Help, Please
I have a strong dislike for visiting the dentist. (Sorry—it’s not you, it’s me.) Growing up, my parents’ and siblings’ appointments were always back-to-back with mine. This meant we spent nearly a whole day at my great-uncle’s tiny office in the basement of his rowhome twice a year. I can vividly recall the wood paneling lining the walls because I spent hours and hours staring at it.
There’s another aspect that left a seering impression—the pain, and not just the pain I felt sitting in the dentist’s chair. These trips were some of the rare situations when I watched both my parents struggle through physical discomfort. They’d often go first, to demonstrate “how easy it is.” Then I would hear all sorts of sounds letting me know it was anything except easy.
Blame it on genetics, oral hygiene, eating habits, or a combination of each, but rarely have my trips to the dentist been pleasant.
This is why, as an adult, I added a motorized toothbrush to my repertoire, helping ensure I persist the full two minutes each time I transfer toothpaste from bristles to teeth. The device pauses every 30 seconds, letting me know it’s time to switch to the next section. The first few times I used it, I couldn’t believe how long 30 seconds was!
Next, I purchased a motorized water flosser in an attempt to reduce the amount of scratching and scraping needed during my semi-annual cleaning (as well as to give a more honest answer to the dreaded question about my flossing habits). After several months of accidentally shooting water all over my bathroom mirror, I was excited to show off those squeaky clean spaces in between my teeth.
Much to my chagrin, the visit was anything but painless, particularly in areas of my mouth I’d found hard to reach with the fancy flosser.
Frustrated, I told my hygienist about this flaw in my strategy to do it all myself. Expecting she would explain how to correct my use of the tool, I was surprised when she brushed my comment away, saying, “Nobody can really reach the back of their bottom teeth with those contraptions. That’s OK, though—it’s why you come to me.”
Suddenly I realized a lesson I’d missed from all those hours of witnessing my parents’ struggle in the dentist chair. Even my dad, in his peak hero-era to us kids, needed help keeping his teeth clean.
Huh, I thought. So I can’t actually do it all on my own?
This revelation sounds obvious, and yet there are so many parts of life in which my attempts at pulling off an amazing one-person-show are clearly misguided. Even worse, how many times do I actually believe asking for help is shameful or just plain wrong?
For I, the LORD your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”
—Isaiah 41:13 (ESV)
Such behavior stands in direct opposition to scripture, which repeatedly assumes that asking for help is a necessary, even crucial, part of the human experience (John 14:13-14, John 15:16, James 1:5, James 4:2). Psalm 121:2 tells us our help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. This same God will supply all our needs from his glorious riches (Philippians 4:19), if we only humble ourselves, allow him to carry our needs (1 Peter 5:7, Matthew 11:28), rest in his provision, and continually seek him (Matthew 7:7, 1 Chronicles 16:11).
Despite my stubborn self-reliance, God—without fail—gently offers me a similar response to that hygienist… taking my hand and telling me, “Don’t be afraid, it’s why you come to me. I am the one who helps you.”
Father, help me depend on you always, accepting your faithful help and tender care.