Help.

Something I need a lot of these days.  And grace. 

There is just a lot I do not know.  How to say something, how to fix a certain dish, where to find something and in which store.  How to do some of the very basic things of life are different from what I have known most of my life…and without help I just would not be able to do it.  I mean, have you ever tried to carry a five gallon bottle of water down the street to your house to use for cooking and drinking?  Neither have I.  I had to ask someone else to help me. 

I am surrounded my people who want  to help.  Rafa.  New family…both blood and in Christ, neighbors, and the lady at the local store who bares with through my explanations of what I am looking for.  Or tells me “6-7” when saying 67, referring to how much money I owe, cause well, they say numbers so fast here, that I still cannot hear the difference between 60 and 70. 

But here’s the catch.  I do not like asking for help.  Admitting I need it.  Or allowing someone who has offered to help, to actually help. Its embarrassing to admit that I actually need help.  Humiliating. I prefer to labor through it on my own.

But that’s not an option.  So I am learning…to ask, and accept, help.