Ask

Hey Friends! Thanks for continuing the Country Girl Cattle Drive as we herd 111 verses from the pages of our Bibles to our hearts. (Matthew 5-7)

(If you are new, here’s the scoop: I write down a verse and then write a story to help us remember the verse. If you want to begin at the start of the current story, go to the post entitled “Store Up.”)

Matthew 7:7-11 “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!

Io’s Journal

First intelligible thought this morning: “I will never want anything again. I have everything.”

I felt like Sarah Crew waking up in the magically transformed attic—the fluffy bed, the warmth, and my sister there. I mean, her alarm (which is the quiet baa-ing of a sheep) didn’t exactly fit the whole 19^th Century London era theme, but I can pretend. And I did pretend, closing my eyes, breathing in the last whiffs of Wyoming air and sagebrush left in the fibers of our comforter, imagining that there was a shimmering robe left to me by the magic.

I meant to eat breakfast with Nia before she left for work, but the next thing I knew, Cal was jumping on my bed, smelling like pancake syrup (and feeling like pancake syrup, apparently, since my comforter was a little sticky after he scampered away, back to the kitchen).

Later in the morning, Mom drove us a few blocks to Uncle Cyrus’ office where we boxed up our school things and then went for a walk. I used to love Kansas City and all the people going everywhere and the offices and the stores and stadiums. Then we moved to Wyoming and I loved it so much that I wasn’t sure I could love a city again, but I really love Wichita. I love the river winding through the city and the happy metal statues downtown. Today I asked if we could go to the big round building.

“Century II?” Uncle Cyrus asked. “Let’s go.”

The wind has a bite to it now and the trees are embarrassingly naked. But it just seemed like something slightly annoying—like a fly I could just flick. “I can just go inside and get away from you,” I tell it in my head. A few days ago, the cold had felt like an enemy stalking my family. It’s amazing that things can change so quickly.

I knew we couldn’t go inside; Century II is an events center and no events seemed to be going on on. Even if there had been an event going on, it would probably would have been something like “Aglet Enthusiasts of America” or “Paper Towel Manufacturing of the Future.” You know, not exactly my scene. But the building is cool and I was curious.

While the little guys threw pennies in the fountains out front, I asked if I could look at the posters in the windows. “I’ll go with you,” Uncle Cyrus said.

And that’s when I discovered an uncomfortable truth about life.

Hanging in one of the windows was a huge poster of a girl near my age in a glittering tutu, holding up a nutcracker. Smaller images of the ballet danced around the central image in fuzzy dream-bubble things. The dates for the performances were written in a silvery, swirling script.

“I want something again,” I murmured, turning away from the poster.

“What?” Uncle Cyrus asked, looking down at me, his brown fedora cocked to one side.

“Uncle Cyrus, do you think it’s a sin to ask God for something if you actually have everything you need?”

I chewed on my lip, walking back toward Mom and the others.

“No, I think you’re good.”

I was expecting a theological thesis, but this was good enough for me. I trusted my uncle.

As Ro ran into my arms and her cold cheek pressed against mine, I said a prayer: “God, could you work it out for Eleanor and I to go to the Nutcracker together?”