Not long ago, I was talking to a 25+ year friend and former colleague, and, in a teary moment, said to him, “I need you to hear this.” As I paused, he said, “Lisa, I have never thought of you as needing anything.” His honesty set me back on my heels.

I am by nature (or choice?) an independent person. Maybe I have always been–my mom tells a story about how, as a baby, I didn’t want to be held much, so my 3-year-old brother would console her, “You can hold me, Mommy.” Not much has changed, I suppose, in half a century.

Life has pushed and pulled me in directions I would have never thought possible–in physical exertion, in mental fatigue, in relational disappointment, and yet, here I am. I survived. Thrived, even, some days. I learned to fix my car (sometimes). I sharpen my own kitchen knives. I am able, mostly, to control my tears in public. I can start a fire with one match. I can navigate an international train station. I am capable, or, at least appear to be so.

Asking for help is hard. Admitting that there is something I do not know or am not strong enough to handle seems humiliating. After all, one of the strongest criticisms often levied against women (and especially single women) is, “She is needy.”

But let’s face it, I AM needy. I need to see sunshine and mountain lakes and tall trees and stars. I need families who want me to jump into their crazy lives, who recognize that I need them more than they need me but want me there anyway. I need friends to know that my independence is protective (and defective) armor in a demanding world. On occasion, I even need. . .or at least want. . . nachos. . .or pizza. . or nachos and pizza.

Paul Tripp wrote on this poem on his blog last week, and the first lines grabbed my attention. You can read the whole thing over on his site.

If a plant is to
fruit and flower,
it needs water to
feed and nourish its
roots.
Waterless, it will wither and die
before it buds.

I am needy. I am in constant need of the Word of God to remind me that I am not my own savior, but I have been bought with a price. I need to read of the beauty of Jesus in the Gospels as He walked with His disciples and touched the lepers and saw the blind. I need to weep with King David over my sin. I need to anticipate with Paul the better days with Jesus ahead and serve with joy until that moment.

I need to walk with the courage that He who began a good work in me is still working. I need to remember that the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead is equipping me daily to keep walking, nourished and flourishing, leaning in dependence on the One who made the trees and friends and the stars.