On Sunday I did something I've never done before. I asked for help weeding my garden. Even though I know the Relief Society (a charitable LDS women's organization I belong to) is there to help people, I have always been on the giving end and never on the receiving. It isn't in my nature to ask for assistance unless it's something I really honestly can't do for myself, like digging out a massive tree stump or lifting a chest freezer. But this week I admitted defeat in the face of the weeds brought on by all this rain, and I told the group I'd throw a root beer float party for anyone who wanted to come help weed. Instantly I had volunteers, some of them women I really don't know well.
Two of them came last night, ahead of the rest of the group, and between them they cleaned up most of the garden. They were careful, deliberate, and did a great job, and it was like magic, coming home from work and finding it done. One of the ladies is a spry 70 years old, and her last name, appropriately enough, is Shoemacher. The Shoemaker's Elves did indeed visit my garden last night.
I admit I am resisting this lesson I'm supposed to be learning, to open myself up to others, to let them serve me as I serve them, to let them care about me. It's a weird thing, being on this end of things. You always feel there are others who need help more, so how can I complain? In the grand scheme of things, is my vegetable garden that important? Well, no, but it is to me.
There is a hymn we sing that says the errand of angels is given to women...to cheer and to bless in humanity's name. I was on the beneficiary end of that last night. Yet another lesson in grace.