Let me explain.

It’s been a rough few weeks for my family. In the middle of March, two of my cousins were in a terrible car wreck that resulted in emergency surgery and ongoing hospital stays. Any and all family in the area (and plenty of family that lives farther, too) made an appearance to check on them and man the bedside position to allow my aunt and uncle rest and say that they loved them. Several weeks out, we’re still grieving and we’re tired as we fight to hold each other up.

We received the news early on a Monday, and I spent the rest of the day updating my prayer warrior friends on my cousins’ status. It was a lot to imagine, how life would change in the short term and how it might also change in the long term. Updates flew from phone to phone, in the effort to surround and protect my aunt, uncle, and cousins while also keeping longer-distance family in the loop.

Two of the people I asked to pray were my roommates. They’re fantastic women who love the Lord, and they’ve done an impressive job loving me in our rhythm of life. We share both the joyful and painful things together, praying for each other and following up on how we’re processing things.

So, as this situation unfolded, I let them know. The response I got?

“Let us know how we can best support you.”

I should probably confess that I don’t default to asking for help. Blame my perceived self-sufficiency and pride; blame the culture that values independence and “doing it all”; blame the lie that life is worth living without God and without a body of believers for support. I don’t like the idea that I need to depend on people. To me, that means things get messy, because people are messy. I’d rather deal with the mess I know and beat up my own self instead of other people. Besides, this wasn’t even my tragedy. When I have family that needs more than I do, why should I ask for help?

Somehow, by the grace of God, I understood this response to be an invitation. My roommates made room for me to fall, to share need that was more than I could handle alone, and to receive love from them in their help. That’s what help is, really: it’s tangible love, someone giving of themselves to lift somebody else, particularly when that person can’t continue.

To my chagrin, I replied, “This seems silly, but would someone mind cooking my chicken in the fridge?”

Yes, in my limited wisdom, I had uncooked chicken that was about to go bad. It wasn’t much, but it was something that was on my mind. (Let’s be honest: it was also my source of food for the rest of the week. Priorities!)

I joined my family at the hospital that night and got home late. I didn’t think it would mean so much, but when I walked through my door and opened the fridge, I sighed with relief. There sat the container of chicken, cooked and seasoned, only a shelf or two above tomorrow’s lunch that my other roommate had prepared for me.

It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t everything that needed to happen in the grand scheme, but the actions of my roommates communicated love to me that night. I felt seen, held, and cared for in a way that allowed me to move into my week with a little more energy and hope to encourage and serve my family.

I also laughed a little louder when I learned that the roommate who cooked for me doesn’t like chicken.

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor;
If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.
– Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Bible verses are taken from the New International Version (NIV).