Welcome to the world Georgia Quinn.

We woke up at 5:00 a.m. like we typically do. The night before I was in quite a bit of pain. Del and I were in the middle of arguing about nothing, and every time he’d state his case the baby would make a sharp move that caused me to cringe. “She seems to only be moving when I say what I think,” he joked.

On my morning walk I started timing my contractions. Braxton Hicks seems to be something that my body loves (although I’m not as big of a fan). The week prior I thought I was going into labor because I was having contractions three minutes apart for an hour – and then they just stopped. But from 5:00 a.m. to 6:30 a.m., they went from every eight minutes or so, down to seven, then ranged between four to six minutes.

Around 7:00 a.m. I told Del to pack the car. We had a 9:00 a.m. check up with my obstetrician, so we were weighing whether to go to the hospital’s labor floor or go to the doctor’s appointment. We opted to go to the doctor’s appointment early.

Del’s mom has been watching Carly, and she came over at 8:00 a.m. I wasn’t sure if I was really in labor or if it was Braxton Hicks. But at one point Del was taking a very long time to pack something in the car. Instinctually I yelled, “You need to hurry up because we have to go!”

On the walk into the obstetrician’s office I had to stop walking when I had a contraction. When they did the COVID screening at the front door they asked if I needed a wheelchair. Every woman was giving me the look of “Girl, you’re in labor.”

My obstetrician did the normal checkup. He checked to see how dilated and effaced I was and said, “No change since last week.” In that moment I thought Braxton Hicks was going to drive me to insanity. Then a contraction hit me, and my obstetrician said “I was just kidding. You are five cm dilated and we’re admitting you right now.”

They wheeled me to the labor floor. They got the usual IVs going and did all the paperwork. And then my body took over.

After 45 minutes I told our nurse that within the next three contractions I was going to deliver the baby. I told her to call our doctor now and get him in here.

I did one more contraction and knew I was closer. I did another and I knew I was closer still. I asked her to check whether I was at 10 cm, and she said with one more contraction I probably would be. The last contraction took hold and the doctor walked in. He checked me over and said, “You’re ready to have this baby.”

From the time the doctor walked in to the time he left – it took nineteen minutes. I pushed twice. Before I pushed the first time they did a quick reminder of what I had to do. I repeated it back and gave it everything I had. While pushing out I let out a gigantic scream. To which the doctor replied, “You held that note a long time.” I waited for the next contraction to hit and then did one more amazing push.

Georgia Quinn Belcher came into this world at 11:09am. She is perfect. Dark hair, silver eyes, and my chin.

They handed her to me and she breastfed right away. My greatest fear is that she would not eat well, and God decided to settle that for me right away. Its a gift for which I’ll always be grateful.

Through this experience I learned how amazing my body is. I told everyone my due date of July 2nd was wrong and I was going to give birth sooner. I was right.

When I doubted whether my Braxton Hicks were real contractions, my instincts took over and told Del to pack the car faster.

When they asked if I wanted pain meds I said no. First of all, I’m not sure they could have gotten them to me fast enough. Second, my body told me I could do this. I went through 10+ years of severe neck pain. I knew I could handle a few hours of labor.

I knew she’d be there in three contractions and she was.

I knew I could push her out quickly and I did.

My body has a history of trauma. Trauma from others, trauma from accidents. Sometimes I’m frustrated at my high cortisol levels and the fact that I feel everything. However, all of those moments led me to this one. They have put me so in touch with my body that my labor was nothing short of a very fast miracle (Why have a meeting that could have been an email?).

Once again God made a beautiful thing out of me.

Welcome to the world Georgia Quinn Belcher. Our down to earth queen. The fifth in a line of amazing George’s. You will take hold of this world and make it better. You will be fast and furious, and your father and I can’t wait to help you get there.

A letter to Baby Belcher II

Baby Belcher two. Our precious, strong, fiery child. We are excited to meet you. We dream of who you will become, and we talk about how we can help you get there. When daddy and I go on walks we both dream you will have dark eyes and dark hair, like mommy. We imagine a quiet child, with fire deep in her belly. A good fire, yearning to take lead.

Dear child, you are coming into the world at a tough time.

A few months ago, a big sickness hit the whole world. To keep each other safe, we stayed inside for a long time. We tried to only go outside for food or if we really needed to get something. It was a scary time for the whole world, and many people got very sick. Many more people lost jobs, and homes.

More of the world also learned that people with darker skin are not always treated well or fairly. A man named Mr. Floyd was killed by a police officer, mostly because Mr. Floyd’s skin color was different. Because the whole world had just sat together in sickness, we finally saw this event differently. People from all over our country stood together to say, “Stop treating people this way because they look different.”

I wish I could lie and tell you you’re being born during a time of peace. I guess, in a way, you are. Mommy, daddy, and Carly have had many peaceful moments at home. However, many more big and small people are fighting. A few great leaders have helped along the way, but other big leaders have made these days harder and longer than necessary.

The truth is, little girl, right now the world is on fire. It burns with sick people, mean people, and with years of those with less yearning for more.

My little girl, do not fear the fire. See it, listen to it, and learn to dance with it. Take it in your hands, and use it to make our world better for as many people as possible. Be a queen. Lead. Listen. Be humble. And see that after the fire and smoke – there will be great stillness.

Daddy and I will lead you through the stillness. But it’s your job to take charge on the other side. Take hold of this earth, replenish it, and subdue it. Your time is today, and it always will be.

The Things We Never Carry…

We sat there, three years ago, she and I.

The things he had done to others read like a terrible movie script.

It started off with a few drinks, then grew to more. Then, it morphed into pain pills. Pain pills became an escape from everything. Eventually he stopped remembering to pick up their three kids up from school. Until one day he lied about driving home with the kids in the back – completely wasted.

They’ve been divorced for about two years now. She just started dating and is rebuilding a life that she saw disintegrate. No, she wasn’t a perfect wife. She didn’t give him enough attention. She held a grudge and never seemed engaged in what he loved to do.

As for him? As of today the life I was saw him lead has totally crumbled. The guy that once prayed for Del and I is no longer exists. Maybe he never did anyway? As far as we know he has few friends, few hobbies (other than drinking and pills), and continues to be okay slipping further away from the light. We thought he’d hit rock bottom a while ago, but we learned our definition of rock bottom is not shared by him.

I’m not here to pass judgement on him. On the contrary, me heart hurts for the pain he must carry. Sure, maybe he’s just an asshole, narcissistic, addict. But I don’t think so.

I wish he was my only old friend who chose to fall away. But as time passes the list of people that choose darkness seems to grow. And as that list grows I found myself wondering: are they carrying everything, or are they refusing to carry anything?

Like any sane person I’ve dreamed of what wise and blunt things I could say. The words go something like, “You dumb shit head. EVERYONE HAS PROBLEMS. The earth stops for no one. The biggest thing in your way is yourself. Get off your bitch ass, stop hurting everyone, and find a way to fix your problems. God loves you, and He forgives you. Always. ”

But those are words I think, but never speak.

I’m aware of the reality that few of us want advice, but yearn merely for affirmation. I’m not alone in that. I rarely want feedback, and instead want to hear how great I’m doing. Sure, I’m not doing drugs. But drugs aren’t the only habits that split us from people. What does my own pride cause me to fail to see? What grief or anger am I refusing to forgive and confront?

I’m aware the we cannot make people see what they do not want to see. In the book the Wizard of Oz, Oz was never green. The Wizard gave the whole town green glasses. As a result they believed their beautiful city was shiny and bright and green. But one day they were told to take the glasses off. When they took them off, they realized a man behind a wall had been lying to them about their entire reality.

We all have our own set of glasses. There’s a man behind a wall constantly limiting our view. For some of us, we gradually get to see more and more and our view becomes wider. Others never even know they have glasses.

There’s only been one way out of any mess we create. That way is out and through. Whatever shit we create, if we want it to end we have to endure the pain we cause. For me, confronting my own failures and the pain they have caused others is hard. Knowing I fell short and knowing I caused someone pain just sucks ass. Thank God for grace.

I believe in grace. I know it’s there for me as it is for everyone, and all I ever have to do is accept it. The grace of God is always here for us, and it’s easy and free. But first, we have to see what we are carrying. Some of us will be fortunate enough to see what we carry and how it causes us to fall. I pray I continue to accept grace every day, and I hope to gradually see the things I didn’t even know I was carrying.

On how I overcome feeling alone…

Sometimes I think people only imagine that the devil comes to us in big things. You know what I mean, right? That we will meet our demise or downfall through things like drugs, murder, or violence.

While these things obviously lead to problems, I think the devil is in the little things.

 If the devil were to conquer me, I do not think it would be with alcohol or beating someone up. If I am conquered, it will be because I have been convinced that I am alone.

Actually, maybe that is not so small?

Most of my life I have felt alone.

In daycare, I remember struggling to connect and make friends.

In high school and college, I felt the same way. I would talk someone and struggle to feel a of connection.

The need to feel connected is a God give desire.

Feeling alone is often just that – a feeling; it is seldom a reality.

I feel alone, but at any moment, I have a dozen people I can call and ask for help.

Regardless of this reality, my perception has led to some dark times. I have struggled with bouts of depression, paralyzing anxiety, and when I was in college – a suicide attempt.

This last year has not been helpful. In mid-2015, my church campus closed (I wrote about that here), and a few months ago I was diagnosed with Celiac disease (and I wrote about that here). Losing a church campus feels lonely. Learning to adapt to a disease where you cannot eat food others are consuming feels lonely. In spite of being surrounded by people – I feel alone.

This morning I woke up and felt lonely. My brain was telling me to stay at home and sulk. But if you want to grow loneliness – you feed it with being alone. If you want to grow connection – you feed it by being around good people.

Instead of sulking, I drove to church. I was going to sit alone, but instead, I forced myself to sit by some friends.

When I feel alone, I try to overcome it by remembering these three things.

First, I remember to pick up the damn phone. Instead of sitting in silence, I call out to someone I love. I call my mother and tell her I miss her. I call my friend Brandy and ask her about her day. I message my friend Bri and see how she is doing. Honestly, I forget to do this – ALL the time, but I am trying to be better.

Second, I try to realize that my struggle with feeling alone comes from a place of pain. I feel alone because I do not want to let others in because I feel like I have been hurt by a lot of people. When I married Del I put in my vows ‘I vow to let you love me.’ I am surrounded by people that try to love me, but I struggle to let them. I fear that if I let them in, they will only hurt me. Since marrying Del, and learning to let someone love me, I am starting to overcome that. But its hard. Every day it is hard.

Third, I reflect on the fact that even if I lost everything I would still have God. If my friends go away, if my husband dies, and if my church is gone – God still remains (for the record – I would prefer to have those things stick around). I am a child of God. God dwells in me. At any moment, at any time, He is with me. When I am alone, I try to remember Him. With Him, I am never really alone. And if I am never really alone, the devil can never conquer me.

On gold…

I have tried to write this several times without being too sappy or trite – because sappy and trite are things of which I am fond.  However, it could not be done.  With that warning, here goes.

On Gold…

The first time I met “Mary” she was less than two months away from her death.  She was nearly catatonic, and the only words she would ever speak were “Oh come let us adore him.”  Mary’s skin was paper thin, and I could every blue vein in her tiny body.  She had these huge shiny brown eyes – where – when you looked into them – you felt a sense of kindness you never knew existed.  On her left hand she wore tiny gold band had left a permanent mark on her forth finger.  When I walked in the room to meet Mary, everything felt different.  The sun was setting and as it sank in the sky it came through the windows and lit up Mary’s hair – making the gray strands appear golden.  Mary was – the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  Every patient and nurse at the hospice was drawn to Mary despite the fact that she could barely move or speak.

I have heard stories about gold since I was a young whippersnapper (yeah, I know I still am).  I remember hearing that gold was the most precious of all metals.  It is so precious it was gifted to Christ, thought of as God poop by the Aztecs, and is traded in tons every day around the world.  For hundreds of years, gold is a thing for which people have sailed across oceans, killed women and children, starved nations and raped the earth.

Beyond being a tangible metal, gold is also quite symbolic.  Several religions tell of beautiful things called auras.  In simple terms, aura is the energy that a person radiates. Some believe that auras can be so astounding that within moments of meeting a person, you can tell whether his/her energy is bad (and you want to run away) or good (and you feel drawn in).  The most sacred (and rare) of all auras is the golden aura.  The golden aura is symbolic of wisdom, intuition, divine protection – and – enlightenment.

Moving away from metals and auras and back to Mary….  Since Mary could not speak, the first time I met Mary I decided to read to her.  The hospice has only two books on file – both of them by Helen Steiner Rice (cheesy rhyming wizard to the stars).  With one hand I held the book and flipped through the pages and with the other I grasped Mary’s thin flesh.  I read a few terrible rhyme schemes straight out of cruddy Hallmark cards before I landed upon another story about gold.  This one was titled, “The Windows of Gold.”

The story is about a little boy who lived on a mountain.  Shining off in the distance from the boy’s mountain home he sees gold.  The little boy admires the gold so much that he leaves his mountain town to find it.  The little boy walks and walks until he comes to a city.  In the city, he finds that what was shining was not gold – but the reflection of gold from the city in which he came.  The story ends on …. “Is not a far distant place, somewhere.  It’s as close to you as a silent prayer.  And your search for God will end and begin.  When you look for Him and find Him within.”

At this point, I am reading to a dying woman – watching the gold radiate from her body.  So yes, I started crying. 

That is the thing about gold.  People spend years searching for it.  They give it to others, they think it is God poop, they kill for it, rape for it, search for it, do everything for it.  However, I saw gold.  I saw the most precious thing in the world.  And I did not find it by murdering women or children or digging through the mines of another country.  I found gold radiating from the aura of a dying woman.  It was so strong that it radiated from every pore, every cell and every gray hair on her withering body.

Mary will forever be one of the most amazing people I have ever met.  She is amazing because she was the first person I met who realized that gold is something that comes from within.  Mary found gold through a life of prayer and devotion, as symbolic in the only words she would speak… “Oh come let us adore him.”  However, that is not to say that there are not millions of ways to find gold within.  Prayer, meditation, silence, mounting climbing, baking, sewing, knitting, hiking, anything that involves self reflection.  Gold is there.  It is in all of us – just waiting for that moment when we realize it has been in us all along.

On poor Christian leaders…

It has happened again.  I was going through some survey feedback and someone said, “You are too expensive for a Christian business.”
Really?  What is that suppose to mean?
By saying anything is too expensive for being a Christian business, you are implying that “Christian” anything should be cheaper, more affordable or less expensive.

But why?  Why do people have this expectation that Christian stuff should be cheaper?

I have also heard a lot of people I know complain about tithing.

“They just EXPECT me to give them MY money?  It is my money, and they are a church.”

What is that suppose to mean?  Name me ONE other service in your life where you can walk in, expect the service people to me ALL of your needs and you pay nothing?  Oh yeah, there are none, because they do not exist.  How much you feel you need to tithe is between you and God.  But it is hard for me to imagine that you go to church every week and God says, “Just leave, give them nothing, that’s totally awesome.”

Three things:

Thing one:

Churches are a business.  Well, not exactly.  But keeping up a church involves many of the same things need to keep a business up.  Many church services exist in buildings that must be maintained.  Maintaining a building involves: rent fees, maintenance fees, upkeep, electricity bills, water bills, etc.  Buildings are managed by people: secretaries, maintenance, treasurers, etc.  Church services – be they Sunday service or extra-curricular – are run by people.  People – need – money – to live.  People want so badly to believe that churches are run on some type of magic where they can survive simply off of wishful thinking.  But, well, that just isn’t true.  Churches – need – money – to exist.

Thing two:

At the end of the day, whether you like it or not, we live in a capitalist economy.  And even in a socialist economy, things still get paid for via taxes.  So if you want a good or service, you have to pay for it.  I get that things are tight and money as tight and – let’s be honest – you are really cheap.  How do I know you are cheap?  I know you are cheap because I work in market research, where the bottom line is the only thing that matters.  You, my dear consumer, are cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap.  You want everything for the cost of nothing – including any “Christian” service.

Thing three:

I am quite sick of the expectation that those who are Christian servants should be very poor and suck it up.  I have heard people use the “they are servants of Christ” to justify paying people WAY less than they deserve.  Christian professors get paid way less because they are “doing God’s work.”  Missionaries, pastors, priests, nuns… they are expected to live, eat, and take care of their families – all while serving dozens of people – making below poverty line wages.

“Well, God calls his servants to give up earthly goods and just be poor.”  If you think about it, we are all called to do God’s work and to serve God’s people.  So if you give me that thinking, then it is fair for me to expect that you should live sparsely as well.

The thing is, excluding those rare tv pastors who rake in money, I don’t know a single pastor or pastor’s family who lives above the median income.  Every single pastor I know – by government definition – is poor.  Which means, my dear church-goers, you are living every day of your life okay with that fact that the person you want to serve you at your wedding, your funerals, your family’s funeral, and basically – every beck and call moment of you life – sometimes doesn’t have enough money to: pay rent, buy groceries or even buy clothing.

That, to me, is wrong.  The fact that people expect someone to be at their beck and call, but then give them nothing for it – is not right.

Pastors and missionaries don’t need to be millionaires, but neither do you!  They do, however, deserved to have enough money to take care of their needs.

On asking for help…

I suck at asking for help.  Just plain and simple.  I. SUCK. AT. ASKING. FOR. HELP.

Examples?

EXAMPLE 1: At one point a few years ago I was set to move from an apartment to a house.  One of my friends asked me about the move, and our conversation went something like….

FRIEND: When are you moving?

ME: I don’t know, in a few weeks.

FRIEND: When were you going to tell me?

ME: I don’t know.  Well, I guess you know right now.

FRIEND: Who was going to help you move?

ME: I was going to help myself, I guess?

FRIEND: How were you going to move your couch?

ME: I don’t know – very carefully I guess.

FRIEND: So are you saying you weren’t going to tell me when you were moving and you weren’t going to ask me for help?

ME:  Um, no? Is that bad?

I wasn’t trying to be rude.  I wasn’t trying to leave someone out of my life.  It just never struck me that I could/should: a) tell someone when I was moving, b) ask someone for help and that c) people are willing to help me.  In the end, I got help moving and everything settled in safe and sound.

EXAMPLE 2:

Two years ago I was getting tested for epilepsy after I had passed out from having my blood drawn and had a seizure.  The test uses an electroencephalogram (EEG), which my best friend Mandy uses in her research on language acquisition.  I remembered her using an EEG and called to tell her I was going to get one, but did not think to tell her the why.  The conversation went something like….

ME:  Hey, don’t you use an EEG in your research?

MANDY: OKAY – CAN’T QUITE REMEMBER WHAT SHE SAID HERE, BUT SHE DESCRIBED HOW THE EEG WORKS, HOW SHE USES IT, IT WAS QUITE FASCINATING

ME:  Cool!

MANDY:  Why do you ask?

ME:  Oh, because I am going to get one.

MANDY:  Wait, why? What?

ME: Yeah, I am going to get one.

MANDY: Why?

ME:  Oh, yeah.  I passed out after having my blood drawn.  And then I guess I had a seizure.  They are worried I could be epileptic or something.

MANDY:  What? You are getting tested for epilepsy and you are just telling me now?

ME:  Um, yeah.  I guess.

MANDY:  Steph, that is a really big deal.  Who else did you tell?

ME: I think I told my mom.

MANDY: So, you are getting tested for epilepsy and you told your mom and me.  Don’t you think you should be telling people or something?

ME: Um, I guess.  I am telling you now.

MANDY:  Seriously?

I wasn’t trying to be difficult.  I simply worry I am: 1) oversharing, 2) complaining or 3) making people worry unnecessarily.  Don’t worry, I don’t have epilepsy.  My body just freaks out when it knows its beautiful life force is being drained from my precious body….

So why do I suck at asking for help?

Well, I am just going to go ahead and blame society.  Okay, there is more to it then that.  However, I think the American culture we tend to value independence.  We all drive to work, we like to live alone in apartments, we get groceries alone, shop alone – we bowl alone.  Although being independent is great, there are some serious not-so-awesome parts.

Like, how on earth was a 150 pound woman going to move a 400 pound couch by herself?  She wasn’t.  It would have been physically impossible.

And what would happen if I was epileptic?  How could I drive to work alone? And what would happen if I had a seizure and needed help?  I would need a ride to work. I would need someone to be at home if I had a seizure.

I think that perhaps the greatest tragedy our time is that we have created a culture where we tell people they should not ask for help, that if they do ask they are weak, and that we should not help people because we are enabling them.  Do some people abuse the system and suck our resources?  Yes, they do.  However, there are also millions of people that need help and – like me – are too terrified to ask for it.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter who asks for help or why.  At the end of the day, every one of us is a child of God.  God did not create billions of humans so we could fight it out alone and do everything by ourselves.  We were created to help each other, and to serve each other.

This week I went to the Emergency Room.  I was having severe stomach pain.  In rare form – I called someone to ask for their help – my boyfriend.  He was visiting his parents an hour away.  However, I called – and he came.  I had just had my blood drawn – and yes – I had a seizure… and he was there.  If God is within all of us, then that means that when you reach out for help from another person you are really asking for God.  As I woke up from passing out, I called out for God.  And God came.  He didn’t come in the form of bright lights or singing angels.  He came in the form of a man who loves me very much and cares for me very deeply.  The next day as I worked on feeling better, I asked for help from God again.  And he surrounded me with my boyfriend’s family.  When I was not feeling great, they helped – they were there – they showed me the love of God.

So.  Yes. I suck at asking for help.  But as I evolve in life, I have gotten so much better.  In less than a year I have gone from not telling anyone about getting tested for epilepsy – to calling and asking for help when I need it.  And you know what?  It is awesome.  I deserve help.  I deserve love.  And so does every other person in the world.

I suck at asking for help.  Just plain and simple.  I. SUCK. AT. ASKING. FOR. HELP.

Examples?

EXAMPLE 1: At one point a few years ago I was set to move from an apartment to a house.  One of my friends asked me about the move, and our conversation went something like….

FRIEND: When are you moving?

ME: I don’t know, in a few weeks.

FRIEND: When were you going to tell me?

ME: I don’t know.  Well, I guess you know right now.

FRIEND: Who was going to help you move?

ME: I was going to help myself, I guess?

FRIEND: How were you going to move your couch?

ME: I don’t know – very carefully I guess.

FRIEND: So are you saying you weren’t going to tell me when you were moving and you weren’t going to ask me for help?

ME:  Um, no? Is that bad?

I wasn’t trying to be rude.  I wasn’t trying to leave someone out of my life.  It just never struck me that I could/should: a) tell someone when I was moving, b) ask someone for help and that c) people are willing to help me.  In the end, I got help moving and everything settled in safe and sound.

EXAMPLE 2:

Two years ago I was getting tested for epilepsy after I had passed out from having my blood drawn and had a seizure.  The test uses an electroencephalogram (EEG), which my best friend Mandy uses in her research on language acquisition.  I remembered her using an EEG and called to tell her I was going to get one, but did not think to tell her the why.  The conversation went something like….

ME:  Hey, don’t you use an EEG in your research?

MANDY: OKAY – CAN’T QUITE REMEMBER WHAT SHE SAID HERE, BUT SHE DESCRIBED HOW THE EEG WORKS, HOW SHE USES IT, IT WAS QUITE FASCINATING

ME:  Cool!

MANDY:  Why do you ask?

ME:  Oh, because I am going to get one.

MANDY:  Wait, why? What?

ME: Yeah, I am going to get one.

MANDY: Why?

ME:  Oh, yeah.  I passed out after having my blood drawn.  And then I guess I had a seizure.  They are worried I could be epileptic or something.

MANDY:  What? You are getting tested for epilepsy and you are just telling me now?

ME:  Um, yeah.  I guess.

MANDY:  Steph, that is a really big deal.  Who else did you tell?

ME: I think I told my mom.

MANDY: So, you are getting tested for epilepsy and you told your mom and me.  Don’t you think you should be telling people or something?

ME: Um, I guess.  I am telling you now.

MANDY:  Seriously?

I wasn’t trying to be difficult.  I simply worry I am: 1) oversharing, 2) complaining or 3) making people worry unnecessarily.  Don’t worry, I don’t have epilepsy.  My body just freaks out when it knows its beautiful life force is being drained from my precious body….

So why do I suck at asking for help?

Well, I am just going to go ahead and blame society.  Okay, there is more to it then that.  However, I think the American culture we tend to value independence.  We all drive to work, we like to live alone in apartments, we get groceries alone, shop alone – we bowl alone.  Although being independent is great, there are some serious not-so-awesome parts.

Like, how on earth was a 150 pound woman going to move a 400 pound couch by herself?  She wasn’t.  It would have been physically impossible.

And what would happen if I was epileptic?  How could I drive to work alone? And what would happen if I had a seizure and needed help?  I would need a ride to work. I would need someone to be at home if I had a seizure.

I think that perhaps the greatest tragedy our time is that we have created a culture where we tell people they should not ask for help, that if they do ask they are weak, and that we should not help people because we are enabling them.  Do some people abuse the system and suck our resources?  Yes, they do.  However, there are also millions of people that need help and – like me – are too terrified to ask for it.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter who asks for help or why.  At the end of the day, every one of us is a child of God.  God did not create billions of humans so we could fight it out alone and do everything by ourselves.  We were created to help each other, and to serve each other.

This week I went to the Emergency Room.  I was having severe stomach pain.  In rare form – I called someone to ask for their help – my boyfriend.  He was visiting his parents an hour away.  However, I called – and he came.  I had just had my blood drawn – and yes – I had a seizure… and he was there.  If God is within all of us, then that means that when you reach out for help from another person you are really asking for God.  As I woke up from passing out, I called out for God.  And God came.  He didn’t come in the form of bright lights or singing angels.  He came in the form of a man who loves me very much and cares for me very deeply.  The next day as I worked on feeling better, I asked for help from God again.  And he surrounded me with my boyfriend’s family.  When I was not feeling great, they helped – they were there – they showed me the love of God.

So.  Yes. I suck at asking for help.  But as I evolve in life, I have gotten so much better.  In less than a year I have gone from not telling anyone about getting tested for epilepsy – to calling and asking for help when I need it.  And you know what?  It is awesome.  I deserve help.  I deserve love.  And so does every other person in the world.