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Peter said to him, “You shall never wash my feet.” Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.”
John 13:8 (ESV)

Widows often seem to carry an invisible card that says, I’m a widow. I don’t know how to fix things. I need help.

I never felt entitled to it. It just quietly became part of how I lived.

At the time, putting it away was exactly what I needed to do.

I needed to take on responsibilities that had once belonged to my husband, navigate life, raise my boys, maintain a home, and support myself.

And by God’s grace, I did.

He guided me through raising four boys, starting a ministry, and building a successful tutoring business. I got pretty good at maintaining a home, mowing a lawn, and tackling the challenges of living alone.

Putting away the widow card was good that season.

But along the way, I replaced the widow card with something else.

Pride.

Not the boastful kind.

Just the quiet belief that if something needed to be done, I should handle it myself.

Months ago, I invited several ladies to my home for a Mediterranean dinner.

I set a beautiful table and made sure everything was welcoming. I played hostess all evening.

When we sat down to eat, I realized I had hardly cooked a thing! Two of the ladies had done most of the work.

I felt terrible.

For days, I replayed it in my mind. They came to my house and ended up cooking for me. I apologized more than once. They both seemed puzzled by how bothered I was.

Looking back, I don’t think it was about the meal at all.

It was about how uncomfortable I had become with receiving.

My friend Mike knows this.

Every year, he takes mission trips. He is using his professional skills to serve churches and communities around the world. He always pays his own way and sponsors someone to come with him.

One year, his pastor said, “This time, I don’t want you to spend a dollar.”

My friend was shocked.

“But I can afford it.”

“Exactly,” his pastor replied. “I want you to humble yourself and let others support you.”

Mike said that allowing others to support him connected him to his church family in a way he had never experienced before.

I didn’t think much about that at the time.

Then my sister-in-law and brother-in-law came to visit.

I value them so much. Even with their brother gone, they’ve always treated me as one of their own.

I made sure the house was clean and welcoming. I had so many ways I wanted to treat them. But they wouldn’t have it. They insisted on taking me to the finest Italian restaurant and enjoying the sights in the city

When I got back home, I learned a huge lesson in letting someone in to help.

It started with, “Hey, Kitty, do you have a screwdriver?”

Before the weekend was over, my brother-in-law had tightened every loose chair, replaced lightbulbs and batteries, cleaned sink drain traps, diagnosed problems with my AC ductwork, figured out why my hydrangeas weren’t blooming, trimmed my dog’s nails, and cleaned out my garage.

With every “Hey Kitty,” the list grew longer.

And just like Mike with the church friends, my receiving from my in-laws brought me closer to them than ever.

My first instinct was to tell them they were doing too much.

My sister-in-law would have none of it. I’m quite sure that caring for me was one way of honoring her brother.

Something softened in me.

For years, I had worked hard to become capable. I had learned to carry responsibilities I never expected to carry.

But I began to wonder if, in learning to stand on my own two feet, I had also learned to keep people at arm’s length.

Jesus encountered that same resistance when He knelt to wash Peter’s feet.

Peter protested, “You shall never wash my feet.” Peter said.

But Jesus answered, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” (John 13:8 ESV)

Peter wanted to serve Jesus. What he struggled with was being served by Jesus.

Perhaps that’s why Jesus’s words resonate so deeply with me. Sometimes receiving requires more humility than giving.

For one sweet weekend, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law reflected Jesus to me. With every “hey, Kitty,” they blessed me, served me, and loved me well.

And by accepting their gifts, I found myself feeling more connected—not only to them, but to the Lord.

Many years ago, I felt the Lord whisper, “Hey Kitty, isn’t it time to put away that widow card?”

For that season, I needed to learn to stand.

But I’m no longer in that season.

These days, I think He’s teaching me something different. Healthy independence is a gift. But there comes a point when strength can quietly become self-sufficiency.

Maybe spiritual maturity isn’t learning to do everything ourselves.

Maybe it’s learning to recognize the moments when love requires us to receive—to let someone get close enough to wash our feet.

Lord, can you help us all hear Your wisdom on when to polish up our independence and when to allow others to step in, connect with us, and help us? Amen.