Ask and Receive

There are two parts to the "ask and you shall receive" equation. There's the asking part, which requires knowing what you want or need, knowing what to ask for. And there's the receiving part. Part of the receiving part is recognizing what shows up is what you asked for. Sometimes it's not immediately apparent; sometimes what shows up looks a little differently than anticipated. Such was the case with the chair I spotted in a nearby driveway on the way to the local fruit stand.

I had made a mental note during a Reiki treatment two days prior: I need a chair with a round seat. The square-seated treatment chair I had been using wasn't working, I decided. Its corners were cutting into the backs of my legs, and they were in the way when I had to step around or move the chair. I would start looking, I decided, to find the perfect replacement. In this case, I asked without asking, I suppose. My declaration did the asking for me.

Two days later, with peppers, tomatoes and cucumber on the brain, I set out for Baby Nat's Fruitland, never in a million years expecting to carry home a sack of veggies on one arm and a chair on the other. I did notice a chair en route, in the Yard Sale lady's driveway--two, in fact--along with a few other items evidently left over from the previous day's weekly sale. One was an oversized office chair with arms and a high back. The other was a dirty, bentwood, ice cream parlor style chair, with a sickly gold vinyl upholstery. Its round seat registered with me, but not enough to stop my feet. The question of whether it was out there for the taking (or purchasing) or not helped to keep my feet moving as well, I think. So I was a good ten steps beyond it before I thought "I should at least sit on it. See how it feels." So I retraced my steps, moved the chair out from amidst the other yard sale remnants, and tried it out. I sat, raised my hands to treatment position, and thought, "Hmm. This could work." The height seemed right. It looked like it might clean up nicely. And granted the gold vinyl wasn't ideal, but it was in great shape and clearly durable.

I rang the doorbells of the houses on either side of the driveway, not sure which belonged to the Yard Sale lady. No answer. This was a Sunday. Her yard sales happened on Saturdays. I knew that meant there was a good chance these items were left out for the taking. I'd seen other such leftovers before. But in my estimation, these were just far enough from the street to put the matter in question. I decided to go buy my veggies and reassess the situation on my way back.

By the time I reached the chair again, I knew what I had to do. If it was "my chair," I couldn't risk leaving it and having someone else grab it before I could return. "I have to try it out, at least," I thought. I hooked the chair onto my arm and walked home. If it worked in the room, I would return with a note asking its price.

It did seem to work, and as I cleaned the chair up, I discovered the beauty, solidity, and craftsmanship of its construction under all the dust and cobwebs. I also discovered an imprint--Made in ROMANIA--on the wood of its underside. This chair had come a long way to find itself here in my Reiki room.

My note yielded a phone message a week or so later. "This is Sister Margaret, the yard sale lady," she began. I smiled and listened on. "I hope you took the chair because it's gone." Oh good, I thought. My instincts were right. "You can have it," she continued. "I don't want any money for it." I'd had a feeling this might happen, but I was prepared to offer payment just the same. "Thank you for your honesty." she finished, and hung up.

How perfect, I thought. This is the energy that I will support my treatments. I resolved to write her a thank you card and tell her as much. But before that happened, errands intervened, sending me biking past her place a week or so later--on a Saturday, I realized as I turned onto her street: yard sale day.

"Are you Sr. Margaret?" I asked the woman in a red polo shirt smoking a cigarette who seemed to be in charge of the yard sale in progress. But I'd barely gotten those words out before she was smiling brightly and extending her arms to me for a great hug.

"I remember you!" she exclaimed.

"How is that possible?" I wondered aloud as we embraced. And then I realized: she had confused me with someone else. "I have a twin!" I said to smooth the exchange over. "No, I'm the one who left you the note about the gold chair."

"You wanted to know how much, and I told you to keep it."

"Yes," I said. "And I wanted to tell you: I do energy healing work. I don't charge for what I do. Instead I ask for a Love Offering. And this is the chair I'll be doing those treatments from."

I could see my words connecting in her, touching her, as I spoke them, as their meaning took root, and my eyes teared up.

"I've got goosebumps," she said.

"And I'm crying," I said, pointing to my teary eyes.

I thanked her and blessed her for her gift. Sr. Margaret seemed at a loss for words. She motioned toward my bicycle basket which was brimming with fresh chard from the local farmers' market:

"Well, go green!" she said, and I knew what she meant. Ain't Love grand! is what she meant. Just doing--being--what came naturally to us, we'd opened the way for Love to flow. And we both stood--stand--touched by the beauty that was made of us.