8:00pm will never be the same

Letting our needs be known

“8:00pm will never be the same.”

That’s what one of my friends texted after learning that my dog, Ginger, had passed away. For a while, I hosted a weekly supper club where neighbors and friends would gather on a weeknight to share a meal and some laughs. Anyone was welcome anytime. Sometimes only one person showed up, sometimes ten or fifteen. But no matter who was there, without fail, around 7:58pm, Ginger would wake from her sleep as if to an alarm and begin to bark, letting me know she was ready to go outside and then chomp down on her favorite bedtime treat, the Greenie dental chew. As soon as the Greenie disappeared, she would continue her occasional barks until the last guest left and she felt relieved enough of her self-imposed monitoring duties that she could put herself to bed. On more than a few evenings, my friends would say to her, “Ok Ginger, we get it. We’ve overstayed our welcome, we’re going!” As I’ve mentioned in a few pieces, she was very attached to her routine and much more punctual than I ever will be.

As silly as it is, I’ve been learning from her amusing insistence this week.

Knowing that it’s a difficult season for my family right now, a friend recently asked if she could reach out to folks in my community to organize some meal support for me. When she first mentioned it, waves of relief washed over me as I thought about not having to shop or cook for myself while navigating the stress and uncertainty of hospital stays and medical care. But very quickly, feelings of discomfort and anxiety began to eat away at the relief. I’m fine, aren’t I? I thought. I’m not going through anything near as difficult as some other people. Why should I ask for help? So naturally, I changed the subject.

The next day, she brought it up a second time. Once again, I squirmed a little, hemming and hawing, undoubtedly sending mixed messages. Yes, that type of support would be very helpful, but no, I don’t really need it. Yes, I’m sure my friends would be willing to help, but no, I don’t want to impose.

Why is accepting help so difficult?

Several years ago, one of the biggest challenges in rebuilding my life after divorce was learning to vocalize my needs. Squelching my needs and desires felt safer than potentially aggravating an unpredictable alcoholic by expressing them. I’ve more recently realized that the opposite extreme also serves as a form of self-protection. Asserting my needs as well as suppressing them can both be attempts to control the outcome and sidestep vulnerability. But letting my needs be known and then receiving other people’s responses to those needs—that is truly vulnerable.

In my most recent spiritual direction session, grief about the loss of Ginger kept coming up. I’m clearly still in it, still processing her death. I shared with my director how I notice her absence most in the daily routine—or now, the lack thereof. With inconsistent work and no automatic schedule, her insistence around her needs and desires grounded me.

Saying this aloud to my spiritual director did something deep inside. The way Ginger reliably let her needs be known served as an anchor, a comforting structure to my day. It was not a burdensome rhythm, even if it was occasionally annoying. Her needs punctuated my day in a way that kept me focused and energized. They were a gift.

What if letting my needs be known, like Ginger did, might provide someone else with a comforting anchor? What if my needs might actually somehow also be a gift?

After my session, I gave my friend the green light to reach out to friends on my behalf. I still feel deeply uncomfortable about it—even illogically embarrassed—but I’m praying for the grace to lean into vulnerability and welcome the loving support that wants to come my way. Maybe one day, I’ll be as good at it as Ginger!

A Spiritual Practice:

I suspect I’m not alone when it comes to asking for and receiving help. Sometimes it can be difficult, especially in the noise of a heavy world, to even know what your needs are.

What would it look and feel like to let your needs be known, and then let people lovingly respond to them? What’s one small way you could give the gift of your own vulnerability to others this week?

In recent years, God has been powerfully healing my heart when it comes to naming desires and needs before God. But lately I’m noticing how I sometimes retreat into private prayer as a way to avoid being vulnerable with people. So I think this invitation I’m sensing by way of Ginger is really about being part of community. True community is impossible without vulnerability, and vulnerability requires letting our human needs and desires be known. Community is how we can love and be loved by God in an embodied, tangible way. And that’s a gift to all of us.

PS: I wrote the above a few days ago, prior to my dad undergoing intense surgery yesterday. As I edit and post it now, he’s in the ICU and I’m acutely aware of how much we all really do need each other when life gets so hard. Thanks, everyone, for being there.

Waiting so patiently for her Greenie