Saturday, May 29, 2010

The blue chair.
















I am not a materialistic person. I don't like "stuff", to a rather eccentric extreme. So when I started making decisions concerning what of my "stuff" would come with me to my new home next month I didn't think of anything except getting rid of more "stuff". A project like that usually makes me happy. I see empty spaces and smile.

That was until today.

As we discussed what furniture I would take with me, and which would go with my brothers family, and which needed to be gotten rid of my blue chair came under scrutiny. It's a "recliner" in the loosest sense of the word since it doesn't actually recline. Or, should the unthinking victim actually attempt to recline, they find themselves reclined to a rather unnatural extreme and unable to unrecline themselves. It's amusing to watch.

But the blue chair was very comfortable for plain old sitting.

But that's not why I cried after it left.

I can remember, picture in my mind, as if it happened just moments ago my sweet, sturdy, beautiful Bell climbing into that chair, far too big for her and sitting, chubby legs askew. I've got pictures of her in just that spot.
I remember taking pictures of Baby and Toddles, my first duo placement, as they sat together in that chair.
And how well I remember Little One sitting in that chair, laying in that chair, eating her favorite banana in that chair.
I remember Sniffles who seemed to fall asleep lying out across the chair.

I looked at the empty lines the frame left on the floor after the man had carried away such a treasure, and I just cried. I miss those babies, but more than anything else in this world I miss my Bell. I'd have given everything I have for that child, and now her chair is gone.

I didn't think it was important. And in truth, it probably isn't. It is still just a chair, the memories are still mine. But if I had it to do over again... I would just crowd my future living room with my blue chair. And be happy.

4 comments:

wendyworn said...

awww! I totally relate. Last year the Lord put it on my heart to quit my job, get rid of all my stuff and go on the road to totally trust in Him. I wasn't sad about the tv or video games or my cast-iron bed with the firm mattress. But there was a shelf (an ugly one at that) that I had growing up and was one of the few pieces of furniture that no matter where I lived, once the shelf was up, whether I used it in the kitchen, or bedroom or living room, the place was home. Getting rid of that almost signified that I would not be having a home in the same way I had in the past. I did cry about the shelf, even as I thought about how it was ugly and replaceable and why would a person cry about such an ugly shelf? haha. so I feel your pain.

God bless you!

flyawaynet said...

Thank you Wendy. I think we're more attached to the ugly stuff, or the broken things, than we are the perfect unblemished.
I'd love to know more about how you've gone on the road just trusting in God. It sounds like an interesting story.

wendyworn said...

You can read about it on my blog:
http://www.wendyworn.blogspot.com/
If you start last May and work forward you can see some of the things the Lord has shown me.

May the Lord bless you!

lifeinourlane said...

It was bringing out anything that belonged to Queenie that created hot tears. Still does. There's so little left that was just hers. Bubba and Flowergirl have nearly everything. When the rocking chair moved out of the attic I felt like my heart would crumble if they broke it. The tiny table went to Goodwill because I couldn't bear how rough Bubba was with it. The only thing left that neither of them uses is a chest of drawers in Flowergirl's bedroom. And when we cross that final frontier--with them or the next kids--I will know for certain that she is not coming back.

And I'm sitting here crying like three years ago was yesterday. It's a pain I've earned and I have no intention of letting it go too easily. Queenie deserves more than that. She turned 5 on April 6. Without me, just like she turned 3 and 4 and will be 6 next year. Without me.

My prayers for her have changed, though. I no longer pray to get her back. God knows that. And He's answered. I don't like it, but there you are. Now I pray for her to have a beautiful, happy, wonderful life, loved and loving in return. I hate to think of her wandering in the land of the emotionally lost. I can't.

Cry on, girl. Bell deserves it.