Her Chairs

Mom worked every day of her life. Advanced age and debilitating health weren’t about to change that. She woke early, drove a 45 minute commute and then began the chore of getting to her second floor office. Congestive heart failure limited her steps. If she walked too far wheezing and panting made her desperate to catch her breath. It was especially hard to watch as the years wore on. 

Chairs were strategically placed every ten to twelve feet. The first one just inside the front door, with others next to the elevator, inside the elevator, outside the elevator,  down the hall, and finally at her desk. She would walk in the front door and sit down. Then get up, walk to the elevator and sit while she waited for it. Once on the second floor, chairs dotted the hallway.  When she needed to rest...a chair was waiting. The routine was repeated at the end of the day.  She was tired then and her strength was fading. So the trip down the hallway took a lot longer.  And every chair was needed.

Strength, resolve, grit, determination…whatever you want to call it…she had it all and then some.  No complaining….no whining…no pity…no excuses. Five days a week, twice a day for years. And even on her last day – though she never made her commute - her clothes were laid out on the bed, ready to dress for work. None of us knew she was taking her last breath. She quickly and quietly left this world.  

No more chairs.

She’d never imagine her chairs would leave such an impression…not only for what they did for her…but for what they’re still teaching me. When things get to be too much, sit down. Catch your breath. Doesn’t matter how many times.  

As the years go by and I mature, I realize the wisdom, strength, and faith she lived every day.  Maybe we don’t realize it at the time for a reason. Maybe we’re just not ready. What I do know is that her legacy is rich…yet as simple as a trail of chairs.

Walk as far as you can…take a break…keep going.  

Standing With You - Standing For You

Jenny McCann Photography

She is a constant

Looking not for glory of her own

Only looking for opportunity to point to yours.

Her name rolls off the tongues of my children with more joy and anticipation

than meeting the most beautiful princess or strongest super hero

Somehow - she makes you feel valuable in your lowest moment

And celebrates you when you're at your very best

Others may be in your living room enjoying a party

You'll find her in your kitchen loading the dishwasher just before she leaves....so you don't have to

Her burdens have been heavy - her heart has been broken

But through every trial - she has grown and remained steadfast

She points to the grace of the cross

Simply because she breathes air

She's my sister but I gladly share her with you

You'll thank me...I promise

Our Friend Ralph

He was a large man. When you’re nine years old everyone seems so much bigger than you, but he really was. Well over six feet tall and full bodied. He had a pleasant, billowy laugh. It was gentle and easy. Never loud…it just flowed with a sincerity that still echoes in my mind.  

He visited my Mom at our store regularly. He smiled as he called out her name with a warm hello.  He always wore a big, manly coat in the winter. It was corduroy with a wooly collar…his flannel shirt buttoned up to his neck, peeked out just a bit. His dark work pants just barely reached the top of his laced up work boots. He wore a thick beanie hat. His glasses fogged from the cold winter air.  

He knew just what to do. He walked slowly to the back stockroom to get a broom. His worn out work boots shuffled along the narrow hallway. He seemed to like sweeping. The broom gliding across the linoleum tiles with a quiet ease. He smiled, taking pride in his work.  

“Ralph, would you mind shoveling the front sidewalk?” my Mom asked as she readied the front counter for the day. “I’ll get right on it, my Nancy,” he replied.  

My Nancy.  

She was important to him. She listened to his stories. It was mostly one or two….told over and over. Yet she paid attention as if it was the first time she heard it. His voice was deep and warm…somewhat captivating. She listened.  And he smiled.

She never saw him as a grown man with the mind of a child. She saw the kindness of his heart and his need to feel the satisfaction of a job well done. She always had chores for him to do. Boxes to take out, floors to sweep, sidewalks to shovel. And when he finished he would always walk up and lean on the counter.  

“Well, I guess that wraps it up for today”, he’d say. Mom would “pay” him with lunch from the diner two doors down, or some snacks to take back to his room for later. He always acted surprised that she gave him something. And he smiled.

Ralph lived in a state funded home for men. No money, no family. His mind was that of a child…his heart was that of pure gold. When he missed several days at the store, Mom called the home to check on him. Though in her heart she already knew, they confirmed that Ralph had passed away. She sat down and wept. He wasn’t the only one that looked forward to his visits in our store.

I was nine years old. That gentle giant left a mark on my life. And I want to be like him and even more so like my Mom. Perhaps they were birds of a feather.  

The kindest of souls…the purest of hearts. And I smile.    

The Valley

It’s not because I don’t believe. I do. Have for a very long time. I’m really good at believing for you. Share a prayer request and I’ll pray - right then and there. Stand back and watch God move. No doubt about it.  

In my own trials, I’ve wondered…doubted…questioned. I’m not alone. Many Bible stories share the discouragement of men who walked beside Jesus. Thomas doubted. Judas sold Him. Peter denied Him. Good to know. But I want more.

I want victory in the valley…not just in spite of it. Maybe it’s because I’ve walked through so many.  Maybe because I’ve fought so hard to overcome them. Perhaps a little of both.  

I want to sling smooth stones. I want marshmallows in the fiery furnace. I want to Praise Him even in chains. I want it to be unto me according to His Word. And I want to really mean it when I say, “It is well with my soul”.