Wednesday evening, I borrowed a folding stepladder from next door

For a few days one of the lights in the living room had been flickering, and this evening it would not turn on at all. A new bulb had been sitting in a box by the front door for a long time. All I had to do was swap it in, but even standing on a chair, my hand could not reach the ceiling.

The apartment I came back to after work was half dark. I put down my bag, climbed onto the chair, and climbed down again. I stood there looking at the box for a while, wondering whether I really had to ask someone for help with something like this. Lately the thought that I should handle even small things alone had been weighing on me. Only the light from the kitchen lay long across the floor, and the hum of the refrigerator sounded louder than usual. In the past I would probably have chosen to get used to the dark. Putting up with the inconvenience had always felt lighter than asking.

Asking was a smaller thing than I thought

After sitting for a long time, I opened still() and read today's verse.

My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.

Psalm 121:2 (WEB)

The words "My help" held me for a long while. A height my hand could not reach was nothing to be ashamed of, I thought; it was only a height. And wherever help comes from, sometimes I have to knock on a door myself to receive it. Once I thought that, borrowing a ladder suddenly looked like a very small thing.

It took me a little while to press the neighbor's doorbell. The door opened, and the man next door said, "Oh, a ladder? One moment," and brought a folding stepladder out from his balcony. Asking took less than thirty seconds. I carried it into the living room and climbed up, and the bulb really was within easy reach. I twisted out the old bulb and screwed in the new one, and the living room filled with light. For a while I squinted because it was so bright. When I climbed down, even the parcel boxes piled in the corner and the drying rack came into plain view. Maybe I had gotten used to living in the dim, because the brighter room felt a little strange and good at the same time. Only then did I realize how inconvenient those few days without this much light had been.

When I returned the ladder, I handed him a few tangerines. He said, "Ask again anytime." As I closed the front door and turned around, the apartment felt a little warmer than before. A little of the tangerine scent still lingered on my fingertips. Tonight I plan to eat dinner slowly in the brightened living room.

Today's breath — Ask for one small thing today. Start with something small.