Pastor’s wife: ‘Asking for help doesn’t mean we are weak’

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The deviled eggs nearly ruined the Thanksgiving feast before it began. The apostle Paul had a thorn in the flesh. I believe I’ve found mine: peeling boiled eggs.

I grew up in a family of delicious meals, holiday or not. Almost every one of them featured a crystal tray filled with beautiful deviled eggs sprinkled lightly with paprika. My aunt Pat made the best ones. Hers were the standard. Her filling was perfect with no chunks. After many tries, and many fails, I am finally able to get the filling just right. But, in the preparation of the last few holiday dinners, I’ve struggled terribly with peeling the boiled eggs. 

Hacks have been shared and friends have given suggestions: Peel the boiled eggs under running water. Add soda to the water as the eggs boil. Add salt to the water as the eggs boil. Allow boiled eggs to come to room temperature before peeling. Do not allow boiled eggs to come to room temperature before peeling. 

Everything has been tried except patting my head with one hand and rubbing my stomach with the other. This is something I should be able to do after living this many decades! 

Due to the stress of de-shelling the eggs, it’s always scheduled for the day before any holiday. With dread last Wednesday, I approached the still-warm kettle. I rolled the eggs around in the water trying to loosen the shell pieces. Each one came off in microscopic specks. The first two eggs looked like my grand-dog had done the peeling or I had gnawed on them. My blood pressure was rising. How hard could this be? I silently yelled. I scolded myself, prayed, and wanted to sling the eggs in the garbage, wondering if anyone would miss them. 

 A monologue ran through my head. It wasn’t pretty. I compared myself to other, better cooks. A list ran through my brain of everyone else who could do this simple task. Continuing to pinch off eggshell pieces, frustration grew. If I asked for help, I would look stupid. I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. And who would I ask anyway?

Finally ready to throw in the towel, I came to my senses and called out to my beloved (someone who loves me deeply, who is always there for me, for better or for worse), “I need your help!” He came rushing into the kitchen. I told him my problem and frustration. He washed his hands and jumped in. (Why hadn’t I asked him sooner?) Working together, we got the job done. 

No one at Thanksgiving dinner knew the story. No one knew that the deviled eggs almost had tears in them. When I saw them, I thought of them as victory eggs, kind of. We had overcome a mini-crisis.

Life can be difficult at times, way harder than making deviled eggs. As stress mounts, the devil gets in our heads, trying to make us think that if we fail it makes us failures. That’s not true! Or we can be stubborn, not wanting to ask for help; we want to keep up the image of having everything together. Asking for help doesn’t mean we are weak. It means we are smart enough to know we can’t do something on our own.

As Christmas approaches, you may feel pressure mounting from time to time. Your heavenly Father loves you deeply and is always there for you. He wants to help you every single day. You’re never a burden to Him. Don’t put it off. Call on Him first! Psalm 31:1-2 reminds us: “In You, LORD, I have taken refuge…Turn Your ear to me, come quickly to my rescue; be my rock of refuge, a strong fortress to save me.” He will hear and He will help!