I broke my foot once when my second child was only 12 weeks old, and I was about to move houses. For six weeks I was confined to a chair, a shrieking newborn in my arms, a toddler running circles around me, and my right foot rendered useless by a plaster cast. I
couldn’t do anything without assistance. I couldn’t eat or get a drink or change my clothes or feed my children.

My family was in dire straits. A lot of people offered help, but there was a core group of friends and family members who really saved us.

These are the people who turned up in my driveway with empty vans and cooked meals. These are the people who blocked off their Saturdays to haul furniture, mow our lawn, and run after unruly kids. These are the people who said: “Here I am. Give me a job.”

If you’ve ever really, really needed another person’s help, you know that “showing up” means more than saying: “Let me know what you need.” It means saying: “I’m already here. Tell me what to do.”

So often, I pay lip service to the idea of submission. “What do you want, God?” I ask, and I secretly hope that what He wants isn’t one of those things that I’m not willing to give.

What if I really strove to “show up” for God? What if I was ready to give what He asks of me, whatever it is?