Ash Wednesday

       I could always tell by the way she approached me whenever Helen wanted to ask me something, but - for some silly reason - was a little afraid to do so.

       I was reading on the sofa when she knelt on the floor beside me, head bowed, took my hand and rubbed it nervously between both of her own.  "Can I ask you something?"

       "I think you just did."

       Helen, who was more indulgent of my weak humor than most, smiled and simply replied, "Something else."

       "Ohhh.  Sure, go ahead."  I never really understood her apprehensiveness about asking me certain things, as it never upset me in any way for her to simply pose a question.

       After lifting her face to smile at me, she turned it back down, and increased the rate of her hand massage.  "I was wondering...Could you...Would you mind taking me to church tomorrow?"  Explanitorially, she added, "It's Ash Wednesday."

       I gave her a kind of puzzled, furrowed brow look, but answered.  "Absolutely.  That's not a problem."

       She beamed another smile up at me, then kissed the hand she had in custody, and said, "Thank you."

       Because I'm a relentless snoop, I asked her, "Is this coming from anyplace in particular, or...?"

       The rate of hand rubbing picked up again, and the beaming smile became a blinking-on-and-off one.  Still, straightly enough, she replied, "I've just been feeling like going to church lately, and I thought Ash Wednesday might be a good time."  She bit her lower lip.

       "Okay.  So what's the problem?  What are you looking so nervous about?"

       She looked away, in a variety of directions, before mustering a reply.  "I'm...Well, what if...What if I started going to church, and it became something..."  She searched for a word, but failed to find it.  Happens to me, too.

       Fortunately, I've got reasonably good intuition, and can work fairly well off a limited number of clues.  I smiled softly at her and suggested, "What?  You're afraid you might turn from your wicked ways...and that might affect our relationship?"

       She merely nodded in reply.  Helen was never one for long, detailed answers.

       My smile broadened a bit, and I told her, "Jeez, Helen, I don't think I'm likely to begrudge God taking you away from me, if it comes to that."

       Helen frowned, then piped up, "Can I ask you something else?"

       "Well, you're nearing the daily question limit, but, all right."

       "Do you believe in God?"

       "Absolutely.  But I don't really know Him."  I let that hang in the air a second or two, then grinned and added, "Maybe I'm afraid if I really got to know Him...He might take you away from me."

       She launched herself up off the floor, into my arms, and hugged me tightly to her.  She whispered in my ear, "You're so good to me."

       My reply was, "Actually, sweetheart, I think the truth is that it's God who's too good to all of us.  Me, I'm just occasionally mildly thoughtful.  But, thanks for the kind words all the same."

       It made Helen happy to attend Ash Wednesday Mass the next day.  And that made me happy.  I didn't mind the service either, come to think of it.

       And, as things turned out, I doubt rather seriously that it was God who ended up taking her away from me.