I carefully pulled the truck into the garage, retrieved my crutches from the passenger seat and hopped into the house, leaving my groceries in the truck. My greatest difficulty with the decreased mobility of my broken ankle is not being able to carry things. I could have gotten our rolling office chair and slowly transported everything into the house, but I was already tired from running errands and needed to elevate and rest my ankle. Orion is working on the transit house in Wewak while I receive physical therapy in Port Moresby.

Once inside, I fixed lunch and put the vegetable peels into a small plastic bowl that I placed outside the door. Neighbor children have eagerly agreed to empty it into my compost pile and return the bowl to where I can get it.

I knew the children would also gladly carry the groceries in for me, so I grabbed a scrap of yellow paper and began writing. “Please knock on my door,” I began. Then I considered how to word the next part. It needed to be short and simple enough for the children to understand. “I need some help,” I finally wrote.

I placed the note under a stone beside the vegetable peels and returned to my chair. Putting my leg up, I tried not to cry. Why had the words “I need some help” hurt so much to write? I realized that admitting my need was a blow to my pride. I prayed for grace to accept God’s plans and to be thankful for the helpers He has placed in my life.

“Knock-knock, auntie Keren! Knock-knock, auntie Keren!” Achilla and Rochella’s happy voices revealed their joy at being asked to help. I hugged them before asking them to unload the truck. The work was finished in less than five minutes, and they were ready to help me with my daily exercises.

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