Questions

Mom told me a while ago that I'm quite good at asking people questions. Call me a cryptic child, but I wouldn't just offer information when someone asked, "how was your day?" Like most children, I'm sure. But ask me the right question and I could give an answer that satisfied well enough. "Does Mr. C challenge you in reading?" Hmmm. I'd have to think a while, but that's always the first step to a good reply. 

I think it was stitched in me before time began. "You, daughter, will ask questions."

And I did: "Hey there, Don. How fast can your wheelchair go? When did you move into the retirement home? What if you had a standing wheel chair? Would you like that better?" I was very young when I asked a middle-aged man Don these questions and it would lead to a walk all over Churchill, Montana, and him explaining how he got in that motorcycle accident in the 70s.

And questions would lead to knowing every story about my dad and grandmother.

And to knowing that my mom had gone on 15 - 20 dates in high school, which I - a sophomore who had no idea what a date even felt like - concluded that times have just changed. I couldn't handle that many dates.

And English-teacher-turned-potato-farmer's wife knowing as easily how to ask me questions as we walked through spud fields picking out bad plants. And how that led to wondering exactly how God chose to create the world and exactly how she ended up on a potato farm.

And long conversations with my great grandmother before she died. She related what it was like in the early 30s, during the depression to move away to take care of a family and clean for them and to come back with a husband, a man orphaned as a child and very much needing a home and a family.

I have to be careful when I ask questions, however, because my adult self is not as earnest as my child self. To ask and already think you know the answer is manipulative. So I try to ask out of true curiosity, and of course to get to know people better.