As powerful and daunting a historical figure as the Apostle Paul was, he didn’t go it alone.
As a young Christian with only a casual acquaintance with the New Testament, I had mistakenly assumed that The Great Apostle powered solo from church to church, epistle to epistle, controversy to controversy. Yes, the Spirit fueled him with supernatural strength for those tasks, but he accepted help from others, beginning with the otherwise obscure disciples: Ananias in Damascus and Barnabas in Jerusalem. Paul not only trained others who would assist him, but he also enjoyed a host of friends and acquaintances. In his letter to the church in Rome, Paul sent greetings to no less than twenty-six people, two of whom may have been blood relatives. In the Book of Acts, Luke tells us that Paul’s nephew informed Paul that a secret coterie of his enemies had vowed to neither eat nor drink till they killed him (Acts 23). The nephew’s tip, delivered to Roman authorities, saved the Apostle’s life.
If a larger-than-life figure like Paul needed others, why should lesser lights like us think we can navigate life as solitary people? We need others.
My recent lesson in this: my relatives by marriage, Lori’s brother and sister, who traveled over 1,000 miles to attend our daughter’s wedding in the Catskill mountains of New York, showed up, making small contributions that made a big difference to me.
Whenever I looked around, it seemed either Brian or Lisa was there to say, “Let me do that.”
After joining Brian and Lisa at LaGuardia Airport in New York City, Brian drove us to the Catskills. I offered to drive, but Brian insisted—much to the relief of Lori and Lisa—while I secretly sighed with relief. Brian maneuvered with the skill of a New York cabbie, even cussing with the best of them. Despite my sometimes inaccurate attempts at navigation, Brian steered us safely to our Airbnb.
Upon arrival, we stopped to buy some groceries. As we were about to pay, Lisa said, “Let me do that,” and plopped down her credit card.
On the wedding day, Mary—our daughter, the bride—needed someone to pick up the pre-ordered lunch for the wedding party while they got ready. I volunteered, but Brian intervened: “Let me do that,” he said, then drove twenty minutes each way to deliver lunch. His little gift of time allowed me to get to the venue early, spend some precious moments with Mary, and then stand prepared for my part in the ceremony instead of arriving frazzled and frantic, having rushed to get there.
Our grown children, Mary’s siblings, have children of their own. Their hands were full, preparing themselves and their little ones for the big event. When the photographer began herding us together for pictures, Brian looked at our six grandchildren, three under the age of three. As David lifted one of his eleven-month-old twins, Brian said, “Let me do that,” holding the child like a pro.
Then, after the ceremony, Lisa walked down the stairs in her long dress and high heels, carrying one of the babies, focusing on NOT tripping, delivering the child safely to the babysitters. Her actions said, “Let me do that.”
The day we left, I took our suitcases to the porch. When I returned to load them in the car, Brian had beat me to it, grinning with his “Let me do that” attitude.
Could we have made it without Brian and Lisa? Of course. But the accumulation of their small acts made life easier for a special event in our lives. As the artist Vincent Van Gogh noted, “Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” Brian and Lisa had “brought together” their small acts of kindness into one large contribution.
Waving bye to Brian and Lisa at the airport—they catching their flight to Oklahoma, Lori and I to Kentucky—I felt the Apostle Paul’s words in my heart: “I thank God through Jesus Christ for… you” (Romans 1:8).
We all need at least one “you” in our lives.
Because of Brian and Lisa, my life was a bit richer, and my determination stronger to join with them in saying,
“Let me do that.”