Learning to Ask--It's a Process

Getting ready to go run this morning I was thinking about how happy, content, and all together I felt. I even did a little skippy jump as I walked down the stairs--really I did.  Just then my phone dinged with a text, "We didn't do basketball."  My heart skipped a beat and not out of joy.  "I've got to get to the computer." I thought.

Ding--another text--guess I didn't answer the first one quickly enough (I was trying not to fall down the stairs with my skippy jump...).  Told her I'd do it now.  I knew the store was supposed to be closed at this point, but I was hoping since it was open until midnight last night no one had had time to take it down. (Chalk that up to techno stupidity--you don't have to have a person take it down, I learned--apparently you can program that...)

My hands began to sweat and my heart raced.  "I have failed; I have failed" I began to tell myself, "Another thing Caroline can tell a therapist one day."  (I'm a little over dramatic...) Abrupt stop...

"I haven't failed," I corrected, "I made a mistake." and with that I emailed the athletic coordinator and told her so. I told her the truth.  And then I merrily left for my run. (with a little skippy jump)

The long short story is the store is going to be opened this afternoon for a few hours and Caroline and I can place our order.  I paused to send Caroline a text so she wouldn't worry all day (she is my daughter after all).  She replied in her typical snarky fashion which made me both laugh and think...

Saturday night I sat on William's bed as he shared with me conversations he'd had with some of his friends.  He had shared some vulnerable things with them, and I must admit I was a little worried.  As wonderful as these kids are, they are kids. So I cautiously asked, "How did they respond?" "Really good," he said. (I didn't correct his use of good versus well--sometimes I can keep my mouth shut.) "Oh?" I was hoping for more, and I got it. "They were worried about me, but they said they have my back." Huge sigh of relief from me.

Just then his phone dinged (we have a lot of dinging in our house). It was a friend of his who told him he felt like their friends weren't sympathetic about what he was going through.  I was confused. "Why were they so nice to you and not him?" I asked.  "He hasn't told them anything."  Now I was really confused, "How are they supposed to be sympathetic if they don't know anything?" "Good question," he answered.

I was bothered and stayed bothered all day yesterday and last night.  I hate this kid is feeling uncared for and I really want him to ask for what he needs.  So, I brought it up again with William--"I don't know Mom" (the dreaded MOOOOM, not Mama) he answered barely looking up at me, "He hasn't responded to my text asking him.  Can I please work on my paper?"

Asking for what you need, speaking your truth--it's so hard.  It's risky; it requires vulnerability; it requires being willing to hear what you don't want to hear; it requires being willing to be rejected. Recently I felt that rejection when I was vulnerable and it hurt--bad, but I am learning that while vulnerability can bring pain it can also bring power.  And it allows you to be helped.

I thought about how I have been learning that, and I laughed out loud (yes while I was running and yes someone did hear me and yes they looked a little frightened of the crazy lady...). I thought, "This time last year I would have come up with some big story about why I hadn't ordered the basketball stuff yet, but instead I just told her the truth.  I messed up." And she responded, not because I'm special but because I asked...

In yesterday's gospel the rich young man asks Jesus what he must do to have eternal life.  The man asked, he humbled himself in front of Jesus and the crowds--that took courage.  Sometimes I wonder if we focus so much on what he wasn't willing to do--sell all his possessions and follow Jesus--that we miss what he did do.  Here was a man who seemed to have it all, but he knew he was missing something, and he knew who to ask.  He raced after Jesus, knelt before him in front of everyone, and he asked. He just wasn't ready for the answer.

Learning to ask for help, learning to speak your truth, learning to be vulnerable--it's a process.