By Christina Holder

Last month I went back to Liberia, a West African nation that has been broken by 14 years of civil war. I traveled there nearly a year ago to record post-war stories and to bring more awareness to the plight of the Liberian people.

I was grateful that God had called me to Liberia with such a unique mission. But while there, I experienced difficult emotions—fear, isolation, sadness. It was far away from the people who loved me most, and I struggled to feel tied to a community.

There were some good friends who stayed in touch with me. For that, I was thankful. But staying connected was challenging. Internet in war-torn Liberia is unreliable. Talking on the phone is costly. I started to feel like the old saying "Out of sight, out of mind" was being tested and proven true on me.

When I got back to the United States, I was surprised to hear from many individuals who said that while they hadn't written or called me, they had kept up with me by reading my blog. More important, they had prayed consistently for me.

I was touched and overwhelmed. But wished I had known of their commitment, especially during the times I was feeling sorry for myself, believing that few people cared about what I was doing.

While preparing to go back to Liberia a second time, I worried that the same fear, isolation, and sadness would meet me, much like the hot wave of air I felt when stepping out onto the airstrip at Monrovia's airport.

I could do without a hot blast of those old emotions.

But I didn't know how to tell my friends that I needed to hear from them. For a long time, even during my inaugural trip in Liberia, I thought that people should just know I needed them. I didn't think they should have to be reminded or that I should have to explain my need. A big part of me thought I'd be cause my friends guilt if they knew my true feelings.

Finally I came to terms with a hard truth: People can't read my mind.

God, with His amazing omnipotent powers, knows exactly what is on my mind. As our Creator and the Lover of our souls, He knows everything we are feeling and unbelievably, He can relate. He knows exactly what we need even before we ask Him.

His children? Sometimes we may have pretty spot-on intuition. Yet we don't have God powers, and we never will.

I realized that I couldn't blame my friends for not knowing my feelings.

More important, I began thinking about how Jesus handled situations involving need. He often asked people to tell Him what they needed.

"What do you want Me to do for you?" He asked the blind man (Luke 18:35).

"Who is the one who touched Me?" He asked the woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years (Luke 8:45).

"Whom do you seek?" He asked Judas and the Roman cohort that would lead Him to His bloody death (John 18:7).

Since He is God, He already knew the answer to every one of these questions. But regardless of who knows what, there is something powerful in admitting our needs to others.

When we tell God our needs, it builds trust. It deepens reliance. It breaks apart pride.

And I think that's what Jesus had in mind when He prompted people to tell Him what they needed. The act of expressing a need points us back to the One who can give us peace and comfort and meet every one of our needs.

There are similar effects when we tell those close to us what we need. It honors God and gives them an opportunity to come alongside us, to invest in us, to make sure we know that we are not in this life alone.

With that in mind, I did something very hard for me to do.

Shortly before I left for Liberia the second time, I wrote to my friends:

Once I touch down in Liberia, a huge disconnect begins again. I'm not looking forward to that. Internet is unpredictable. Phone calls are expensive. I feel so far away from the people I care about, and often I feel isolated.

I've never asked my friends for this before, but I really need your encouragement. It feels so strange to write that! But I really do need to hear from people when I'm over there, and I'm humbling myself to ask for it. Sometimes I won't be able to write you back immediately because of Liberia's internet service.

But if you can just send me a Bible verse or tell me what God is teaching you or write something encouraging, your words will go a long way in helping me fight isolation and the challenges of daily life. Yes, the writer in me loves long emails. But some of my favorite emails are ones that are short and just remind me that there are people who care about me and what I'm doing. I also LOVE to hear random news because it makes me feel connected to you, so please write me anytime you want to share silly details, small details, big details, or the like.

I mentioned that I was making a few changes to make it easier for me to do my part to stay better connected too. I would try to be at a house or an apartment with a pretty good internet connection, so that I could try to communicate with them over Skype, a free internet phone service. I also gave them the opportunity to write me letters and send cards by giving them a snail mail address.

I was humbled by making such a difficult request. But the payoff was pleasantly surprising.

My friends didn't see my request as a burden. They rallied around me. They were encouraged by the opportunity to take part in this journey.

One friend wrote me:

I was really touched by your honest message from yesterday. Your courage in asking for encouragement challenges me. I am so proud of you for returning to this rocky adventure. When I think of you, I think of Psalm 84:5—"Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage." You are not afraid to walk the pilgrim's way, and I know that this courage is a reflection of your Father.

By humbling myself, I no longer was stealing their opportunity to walk in Jesus' footsteps by reaching out to discouraged people just like me.

My broken pride left me with a deeper understanding of Jesus' love, His desire for His children to rely on Him, His passion for community.

Humbly, I am making my pilgrimage. But I know that I am no longer alone.

To discuss this article, visit our blog, Fresh Brew.

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Christina Holder is a freelance writer based in Liberia, West Africa, where she is recording post-war stories five years after Liberia's brutal 14-year civil war. She is a former reporter for the Naples (Fla.) Daily News and a former reporter/researcher for syndicated columnist Robert D. Novak in Washington, D.C. She writes for the blog Beautifully Broken, which encourages women with God's promise to take their brokenness and to make it beautiful.

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Copyright © 2009 Christina Holder. All rights reserved. This article was published on Ungrind.org on April 26, 2009.