Our blue chair has a story behind it. I still remember the day we selected it. It didn’t come from a furniture store. Rather we saw it on the way home from a speaking contest. I was dressed like a princess (because I was speaking about my fairytale marriage, and how letting go of the things I thought I wanted (temporal things) enabled me to hold on to the things that really mattered most). I wore a dark blue flowing silk gown, high heels. I even had a tiara.
As we neared our home stretch, I saw this blue chair, sitting by the road. “Oh Jeff, look! A chair just like I was praying for, for our family room.” With little money, we couldn’t just go out and purchase furniture.
Jeff rolled his eyes and giggled at me as I hopped out of the car, in my blue flowing dress and high heels. “Do you want your tiara princess?” He joked, extending his hand my way with the crown.
I glanced back at him and smiled, dodging mud puddles, and keeping my eye on the chair. As I neared it, I noticed a rip in the fabric, down from one of the decorative front buttons. But I could fix it. I glanced at the legs of the chair. The fabric had come unhemmed. But a needle and thread could do that up nice. There was some obvious soiling beneath the arm rests, but I had faith that with some scrubbing and old fashioned elbow grease, it would come clean.
“What do you think?” Jeff hollered out the car window.
I glanced at Jeff. “I think we can fix it up. Let’s take it home.”
I grabbed one side of the chair, Jeff grabbed the other. Together we placed the chair in the trunk.
He skillfully managed the car down the streets and to our driveway. We scurried out and lifted the chair from the trunk, and walked it back to the patio. Jeff drove off to work. I went to task.
First I sprayed the chair down with disinfectant. Then I lathered it with antibacterial soap, scrubbing off all the layers of soiling. I rinsed off the suds and let the chair dry in the sunlight. I soaked and scrubbed the cushion. I laundered the cushion cover and then dried it on the clothesline. After the chair had dried, I threaded a needle and carefully mended the upholstery.
That night, when Jeff arrived home, we added our “new” chair to the family room. It not only worked, it matched our decor perfectly. It has become one our favorite comfy spots to enjoy.
My chair story reminds me of my marriage story. As a woman whose husband experienced job loss and depression, I know marriage is not easy. But I want to offer hope. Christian marriage is a cleansing process. With a lot of prayer, and following the Bible’s principles, God’s mending and scrubbing at the stains of the hearts of imperfect humans, marriage can be a treasure and a comfort. Maybe we’ll think of the little blue chair next time our marriages challenge us.