just ask

Kelly's cat, Scout

Someplace in the Bible, it says, “You have not because you ask not.” There is nothing sadder to me than that. (Okay, a few things…but not many.) What a bummer to realize that you could have had some amazing thing if only you had asked. I am an asker. Almost everything I know is a direct result of asking for help. Even this blog is thanks to my friend, Lance. He knew how to blog. I didn’t. So I asked him to help me.

     Perhaps part of the whole asking thing is admitting your own cluelessness. I am good at that. I don’t know much, and freely admit it. Then I ask.

     My friend, Jean, in Saint Louis was a gardener. She had a knack for growing the most beautiful flowers in lovely semi-random beds.

      At the time, gardening scared me. In my family, we never even mowed the grass, let alone plant a flower. Jean helped me. I asked question after question. She gave me little starts of Lamb’s Ear, Coreopsis, Miniature Iris, Violet, many more. I love Jean.

     Growing up, I never had a dad. I never really knew what that meant, to be honest. I knew a guy, technically my father, who occassionally stopped by to take me bowling. That was it. In eigth grade, I was walking home from school and some guy pulls up beside me in a sports car, rolls down the window and goes, "Hey - do you know who I am?" I stopped, squinted my eyes at him. Nothing. "Aah. No," I answered, nervous to be talking to a stranger. "I'm your father." Oops. But, hey... I could roll with that. Once I'd checked his I.D., that is. The truth was, I hadn't seen him in years. In that time, he had transformed from Charlie, a  paunchy guy with a crew cut, into Chaz, a cool, fit, shades-wearing guy with sideswept hair. No wonder I didn't recognize him. I thought the whole “Dad” thing was such an overrated concept. Then I had kids and observed Quiet Guy being a real dad. The kind that takes his daughters out for breakfast, teaches them how to drive, pays for things, takes them to the dentist, and eats dinner with them every night. Wow. Huh?

      So I asked God for a dad. I needed a face to put in that mental slot once I'd  apprehended it, and Chaz didn't fit the bill. What I got was Mister Rogers. He was the closest thing to a modern day saint this side of Canada. I’ve read a lot about Fred Rogers, most notably a book called I‘m proud of You: My Friendship With Fred Rogers by Tim Madigan, and the books The World According to Mister Rogers, and Life’s Journey’s According to Mister Rogers.  Most of my days include reading some bit from the latter two. They help me a lot. Here's one of Fred's gems: "It's a mistake to believe that we have to be lovely to be loved by human beings or by God".

     Obviously, Mister Rogers was not my dad; but thinking of him in that way and soaking up his wisdom helps me. We all need a little help. We all get scared. That is life. But being curious and asking are good ideas.