I have always been lousy at asking for help.
I'm one of those people who prides herself on being capable and independent. As a minister and a mother, my life revolves around helping others.
But that was before I got this weird thing called an autoimmune disease. My symptoms are similar to multiple sclerosis, and I have spent more than 18 days in the hospital in the last six weeks. Asking for help is no longer an option; it is a necessity.
Here's the thing, though. People are amazingly wonderful. Let me tell you about what happens when you ask for help.
Yesterday, my doctors told me that I will need to stay in the hospital at least 10 days, when I had planned to be here only five. Already stir crazy and pretty crabby, I sent an email to the 80 people on Team Julie and asked them to send me some humor or words of encouragement to get me through this time.
One person sent homemade butternut squash soup to the hospital. Several sent me jokes, and two forwarded a story about the White House search for the president's missing mojo. One shared a story about Lewis and Clark from "Undaunted Courage." Three people sent beautiful reflections from the own lives. One sent me lyrics from a Bob Dylan song. Fourteen signed up to visit me at Rush Medical Center.
If you need anything, just ask. I did, and I've learned that God is real in each person who has reached out to help me. Medicine is great, but if you ask me . . . this is how we are healed. We just have to ask.
Ask, and you shall receive. Seek, and you shall find. Knock, and the door will be opened.
