"Will you let Him be your Helper?" The last words of Fr. Matt's homily resounded in my ears this morning and I couldn't keep the fresh tears from blurrying my vision.
It had been two weeks since I drafted this blog post, all about asking Jesus for help; the blog post sat unpublished on my laptop. Something just didn't sit right with me.
In the time that I wrote the post until now, I've been struggling, not realizing that I had done the exact opposite of what I encouraged others to do in the blog post. I'd pretended like I could do it on my own, when in fact, I didn't know how to do it on my own.
"Where do you have a lack of peace?" Father asked in his homily.
Father continued. "When you present that thing to Jesus, He asks, 'What's that like for you?'"
It feels like I'm drowning and I don't know what to do.
"Will you let Him be your Helper?"
Cue the tears!
Now I know what this blog post was needing: honesty. In all honesty, I need help and I need help in asking Jesus for help. I write this post as much for myself as I do for you. I write this not because I've figured it out but becasue I'm currently in the midst of putting my pride aside and going to Him with open arms, because I can't do it on my own.
The Lord must be aching for me to call on Him for help, because He keeps giving me opportunties to! Two weeks ago, I was hiking the highest point in Arizona with 100 students from the Newman Center and found myself in a situation where I needed major help.
“Inch by inch, life is a synch. Yard by yard life is hard…” I belted the tune in between heavy breaths along with the six other college women I was hiking with. In the three hours that we’d been hiking, it had become our group’s theme song. The lyrics were inspired by words my great-grandmother used to say, and it was sung to the tune of ‘High Ho’ from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Singing made climbing the mountain bearable and dare I say, enjoyable!
Hours later, I reached the top with two friends.
Now it’s smooth sailing to the bottom.
I soon realized that we were so focused on making it to the top that we hadn’t allowed the proper time to get down before sunset. I felt so stupid! How could a local of the area like me not think of such an important detail? I sent a text to the chaplain, Fr. Matt, letting him know where we were, not revealing my fear, and saying instead that he shouldn’t wait for us at the bottom.
We had one hour and forty-five minutes until sunset, and we’d have to haul it if we wanted to make the four miles down in sunlight. I’d glance over my shoulder occasionally to make sure my friends were still behind me. There were some instances I couldn’t see them, and all I could hear was the rhythmic clicking of my friend’s walking sticks against the rocky path.
In a moment of despair, I called on Mary for help: Mary, please help us down the mountain in sunlight. In between climbing down slippery boulders and maneuvering in awkward ways to find secure footing, I kept to the tempo of ‘Hail Mary full of grace…’.
I felt my phone vibrated and I saw a text from Fr. Matt, ‘Do you have flashlights? It will be dark by the time you finish.’
My heart sank.
‘Yes!’ I didn’t want to say that all we had were our weak flashlights on our iPhones, and who knew how long the batteries would last? I had to be strong for all of us, and there was no room to show how terrified I was. If I wouldn’t be strong then who would be?
Sunset hit and we still had a couple miles to go. I tried to breath through my increasing fear and I flew down the trail at an even faster speed.
Suddenly, I saw two men walking towards us. I saw the man’s face in the back first. It was a student who I know from the Newman Center!
And that must be…it can’t be, Fr. Matt!
All anxiety dissipated and I found my pace slowing, not only the pace of my walking but the pace of my heart.
“Father!” I was overcome with a feeling of security and peace. I thought, this is how the Heavenly Father loves, seeks me out when I’m lost, comes to my aid even when I don’t ask for help, comes to me even when it inconveniences Him, finding me in the dark because I’m worth it.
“How are you doing?” He said with concern in his voice.
“I’m fine. Really glad to see you.” For the first time I noticed how shaky my legs were and that my feet were throbbing. My body was coming out of its fight or flight state, because I felt safe and didn’t have to run anymore.
“Do you need any food? Gatorade?” Father offered, taking the big backpack off his shoulders.
You already know the rest of the story: we made it back safely. Even as darkness encompassed us like a fist closing in, I was no longer anxious, because my Father was with me.
When we emerged from the forest and looked out to the valley below, we saw a glimmer of sunlight. Mary had kept the sun from setting fully. She answered my prayer, but she answered it in a way than I could have imagined. She knew what was needed more than sunlight: the presence of our spiritual Father.
I’ve reflected on the moments just before I saw Father, when I was convinced I could do it on my own, even though all the forces of nature were winning.
When I took this moment to prayer, I kept hearing Jesus say, “Just ask for help, Kirsten.”
He’s asking the same of you. Just ask for help.
He seeks you out and finds you when you’re lost, even when you don’t want to admit that you need help. Imagine how happy it would make his Fatherly Heart when we do call on Him for help, when we acknowledge the truth, that we can’t do it on our own, that He is needed by us, that we recognize our littleness.
I encourage you today, spend time with Him in prayer with your hands wide open, and ask Him for help. That conversation that’s weighing on your heart, or that relationship that has left you feeling empty, or that big decision that’s looming over your head, He wants to be there with you in it. He’s waiting for you to let Him be your Father and help you.
I’ll leave you with words Jesus spoke to St. Faustina, “My Heart overflows with great mercy for souls…if only they could understand that I am the best of Fathers to them and that it is for them that the Blood and Water flowed from My Heart.”
With love, Kirst
