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The Chair

When Jim and I were dating, we had a three-month breakup over Calvinism and alcohol. (I would say, in case you're wondering, we are still not on the same page on either issue, God has used it. Also, our chemistry outweighed Calvinism, so here we are.)

While we were broken up, Jim's mom decided to give away her matching red and white recliners. He remembered that I loved those recliners, so he asked if he could keep one in the attic, just in case...during the breakup.

That's what you call hope.

Had I known that, I wouldn't have cried myself to sleep so many nights, but anyway, that chair ended up in our first nursery and stayed there until just a few months ago when we disassembled our nursery for the first time in twelve years. It's been in use the whole time.

I've rocked all five babies all 24-hours of the day in that chair.

I've fallen asleep hundreds of times in that chair.

I've read "Goodnight Moon" and "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" countless that chair.

I've disciplined and discipled children in that chair.

I've watched the sun rise and set over the Mississippi River in that chair.

I've kissed Jim and the children and the dog (actually, I don't kiss dogs) all while in that chair.

I've laughed hard in that chair.

I've cried harder in that chair.

I've lived hours upon hours of my life in that chair. That breakup chair that was stored in the attic in a stroke of hope has turned out to usher me through the rawest moments of my life. That chair has held me up in all the hidden moments, the most vulnerable ones.

Now, I've written a book sitting right in that very same spot.

That chair is a sacred space. It's a pew. It's an altar. It's an Ebenezer, a stone of remembrance. It's the place where God has met me more often than any other. To you, it may just look like a recovered recliner, but to me, that chair looks like hope.

What is your chair?

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