“I ask once or twice a year,” she said. “But it’s a powerful question. It should only be used wisely.”
I was interviewing a woman I’ll call Ms. C. for an article on faith and spirituality. She was truly an elder. I don’t mean age-wise, although she appeared to be in her mid-seventies. By “elder” I mean the sort of person who lives deeply and gladly passes along what she has learned.
Ms. C. dressed up for our meeting. She wore a navy blue suit and dazzlingly patterned silk shirt, a tiny hat perched on her elaborately coiffed hair, with bright red lipstick that made her dark skin glow. The pants and sweater I’d tossed on looked pretty casual by comparison.
Ms. C talked about seeing the divine in all things. She spoke precisely, with poetic imagery, but also slid easily into humorous retorts. I felt a wondrous enlargement of spirit in her presence and found myself reluctant to end our interview.
Then she mentioned that she knew the most powerful question of all.
I waited to find out what that might be.
She told me that it should be asked only when the questioner felt strong and ready for the answers. And it should only be asked of those who loved you and could be trusted to tell the truth. She told me she asked it of her husband (of 42 years) every now and then. She also asked her sisters and close friends, usually when she felt prompted by some unknown impulse. The question seems simple:
“Is there something I should know?”
But the answers it brings out are rarely simple.
When Ms. C. kept receiving important and sometimes surprising answers to that question it inspired her friends to take up the question too. She gave me a few examples.
~A neighbor was told by everyone she asked that she needed to seek medical help for a condition she thought was under control.
~A sibling found out that his son was back on drugs.
~A person was informed that a long-standing habit of his infuriated his best friend.
~A former co-worker learned that she came across as haughty and cold, and needed to learn how to get past her shyness to let people see her warmth.
~A friend was told that a secret he thought had been buried long ago was out, but no one had wanted to break the news to him.
Ms. C. says that she mostly listens to what the Quakers call the “small still voice” inside her but she keeps one ear open to what else she might need to know.
I tend to think there’s peace right beyond the need of answers but I won’t deny that Ms. C’s question has its uses. Nor will I deny that truth-telling feels wonderfully liberating.
Do you have a truth just itching to get free, if only a certain person would ask you?
And what about seeking the truth others hold for you? Will you be asking this powerful question?
