Abandoned. Rejected. Seen better days. Counted as trash. Sitting in a Chicago alley, where disowned furniture finds its way to the land fill, was a forest green, diamond patterned, wing back chair. Gorgeous and trendy in the early 90s, now  dumpster bound. 

I quickly put on the brakes and turned down the alley. 

“Where are we going, Mama?” One if my kids had asked. 

“I just want to check this chair out.” 

Some might be squirmy right now. Maybe you are thinking, “no, Heather! Don’t do it! Bed bugs! Mice! And just GROSS!” 

I know. Sometimes I am crazy. But I’ve never been afraid to check out alley furniture. Matt often laughs at how my eyes can’t help but look down the alleys for potential treasure. “Always lookin’” he has prescribed me. 

I had been keeping an eye on Craigslist and Goodwill for a chair that could be my spot for time with God, reading, writing with a cup of coffee in hand during the quiet morning hours before the kids woke up. Before me was a potentially free option. 

I hopped out of our van. Inspected the chair. Apart from being old it was in great condition. I could paint the fabric and turn it into something that fit into our home. Wrapping my short arms around the chair I heaved it up and into our van. 

“What’s that, Mama?” 

“It’s my new chair!” I explained excitedly. A creative project has always given me life. Now, more than ever, having a task that I can see the beginning, middle and end is energizing as my usual daily routine with Finley is monotonous and progress is hard to measure.

We parked in front of our apartment building. I got the kids up into our four story walk up. Then ran back down the stairs and hauled my chair up 4 flights of stairs into our apartment. 

Later that afternoon I bought a fun 70s inspired red paint and started transforming my “new to me” chair. 

Painting fabric is a long process. You have to water down the paint and sand in between coats to keep the fabric soft. The first four or five coats of paint the chair looked awful. Taking a chair from 90s green to 70s red made the chair look sick. 

“Are you sure this is going to work, Mama?” 

“No, this is my first time trying this. But I think it will. It just takes time.”

“You are like this chair.” I felt God whisper in my heart as I painted. 

“Where you have felt rejected, abandoned and lost within special needs I see a hidden treasure. I see beauty and comfort and companionship.” Tears sprang into my eyes as I painted. 

“Thank you, God.” I whispered back, tucking his words in my heart and mind. Clinging to them like a lifeline. 

Four days later I sat in my cute, little, 70s red, wingback chair. I had used my saw to cut the legs shorter like the Craigslist IKEA wingback chair we had scored for Matt a few months earlier. My feet actually sat flat on the floor even though my hips were completely to the back of the chair. A rare experience for my short frame. 

As I sat in my “new to me” chair, I quietly remembered the kind words of God: Beauty. Comfort. Companionship. 

Little did I know how many hours I would spend in my red chair. Little did I know how many tears I would cry, I many prayers I would pray, how many words of grief I would think and speak and write. Little did I know how many Bible pages book pages I would read, grasping at survival and desperate to grow and exhausted of feeling stuck in the same place all within the comfort and beauty and companionship of my red chair. 

The once abandoned holding the abandoned. The once lost, holding the one who felt lost. The once rejected surrounding the one who was struggling with rejection. Yet somewhere in the middle of all of the pain was the reminder of beauty and comfort and companionship painted into the fabric that I sat on, established by The Comforter himself. 

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction…” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4a)