On Blessing and Being Blessed
I learned an important lesson from a room-mate nearly fifteen years ago, and some recent events have brought it to mind again. The lesson is about blessing and being blessed.
In the mid-90s, I was working in the Chicago metropolitan area. The majority of the staff lived in company-owned housing, in an arrangement similar to a dorm or boarding house. Most of the living quarters were houses, and might have up to six unrelated people sharing quarters on a more or less permanent basis, with as many as three or four temporary guests. At the time of the accident, I had a room-mate who had become a close friend. I will call her Shelley.
One day while putting away dishes, I sliced off the side of my left thumb with a food processor blade. I have written about this accident elsewhere. The ER physician told me to avoid getting the dressings wet (no showers — a problem, since we didn’t have a tub in our house), to leave the dressing on for a week, and to refrain from using that hand as much as possible — in fact, I was supposed to use a sling and binder to keep that hand up on my right shoulder. (Oh, sure! I’m a lefty. Being without my left hand for a week is going to be … difficult. And have you ever tried to do anything while holding your own shoulder? HA!)
Well, I figured out the shower problem, by encasing my hand in two plastic trash-bags, sealing the edges with athletic tape, and holding my hand straight up in the air while showering, so that water would run down my arm toward my shoulder.
What I couldn’t figure out was how to fix my hair. My hair is of a texture and temperament that require daily washing or it looks revolting. And at the time, it was nearly waist-length. Now, I could do a creditable job of washing my hair in the shower, even working one-handed. But I absolutely could not figure out how to brush, style, and blow it dry with only one hand.
My room-mate didn’t say anything the first day. She watched me wrestle with my hair and clothes. She watched me at meals, struggling with the cafeteria trays and trying to eat with the “wrong” hand. She watched me at work, trying to type and file with only one hand. On the second morning, she watched me burst into tears of frustration while I was trying to get ready for the work-day. And she stepped in.
“When are you going to ask me for help?”
I was stunned. It never occurred to me to ask for help. I grew up in a “don’t make work for others” ethic. You did your own stuff, and you didn’t inconvenience other people any more than you could help. My family, for generations back, has always been fiercely independent. We don’t push our troubles off on others. So that’s how I figured it was supposed to be. And, I suppose, there was a bit of pride going on as well. I didn’t want to admit that this was something I could not handle alone.
Well, Shelley sat me down in a chair and grabbed my brush. She combed the tangles out of my hair and parted it. Then she pulled out the blow dryer and began to style my hair. As she worked and I sat there having flashbacks of being five years old and having my mom do my hair, we talked about various things. After about 15 minutes, I began to apologize for inconveniencing her. (I hated to have to blow dry my hair for myself, since it’s very thick and takes a good 45 minutes to dry, even when it’s kept shoulder-length. At that time, it was waist-length and took at least a full hour to style and dry, even with the dryer on its hottest setting.)
“Stop it!” Shelley practically shouted at me. “I volunteered, didn’t I? Did you think I didn’t know what I was volunteering for? I’ve watched you do your own hair for the last nine months. I know that you only blow-dry in the winter because it takes so long. I know what you look like if you skip a day’s washing. I asked for this with my eyes wide open, and you are ruining my blessing.”
“WHAT?!” There’s no way to express my incredulity in words. “Ruining your blessing? Get real. You’re taking up your time to get ready to help me, and not only that, it’s hot, tedious work. Blessing? What blessing?”
Shelley put down the dryer, put her hands on her hips, and got right up in my face. “By refusing to ask for my help, you tried to cheat me of the blessing of helping you. It’s time you learned that if there’s no one to receive, then no one gets the blessing of giving. Sure, giving means giving up something … but that’s what makes it a blessing. By allowing me to minister to your needs, you allow God to bless us both. You get blessed by having someone care enough to help you with personal grooming when you can’t do it yourself. And I get blessed by being the Hands of Christ to you. So stop apologizing and just enjoy the blessing!”
“Okay, fine, I get it.” I replied. “But I owe you one.”
“No, you don’t! Love doesn’t keep score. I’m not doing this to buy a future favour. You owe me nothing. Don’t cheapen my love by implying that it can be bought. It’s free. If you try to pay me back, it’s an insult. A slap in the face. Sit back, shut up, and just let it be.”
I didn’t understand fully, but I sat back and let her get on with the work. And I mulled over Shelley’s “crazy outlook” for days. And it finally made sense. It’s the Golden Rule and the Life of Christ, all rolled into one: Whatever you would like for others to do for you, do that for them. Be willing to be inconvenienced, or even to make a big sacrifice, to bring hope, help, healing, and love to other people, and you will be blessed. Be prideful and selfish, and you will never know true joy.
When you refuse to ask for help, you cheat yourself and the person whom God would have used to help you of a blessing. When you keep score — not wanting to be beholden to someone else, or making sure that you get back as much as you give out — you are no longer acting from love, but from pride and greed. Jesus said, “What merit is there in your good works if you are paying attention to what the other person will be able to do for you and whether they will be able or likely to pay you back? Even the heathen do that!”
Since Shelley taught me that lesson, I’ve had many opportunities to put it into practice. I’ve also had a few chances to share what she taught me with others. It’s always a revelation to those to whom I tell the story. But really, for those of us who are Christians, it shouldn’t be. It’s what Jesus taught, distilled down to its most basic essence.