Rebuilding and resistance

Sometimes we just don't want something fixed, but our Father has other plans.

When my uncle was emptying my grandparents' house, he called my parents and asked if there was anything we wanted to keep. I could only think of one thing - an old, broken down rocking chair.


It was made before the Civil War and was an absolute wreck, even when I was small. It was painted a color only found in a sick baby's diaper. The boards on the seat had all come unglued. I remember rocking in it during Sunday dinners and pinching the back of my little legs. Despite its condition, I loved it because it was just the right size and made the most glorious creaking noise. It sat in Grandma's dining room, between the gas heater and the china cabinet.

I loved rocking and making that glorious creaking sound, it was the sound of being happy at Grandma's. I was the baby and her favorite and everybody knew it. She knew she didn't have long to live and lavished as much attention on me as she could while she could. Needless to say, our short time together had quite an impact.

When the chair arrived at my parents' house 25 years later, I was living 40 miles away. I got there as soon as time off could be had.

Upon my arrival, there was a terrible surprise.

"Oh, that chair was a mess. Your father took it apart and is putting it back together. He's painting it black, like it was when my grandfather had it - not that horrible brown. I don't know why they painted it that color! You'll have a nice chair when he's all through," said my mother.

Well, I didn't WANT a NICE CHAIR. I wanted the chair from memory and was never so angry in all my life.

I wanted my ugly, broken down creaky chair and they ruined it! These were the people that told me that help wasn't help unless somebody asked you to help. I didn't care that building furniture was one of the things my father does best. I DID NOT ask them to help. How could they do this to me?

Eventually, I cooled off. No, the chair is not like I remember it and that's O.K.

It is so much better. You would never know all the boards had been separated on the seat. You would never know it was once painted sick baby diaper brown. If you're brave enough to sit on it, it doesn't creak.

It is a lovely black rocking chair with some decorative painting on the back - my father's special touch just for me. With love and a lot of hard work, he took a mess and made something wonderful.

I love my black rocking chair now. Frankly, I've got no clue what I ever would have done with it in its previous state.

How often in our lives do we want to hang on to broken, ugly, useless things just because we are attached to them? What would happen if we stopped grasping them, gave them over to our Heavenly Father and let Him do what He does best?