Help Please: The Christian’s Ceaseless Plea
Our help is in the name of the Lord, If you walk into my home anytime my children are awake, one phrase will meet your ears without fail: Help please, Dad. (Unless you hear the parallel plea, Help please, Mom.) A book begs to be read. Help please, Dad. Juice cups loom empty — Help please, Dad. Tummies rumble after a long nap — Help please, Dad. Cold feet need socks — Help please, Dad. Jackets need to go on — Help please, Dad. Jackets need to come off — Help please, Dad. A seemingly endless torrent of needs cements this sentence on their little lips — Help please, Dad. In a home with four children under five, this constant call to Dad should come as no surprise. They don’t yet know how to navigate the world. Their little fingers have all the dexterity of breakfast sausages, making zipping zippers and buttoning buttons about as difficult as playing a violin with your feet. They can’t provide their own food. They (mostly) can’t put on their own clothes. They can’t even go to the bathroom
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