It creaks when I sit down in it, and when I lift the legs to recline it click, click, clicks like one of those turn style gates at an amusement park. Its not the prettiest piece of furniture in our house, but its comfortable. It’s my spot. It’s Hazel’s old brown chair.
Hazel was a friend. She was Kristi’s mom’s uncle’s sister. She stood about three feet tall and maybe a foot taller, but not quite. She had a little raspy voice, tiny little hands, she lived to be a little over 101. She lived a long life, and when she got tired of living, she pretty much checked herself into a nursing home, and lasted for another month or so until she decided to pack it up and move on up to Heaven. She was tired and when she was finished living down here, she seemingly said, “I’m done now” and within a few short weeks she faded away.
She had this tan lazy boy recliner that she wanted me to have. Before she moved away she sent word through family members that I needed to come get it. I did. Its been in our house for several years now. We’ve contemplated getting rid of it maybe once or twice, but by now, I think I’ll keep it until it just falls apart. I guess its kind of like a piece of inheritance, with a hidden value of great price to me.
You see it’s become a “thin place” for me. A place where I can go sit and pray, or think, or write, or read, or even just chat with my wife or kids and when I do I always feel . . . . .better . . . . different. I get clarity here. I talk to God here, and for some reason its like I hear Him talking back to me louder and clearer here than anywhere else. Its the one spot in my entire world where the reception between Heaven and Earth is at four bars, the space between Him and me is thinner.
It’s 3:30 a.m. and I’ve been sitting here in Hazel’s old brown chair for the last hour and a half, praying, preparing my next sermon, whispering to Jesus the myriad of thoughts that were banging around so hard in my head that they woke me up.
I should probably go back to bed. I am getting a little sleepy again. I wonder if Hazel had nights like this one, where she couldn’t sleep. I bet she did. I bet she would just get up and come sit right here and pray and talk to her Father just like I’ve been talking to mine. I bet this was her thin place too. Maybe that’s why this old, ugly chair is so comfortable and creaky, and . . . .perfect.
Where’s your thin place?