Love and Humility

For someone who averages about one trip to the doctor's office every 12-18 months, 2010 is shaping up to be a very odd year.  In the first six months that I have lived alone, I've already been to the doctor 3 times for three very different issues, and I have had to ask for help from others on several different occasions.  It's never a good thing when the doctor looks at you and says, "You're single, right?  Live alone?  Do you have a very good friend nearby?":-/  Asking for help is hard enough. Asking for help when you're nauseated or in pain or need wound care at odd or inconvenient hours is an entirely different level of humility.  And, both times, I have come away from the experience with one repeating thought, "I have been loved well."  It's the only way I know to say it.  I am deeply moved by the realization that I have been blessed with friends who love me when I have absolutely nothing to give in return.  In those moments, I am completely without offering.  I feel terribly unworthy, unlovable -- and yet, that is when I know better, deeper, most profoundly that I am, in the most simple term, loved.  It seems to me that when we're "on top of the world" everyone "loves" us, but it's when we're hanging out in the depths that it is a priceless thing to find a friend still standing close.