By Christina Capecchi
Twenty Something
The journey from a suburban Home Depot to our new country home spanned 11 miles and three helpers, winding over the river and through the woods. In the end, three crabapple trees successfully reached their destination — their trunks an inch wide, their potential: infinite.
It started in the parking lot, where I collapsed seats and unrolled windows in my Honda Accord. I tried one configuration after another, but the trees weren’t fitting. I was about to return them to the lot when a man walked up and posed four blessed words: “Do you need help?”
He asked if I lived in town, offering to drive them to my house for me, then helped me devise a plan for the trees, clearing out my trunk and suggesting a back-roads route home. Soon, I was on my way. The crabapples were mine because of a stranger’s kindness. Helper No. 1.
A mile later, the trees began sliding precariously. I was about to pass a friend’s home, so I made an emergency exit. Being able to unload the trees there brought such relief. Helper No. 2: An old friendship coming through in a pinch.
For the last leg, I was armed with confidence and a larger vehicle. I called my grandma as I crossed the river, knowing how much she loves her crabapple. “Could you do me a small favor?” she asked. “Would you let me buy them for you?” Helper No. 3.
It called to mind the title of an Anne Lamott book: “Traveling Mercies.” The crabapples are now blooming, and wrapped into their beauty is a layered story of kindness.
This spring has been a time of change. Moving a family takes enormous work and many helping hands. I feel God inviting me to grow in humility, to accept the help with an open heart and no ledger. Grace doesn’t operate as a quid pro quo. It flows freely, multiplying on its own.
Hardworking Catholics are often led to believe that self-sufficiency is a virtue. I remember hosting a big Christmas party where a guest offered to serve food. It felt like the correct answer was, “No, thanks, I’ve got it.”
I had to pause and re-examine that instinct. Would she have offered to help if she didn’t want to?
I smiled brightly. “Yes, please!”
When we allow someone to help us, we instantly feel closer to that person. And the next time that person needs help, he or she will be more comfortable asking for it.
May has become so busy, earning the nickname “Maycember” for its ability to rival December’s madness. So many families are coasting on fumes till The Last Day of School.
It is time to welcome aid. As Catholics, we recognize the intricate network of carpools and casseroles as the Body of Christ. “We are one body, one body in Christ, and we do not stand alone.”
It is good to be the helper, and it is holy to be the helped.
That’s the parting wisdom shared posthumously by a 49-year-old Catholic mom here who, as she would put it, recently won her battle with cancer by escaping it and joining the Lord. Her words were quoted in her obituary and read by the priest at her funeral Mass. “It’s hard to be humble and ask for help,” Angela wrote, “but I loved being a vessel that helps people be their best selves when they help me.”
That’s the crux of it, the big opportunity: How can we be a vessel of God, letting others in and allowing them to grow? It takes humility, transparency — acting as a window for God’s light to shine through. In the process, we are all made better.
Christina Capecchi is a freelance writer from Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota.