It made me laugh at first, hearing my friend say it. "I've got bad jokes!" he told me with a shrug. "I do what I can with what I've got! And what I've got, Ree, are bad jokes." I grinned, in the moment thinking it was honestly rather fitting for him. A crocs-wearing (oh yes, you did, in fact, read that correctly) ball of sunshine reaching out to those in need with bad jokes. Possibly the most accurate depiction I could ascribe to him.

And then I saw it in action.

I watched this friend of mine, who jovially offered up his jokes, put a smile back on the face of someone in need. Someone struggling to smile at all. I heard laughter from someone who hadn't so much as cracked a smirk in quite a while. I saw the hope sneak back into every person's eyes bit by bit after every single punchline. As he delivered every single, terrible punchline, always exceedingly worse than the last, my friend put his arms around them, listened to them closely, and coaxed the joy back into their lives.

And it taught me something. Something important.

Every single person is unique, and thus everyone has a unique way of offering support. It's easy to convince ourselves that what we have to offer is not enough; a painful lie, it invades our hearts and keeps us from reaching out to others. But the truth of the matter is, the effort that we are willing to put forth, our very best, can make a world of difference. More so than we know.

The key is in embracing the support that we are able to give. I can't force an act of support that belongs to someone else when I'm trying to help. I can only give of what I have, of who I am. I can channel everything that I am into genuine conversations with those in need and let them know that I am an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. I don't have a knack for terrible jokes. I can't pull sage words of wisdom out of thin air. I don't know what the next steps should be or what all the resources are. But I am stubborn. I love to love actively. I love to talk with the people about whom I care. I love spending time with my friends, I love surprising people with things I think might make them smile. I love writing dumb little sayings and encouraging words on Post-It notes and leaving them for people to find. I know I don't deserve the incredible friendships in which I now find myself. That very fact pushes me towards being the best friend I can be to those who have chosen to be in my life.

I have my own motivations, my own inspirations. I have my own ups and downs, my own story. I cannot draw upon other people's talents, stories, or skills. I can only draw from and embrace what I am, using it as best I can in the service of others.

And it will happen so often that words aren't enough. It will happen so often that words aren't correct. It will happen over and over and over again that life throws a curveball into the lives of the people I love that I have no idea how to help with. Support so easily becomes an agonizing, confusing nightmare of staying inside my own head, of convincing myself I am not enough instead of reminding the person I love that they are. But support is not planned. It is not scripted. It is not generalizable. It is not perfect. Support is a personal offer of care and love. It is a way to let the people you love know that you are there for them. As you.

My dear, terrible joke toting friend doesn't pretend to be more than he is. He helps others by being true to himself, and I can say without a doubt that his is some of the best help I have ever seen or experienced. So I'm learning. I'm learning from him. From the people in my life who are true to themselves and thus provide support that rings true with others. It's not planned. It's not perfect. It'll be me.

I'm ready for that.