I've Got This, and Other Lies I Tell Myself ~ Biblical Manhood

It’s been said that there are three things a man has the greatest difficulty in saying: “I love you,” “I need help,” and “Put me down for an eight.”  I’ve written a post about the first one in “Nothing But Love in All of His Places.” And the third one is a golfing term which refers to a terrible score on a hole that hounds us weekend “duffers.” The “eight” is commonly called a “snowman.” You can probably figure that one out for yourself. The remainder of this post will cover the second one: some of the reasons why we, of the masculine gender, have such a tough time admitting we need assistance.

Let me start with a universally male anecdote: The Battle of the Barbecue. Imagine an idyllic Saturday morning in a sun-filled backyard in suburbia. We see Dad trying to assemble a complex, multi-burner gas grill. The instructions are spread out on the grass like an ancient Egyptian scroll. A small screw that looked crucial has already rolled into the lawn, lost forever. His loving wife peeks out through the sliding glass doors and asks the fateful question: “Do you need any help?” His immediate, almost primal response: “Nope. I got this.”

Let's broaden this anecdote and address the general masculine condition. The male of the species is notorious for refusing to ask for directions when lost, for trying to fix a gushing pipe with duct tape before calling a plumber, and for carrying emotional burdens in silence.

I submit for your consideration, dear reader, that this reluctance isn't just simple stubbornness, but a complex mingling of pride, society’s expectations, and the misunderstanding of what biblical strength truly looks like. It's a silent code that's been passed down through the generations, from our main Man, Adam himself, to the modern man staring glassy-eyed, down at a sealed cardboard box of Swedish furniture.

Let's discuss biblical manhood. Together, let's try to discover the genesis of this “going it alone” syndrome. And Genesis is the perfect place to start. At the very beginning, in Genesis 2:19-20, God gives Adam a monumental task: to name every single living creature. Imagine the sheer scale of that job. He had no committee or focus groups. There was no Google, and Mr. Roget hadn't even been born yet. There could have been a Tyrannosaurus then, but definitely no Thesaurus. When he got to Day 4, did he think, “I'm completely out of names for beetles, Eve. Any ideas?” No. He just got it done. The precedent was set: Man was, and shall ever be, the sole problem-solver.

Please consider how that prototype has evolved through the ages. Men are culturally conditioned to be the rock, the provider, the protector, and the “go-to guy” who has the answers. To him, asking for help can feel like a failure in his primary role. It would feel like he's admitting he can't protect or provide for his own. This isn't a bad thing if it were an isolated incident. But over time, the pressure continues to build. It’s the difference between being the conductor of a beautiful symphony of flawless solutions and a one-man band, clanging away in cacophony and isolated frustration.

But let's get down to it. Men, chalk it up to the unholy trinity: pride, ego, and fear. To most of us, asking for help feels like admitting defeat. It's confessing to the world, “My knowledge/strength/ability has reached its limit.” This is where we bring in the proverbial warning. It's a gentle, but direct biblical truth in Proverbs 16:18: “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.”

This “fall” isn't always a massive, moral collapse. Sometimes it's literally falling off the ladder you refused to let anyone hold steady for you. Sometimes the “destruction” is just the ruin of a perfectly good Saturday afternoon spent turning a simple plumbing fix into a homeowners' insurance claim.

Somewhere beneath our clenched pride is often just plain fear. Fear of looking incompetent. Fear of being judged. And let’s not forget a deep-seated fear of inconveniencing others. Most of us actually love it when someone asks us for help. It makes us feel capable. But strangely we assume the reverse, that our asking is a burden on them!

Let me introduce you to The Jethro Principle, subtitle: The Folly of the One-Man-Show. Here is a biblical case study of burnout. In Exodus 18, we see the interaction of Moses and his father-in-law, Jethro. Moses, who has proven himself as a great leader, is trying to do everything all by himself, judging thousands of Israelites from morning to night. He is their ultimate authority. Everyone knows he is God's guy. He’s the one with all the answers. Jethro watches the hectic proceedings from the sidelines and essentially tells his son-in-law, “What you're doing is not good. No bueno, Mo! You’re going to wear yourself out.” But Jethro doesn't stand there and criticize the husband of his darling daughter; he offers a workable solution, a system of delegation. He tells Moses to go and ask someone for help.

So, here's the lesson: Guess what Moses did. The man who spoke to his heavenly Father in a burning bush listened to his earthly father-in-law. Moses accepted help. And if it was good enough for Moses, it should be good enough for the rest of us. The story illustrates that leadership and strength are not always about doing everything yourself. It's about building a community of support. And it's about empowering others to share in the responsibility of worthwhile endeavors. In short, it's wisdom, not weakness.

I’ll conclude with a redefinition of strength. Let's call it “the two-way street” of fellowship. It all returns to the core Christian method of true community. Galatians 6:2 commands us to “Carry each other's burdens.” This is God’s active command of reciprocity. Look at it logically. You can't have a community of burden carriers if no one is willing to admit they have a burden to share. Doesn’t that make sense?

Let me give you the ultimate example: In His most vulnerable moments in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus Himself asked for help. He took Peter, James, and John and said, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me,” Matthew 26:38. Jesus, the Christ, simply asked others for help.

One final thought: True strength isn't the refusal to break; it's the wisdom to know when to bend. Asking for help isn't a defeat. It's an invitation to share with someone else the glory of God’s will. It's how we turn from isolated individuals, struggling with our own metaphorical BBQ assembly, into a true fellowship with others, building something extraordinary together. And maybe, just maybe, getting it done before the burgers defrost.