That is all I want to know.
[No. 88]
IF YOU WERE TO MEET JESUS AND COULD ONLY ASK HIM ONE QUESTION ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
A piece by Rebecca Woolf
Shadow selfie by Rebecca Woolf
I am answering this question the way I ask the participants in my writing class to answer questions they are unable to answer.
If a writing prompt does not speak to you, write about why.
I learned this from one of my high school English teachers who, after I refused to answer an essay question that I [a seventeen-year old contrarian] did not want to answer, told me to write an essay about why.
The original assignment – which I do not recall exactly – although I believe it was in regards to a Shakespearean play – was one page, but my response ended up being ten. I wanted him to understand why I didn’t agree with him, and in doing so I better understood myself. My anger. My opinions. And the way my experience had informed my response.
This was one of the most influential moments of my life and made me realize who I was both as a writer and a person – someone who feels more comfortable asking myself questions than I do answering them. Someone who wants to learn from my mistakes. Someone who does not want to be told what she has done right OR wrong. Someone who wants to live her life without the authority of gods or men who claim to “have answers.”
Years ago, I was gifted my first [and only] sit-down with a psychic. Anyone who claims to know more than most people I am wary of. [I do love a tarot read, though. For me, flipping cards in a deck feels like a validation of a present instead of a want to know about the future.]
For me, even giving a psychic a chance to tell me about me felt like a denial of my own instincts and sense for adventure.
I didn’t buy a single word she was saying, and I couldn’t wait for the session to end. But it wasn’t just that. The very idea that my life was already pre-ordained made me feel uncomfortable.
I had no idea what was coming [and what was coming was A LOT] but is that not the point of being alive?
I have always felt protective of my life and don’t want anyone to put eyes on it before I do – least of all a stranger! Which is where I return to Jesus and the question at hand: If I were to meet Jesus and could only ask him one question about my life, I would ask him the only question I know the answer to.
Jesus, will I die?