RESERVED

Let me start by saying, this was not my original idea.  I have read about similar concepts in a couple of different places and have been wanting to add a chair like this one to my home, but, as in all things... timing.

I haven't figured out what to call it: Ancestor Chair? Divine Space? Throne of God (lol!)? But, really, for me, this chair is a physical space to remind me of all of these things: 

1.  "Fear not, for I am with you." ~ Isaiah 41:10

When my family and friends are gathered around our table at Thanksgiving, birthday parties, or just family get togethers, the Divine is there.  When we are rushing around in the morning, eating breakfast and making lunches, Divine is there.  When my son is doing homework on the kitchen island and I cook dinner, Divine is there.  When we sit down in the evenings to watch our t.v. show, Divine is there.  We are never alone, and although that could take on a bit of creepiness ... for me, it is really a reminder each time I look upon that chair to remember that Spirit is a part of and all around my family.  Watching us. Guiding us. and Holding us when we need to be held.  This chair is a physical space that I have reserved for that presence that we know is there but cannot see with our human vision.

2.  "And all wept, and bewailed her: but he said, Weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth." ~ Luke 8:52

Our lives and home have welcomed many whom we have loved and had to let go.  Just this year, 2 very special people whom we were lucky enough to entertain in our home passed away unexpectedly.  I want them to know they are always welcome back.  There is a space for them and for all the blessings they brought into our lives.  I want the spirits of our family members: aunts and grandparents and those from whose lineage we come but have never met, our ancestors, to know they have a space in our home.  My husband's Pawpaw, whom I never had the chance to meet.  He has a space in our home.  Our dear friends Scottie and Peter.  They have a space in our home.   All of these people have helped us become who we are.  There will always be space for them in our lives whether or not we can embrace them with our human arms.

3.  "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." ~ Matthew 11:28

I recently was reading about simple acts of kindness to practice with your children.  One that resonates with me and that I have tried to teach my son is to give up your seat for those who need it more.  When we are seated in a place, be it waiting room, restaurant lobby, public transportation, etc., and someone comes in who needs a seat, we get up to give them ours.  This chair in our kitchen reminds me not only to extend that kindness to others, but also that the same kindness should be afforded to ourselves.  As I am bustling around my kitchen, the heart of my home where everything takes place, I see that chair and remember that God or Divine or whoever you conceive Him or Her to be, would give up their seat for you who are weary.  I am reminded to take rest.

The kitchen in my home is the perfect place for this chair - this space.  Like I said, my kitchen is the heart of my home.  We do daily things there: We eat. We clean. We make lunches. We do homework.  We talk about our day. We play games. But when I think back, some very monumental things have happened there as well. We have argued. We have cried. We welcome a friend to our table who needed advice because he'd lost his job. We paced its floors, a few months later, in anticipation of telling his parents he'd passed away. We sat on its countertops while we cried with them over the phone from hundreds of miles away. We got to know someone we hoped to welcome to our family. We sat at its table and mourned what could have been.  We held hands with those who faced difficult decisions as their tears washed its floors. And we fed their souls with warm food that we cooked on its stovetop.

These are hard things.  Our kitchen has seen hard work. If I was going to reserve a space in my kitchen that would hold those who needed rest from these hard things, I needed a chair that could handle it.  When I saw this chair, it seemed perfect.  It is worn.  It is imperfect.  It is old and haggard.  And it is beautiful.  It has seen things and held people.  It is the chair of a painter, a carpenter, a Creator.  For me, this chair is many things.  For those who are welcomed into my home, this chair may mean something, or nothing, or everything.  Whatever its interpretation, this chair is my way of holding space for the Spirit that I want to infuse our daily life - our comings and goings.  This year, as we enter the Holiday Season, this is especially important to me.  Undoubtedly, this chair will be a resting place for us and others as we endure the future Joys, Daily Doings, and Hard Things that life will bring us.  May we be reminded that we are not alone, that those whom we love are never lost, and that we have a place to rest our bones.