The Gift of Needing Others

Growing up, I often heard the story found in Mark 2:1-12, which recounts Jesus’ healing of the paralyzed man whose friends lowered him down through the roof on his mat because this was the only way to get him to Jesus due to the large crowds that had gathered.  

For most of my life, I was focused on the friends in the story – the ones who stopped at nothing to get their friend the help he needed. It’s a beautiful picture of service, and I admired the friends’ persistence and their willingness to go above and beyond for someone else. These characteristics also resonated with me because they came naturally to me: I have always considered myself a “helper.” Ultimately, these traits are what led me to pursue a degree in social work.  

In school, we were trained to identify needs, connect people with resources, advocate, and help carry burdens – all qualities we are also called to live out as Christians. We also spend time learning (sometimes through lived experiences), that there are seasons in life when we simply cannot carry everything on our own. We need others to walk alongside us, hold us up, and remind us of the truths of the Gospel. In those moments, there is faithfulness in humbly naming what we need and surrendering it to the Lord.  

At some point in our lives, we have found or will find ourselves needing the support and care of the body of Christ. For me, one of those moments came on a winter morning in 2024 when I woke up to find that parts of my body simply were not functioning correctly. After a scary morning and a very long story later, I now find myself living with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).  

Amid that first wintery morning’s chaos, my husband had texted several of my close friends to explain my situation and ask for immediate prayer. After receiving this text, one of my friends told her husband, a worship pastor at a church in Colorado, what was happening to me.  

That same morning, their congregation had just heard a sermon on Mark 2, and the congregation was challenged to think about someone in their life who needed a figurative “lowering through the roof.” Then, after briefly explaining my situation, my friend’s husband implored the church to lift me up in prayer by lowering me through the roof. 

In an instant, hundreds of people I had never met became friends like those spoken of in Mark. In an instant, the hands of God’s children collectively, prayerfully, offered me up before the Lord. My friend told me this story weeks after my diagnosis; it is a blessing I will never forget, and a constant reminder that there are no surprises to the author of our lives. 

The Humble Work of Surrender 

Now, over two years post-diagnosis, when I read Mark 2, my focus shifts to the man on the mat – probably because I quite literally found myself in his same situation at one point. While we should celebrate and admire the faith of his friends (and strive to be friends in this way to those around us when we are able to), the humble nature of the man on the mat is one to be celebrated and admired, too. He had to trust other people enough to lift him up, carry his full weight, and bring him somewhere that he was unable to go on his own – not because he didn’t want to or was lazy, but because he could not do it on his own.  

For many who are used to being helpful, it can be difficult to suddenly be the one who needs help. Guilt, grief, pride, and frustration easily come to the surface. But what if we shift our perspective? What if needing others is not just an unfortunate part of being helpless, but rather the Holy Spirit’s reminder that we belong to the Lord and are called to live in fellowship with His people? What if needing others is an invitation to receive the same kind of care we would give if the roles were reversed?  

Early in my diagnosis, I made every effort I could to resume “normal” life. But so many things had changed, including the way I looked. I distinctly remember looking at myself in the mirror and hardly recognizing the person before me. The woman I was just a few weeks ago seemed to be buried beneath an unwelcome version of myself. My face looked gaunt, bags had formed under my eyes, and my hair was an untamed beast.  

In fact, it was my hair that really threw me for a loop.  

I have always loved having long hair. When I was little, my dad would frequently brush or play with my hair at the end of the day. It sounds silly now, but for much of my life my hair was something safe, constant, and comforting. But when MS decided to make its appearance, caring for my hair was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all of the things I suddenly found myself unable to do.  

One day, as I stood looking in the mirror, I reluctantly grieved to myself, “I can’t even take care of myself.” I didn’t need someone to fix my symptoms or tell me it was all going to be okay; I truly just needed someone to brush my hair. And yet asking the simple question, “Will you brush my hair?” felt like a failure, like I had somehow done something wrong to cause me to need help.  

As I stepped away from the mirror, I walked out to the living room to find my mom with a brush in her hand, motioning me over to come sit so she could brush my hair. I didn’t need to ask. She knew, she noticed, and without saying a word she was ready to help.  

Noticing others in their need is a theme found throughout the pages of Scripture. In Romans 12, we are told as believers to rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn. Galatians 6 tells us to carry one another's burdens. In Acts, the early church didn't just worship together; they shared resources and cared for practical needs. We are flooded with examples of how to notice and how to care – how to be one of the “friends.” 

Slowly, my “friends” then shifted from that congregation in Colorado to the loving Christian community I find myself a part of today. They noticed. They brought meals, checked in, offered to watch my children, and the list goes on. And just like the paralyzed man who didn’t have to ask others to carry him, I found myself on the receiving end of selfless service.

But what happens when some struggles are difficult for others to notice? What happens when others cannot be there to step in? 

Giving Voice to Our Needs 

It is easy to see physical symptoms, but many symptoms of chronic illness can be invisible. You very likely cannot see my fatigue, my brain fog, or my anxiety that comes as I await my MRI results.  

This is where I’m grateful to have learned how to navigate life through the lens of social work. Sometimes, when no one is there in the moment to carry your mat, you are forced to come up with alternative solutions – and of these can be self-advocacy.      

Advocacy, of course, looks different for every situation, but for me, it required speaking up for my health and supporting my longing to understand more about my diagnosis. In the end, it also meant realizing and accepting that I needed to get a haircut to make my day-to-day life more manageable. Maybe it was the way I was “wired”, but I don’t know if I would have been able to self-advocate without my social work training. I quickly found myself at my next neurology appointment with a list of questions, conducting research in the evenings on chronic illness, and being honest with those around me in what I was able to contribute each day. 

Chronic illness requires engagement in your health, and I was able to feel a sense of empowerment in advocacy. This empowerment carried over into my treatment, allowing me to speak up when something didn’t feel right, or not being afraid to push back with pointed questions or concerns.  

Don’t get me wrong – this can be incredibly uncomfortable. It feels like a fight against the flesh to question an expert. But when you quite literally feel like you’re fighting against your own flesh, you, like the friends who lowered the man on the mat, are granted confidence and peace in the pursuit of healing.  

MS has opened my eyes to see the rich, meaningful beauty of the characters in Mark 2, to see the man on the mat from his own perspective as well as that of his friends. Some days, I’m the one being carried, while other days I get to pick up a corner of someone else’s mat.  

As Christians, this is exactly the work the Lord has called us to—to pay attention, to humble ourselves, and to pray for and walk alongside each other in all seasons.