Word Problem

Among the many genetic deficits my children complain I have passed along to them, the inability to do math ranks supreme. There is a direct correlation between my ever-increasing time gap from school, and the grade level at which I am able to assist the children with their math assignments. I now need to tap out of homework help around third grade. When the teenage girls even begin to discuss their upcoming math tests, I just back out of the room slowly.

Recently, I emerged from my home office having just successfully finished a work Zoom when I found one teenage girl in tears on the couch with scrap papers full of incomplete equations all around. “Everything ok?” I asked, knowing I was completely ill-equipped to solve the equation, let alone even understand the problem. When she shared her struggles with the assignment due the next day, I went to my go-to method of problem-solving…phoning a friend. My daughter was adamant that she didn’t want to bother any of her whiz-kid cousins or her mom’s best friend math teacher, and she especially didn’t want to ask her sister. It was too late, and she just had to figure it out herself.

While I might not understand math, I do know the power of self-deprecating humor. So, I called mom’s best friend math teacher and began discussing how I lose consciousness anytime I am confronted with a word problem. I then asked if I could put our friend on speaker phone so that my daughter could lament why God had not given her a smarter father and perhaps explain where we were stuck with our word problem. Within about five minutes, my daughter found her confidence to ask the questions she had and about ten minutes later she found the variable needed to solve the problems on her worksheet.

As we enjoyed some celebratory ice cream (with me still not having any idea how math happens), I couldn’t help but think about another genetic trait we shared that might come from the Irish side of the family – stubbornness. In what aspects of life, leadership, and faith am I stuck and unwilling to say those three magic words: “I need help?” Whether it’s being ashamed of asking too many times, feeling like I should know what the answer is, or wanting the satisfaction of figuring it out on my own, why might I isolate myself from those who can help me the most? In my walk of faith, what am I trying to work out myself when I should be relying on the Divine Tutor’s direction?

I’m not sure how the teenager will do on the test, but I sure hope that she learns the most important lesson – we aren’t meant to do this alone, and there is no shame in asking for help; especially from the One who provides the deepest and surest solutions to any problem we face