Asking for Help

I pulled two house dresses from Mom’s closet. “Which one?” I asked her.

“The red one.” I slipped the dress over her head. I brushed her hair and put a little blush on her cheeks. Then I settled her into her chair in the living room while I went back to start a load of laundry.

“Someone’s here!” Mom called.

“Hello!” Vicki, a longtime friend, sang as she let herself in. She visited with Mom a little while before pulling me aside. “She’s getting worse. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You are so sweet to offer, but really we’re fine.” The truth was we were not fine. Mom needed more and more help. I had to go back home in a few days. My brother and his wife, both teachers, had to be at work early every morning. The three of us had been praying for help. Could Vicki be God’s way of helping us?

“We do need help,” I finally admitted. Vicki volunteered to stop by every weekday morning to help Mom get dressed and ready for the day. She also ran occasional errands and took Mom to doctors’ appointments when we couldn’t.