Then he said: It's easier for many of us to serve than it is to be served.
I smiled and wrote that down. I know that describes me. It probably describes you.
The very next morning, I went running down the snowy steps to the garage in a hurry to go grocery shopping and I slipped. I heard an explosion of bone and I knew I'd broken my ankle. Hearing my screams, Scott came to help me. My foot was stuck sideways and looked like something out of a cartoon.
It was the worst pain I have ever felt. I've fallen through a window, had a third degree burn, torn ligaments and had two c-sections. Yet this hurt much, much worse than all of those things put together. A few injections of pain medicine and some xrays later, we knew I'd dislocated my foot and broken two different bones in three places. They had to put me out to relocate my foot and then scheduled surgery to screw my ankle back together.
During all of this, I cried not just because of the immense pain but also because I knew this injury was going to strip me of all my "duties." I'd have to ask for help to do pretty much everything and those things that only I could do, like teach hula next month, would have to be canceled.
It's only been a few days since the fall. I have to rely on someone for everything. Scott even has to help me dress. I can't get up and do things for myself much less for anyone else. I don't like it. I hate asking for help. I hate feeling needy. Honestly, I don't want to be served. None of us do.
A friend recently told me, "denying others the ability to serve you steals their joy of serving the One True God." So, I'm learning to be served. I'm learning to allow people to help me so they can experience the joy of service. It hasn't been easy and I suspect it will get harder as I am able to do more. But I'll do my best to sit here and accept the help, reminding myself that God is using their service and my injury for His glory. That doesn't mean I have to like it, though.