I’m not a klutz.  Really.  I’m not.

Perhaps, I ought to say, I wasn’t.

I have a friend who is constantly telling of her mishaps and misadventures.  She describes herself as a klutz.  We don’t argue with her.  We laugh along with her as she exaggerates her gravitational challenges.

But, I’ve never been one of those.  I suppose my years may be beginning to tell on me.  I am a Boomer after all.  In other words: a senior citizen.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to learn that I took a fall the other day.  I was tired, having mowed three lawns in the week, but I was determined to finish my own that day.

I had mowed and trimmed already, and the last task was blowing off the debris with a backpack leaf blower.  I’m thinking I could blame my heavy load for the lack of balance.  I don’t suppose anyone would fault me.

I missed a step up.  That’s all it was.  Tripping put my center of gravity somewhere different than it is usually located, and I simply couldn’t find it quickly enough to save myself.

Spinning as I fell, I was able to take most of the impact on the leaf blower itself, so I didn’t hurt anything important.  On me, I mean.  But, as I lay confused for a moment, I remember two distinct thoughts that formed in my head.

I hope someone will come to help me up.

That was really stupid.  I sure hope no one saw that.

My problem is clear, is it not?

I can’t have it both ways. 

Which do I want?  Help?  Or, to retain my pride?

I got one of my wishes anyway.  No one saw my clumsiness or my fall, but I had to pick myself up from the pavement and, finishing the job, limp on into the house without help.

Without help.

Pride intact.

Soreness past, I’ve had a bit of time to ponder the thoughts I had in that unfortunate moment.  I don’t suppose I’m the only one to feel that way.  In fact, I’m beginning to think most of us will have this dichotomy to deal with again and again.

We all need someone to pick us up.  At some point in our lives, we’ll all experience this.

We won’t always be lying on the ground when we need it, either.  Being picked up involves more than the physical act of lifting.  Sometimes, much more.

Friends are distraught because of a wayward child.  The aging couple next door needs someone to do simple manual tasks they can no longer do themselves.  The fellow with whom you used to work is having a hard time meeting his expenses.

None of them wants to admit their need.  Self-sufficiency is hardwired into our makeup.  But, when we reach the end of our reserves, we need to know there is someone there to pick us up.

And it’s hard for many of us to be on the receiving end.

Hard.

The Warrior/Poet who left us so many insights into God’s nature in the Psalms learned throughout his life to cry out for help when he needed it.  He had confidence that God would answer him.

But in my distress I cried out to the Lord;
    yes, I prayed to my God for help.
He heard me from his sanctuary;
    my cry to him reached his ears.
(Psalm 18:6, NLT)

Indeed, the poet had often experienced the mercy and power of the God to whom he cried out.

He lifted me out of the pit of despair,
    out of the mud and the mire.
He set my feet on solid ground
    and steadied me as I walked along.
(Psalm 40:2, NLT)

And so, we also, when we are in need, cry out to God.  Often we wait until we are in desperate need.  But eventually, we cry out.  And that’s as it should be.  God wants us to know Him as our provider and helper.

But, there’s more to the subject, isn’t there?

Sometimes, we need other humans, folks we can depend on, to come alongside and pick us up.  It is a basic human need, a gift I believe, from our Creator who gives good gifts.

Mr. Rogers, when talking about disasters, gently told his young listeners to “look for the helpers.”  I don’t disagree. 

I would add this:  If you don’t see one, be one.

We have a responsibility to use the gifts we’ve been given for others. When we claim to follow a God who lifts up those who have fallen, it is expected that we will lift up the fallen ourselves.

The fisherman who followed Jesus put it like this:

Just as each one has received a gift, use it to serve one another as good stewards of the varied grace of God.
(1 Peter 4:10, NET)

As I write this, I’m sitting in the waiting room of a large oncology center in a town twenty-five miles from my home.  I received a call late last night asking if I could help one I love get to his appointment this morning. I am waiting as he receives an infusion of medication that we hope will give him new strength to fight his battle against a dread disease.

I asked him about it as we drove earlier.  He agreed that his call for help was much like my little fall a week ago and the thoughts I described above.

No one wants to have someone see them in their weakness.

But, when it happens, we need someone we can depend on to lift us up and be kind while they are doing it.

I won’t tell you that we are the only hands and feet God has here on earth.  That makes our God too small—too weak. He can choose whatever way He desires to meet our needs.

But, I do know this:  He has chosen to allow us the privilege of acting as His hands and feet—lifting up, wiping off, offering comfort, sitting with, feeding, mowing, driving—for a world that longs (seriously, is dying for it) to see Him in us.

He said it Himself in the red letters. 

Let your light shine before men that, seeing your good works, they will glorify the God whose light they are seeing in you.  (Matthew 5:16, my paraphrase)

It has to be better than being like my neighbor who, when I asked why he didn’t come to help me, replied that he was too busy videoing the event to post on TikTok. (He was joking, of course. I hope he was, anyway.)

Helpers. 

Lifting up helpers.

It doesn’t seem like much, but I promise you, it will change the world.

 

If you want to lift yourself up, lift up someone else.
(Booker T Washington)

Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.
(Ecclesiastes 4:9-10, NLT)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2022. All Rights Reserved.