I’d have rejected her gift to me. And potentially discouraged her from offering to give to me, or others, in future.
- Remember that our Lord Jesus said, “More
blessings come from giving than from receiving.” Acts 20:35b
By daring to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to ask for help, to admit our weaknesses, we offer people opportunity for blessing. Opportunity to give to us, and so receive what is better. And, in a glorious paradox, as we offer that opportunity, we, too, are giving. We, too, are blessed. We, too, do what is better. And we become more and more caught up in the body of Christ, of which each one of us is a part (cf 1 Corinthians 12). Growing together.
- In Him (Christ Jesus) the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.. Ephesians 2:21, 22
How good are we at allowing others to give?
Emily sometimes describes herself as a professional patient. She has spent a fair bit of her life in hospital and knows more medical jargon than she ever wished to. Thankfully for her, this is offset by an amazing medical team.
Emily is an author and speaker. Most of her books have been written, at least in part, from a hospital/recuperation bed and, she hopes, are more accessible than above mentioned jargon. For more information, please see the links below.
Emily’s books: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Emily-Owen/e/B01EWPKC9W?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1569511001&sr=8-1
*More about NF2: https://nervetumours.org.uk/what-are-nerve-tumours/what-is-nf2
Emily’s website: http://www.emily-owen.co.uk/