Old Chairs

"Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God." - Romans 15:7

I have a thing for old chairs. Whenever I come across one of these beauties at a vintage market or thrift shop, I can't help but swoon a little bit. I suppose you could say I have a unique appreciation for less conventional objects of art. I consider doilies to be art, for example, for the sheer intricacy and skill with which these delicate adornments were made. I treasure them and display them proudly... all over my home... much to the chagrin of my family. I guess it would just naturally follow that since I consider doilies to be art, I also consider old chairs to be sculpture.

I adore old chairs for lots of reasons, chief among them being the care in their construction, the quality woods used, the hand-tied supports, the horsehair and goose down stuffing... the turned legs. There are plenty of beautiful and well-made new chairs out there, and I'm not disputing their quality or comfort, but for me, nothing quite compares with curling up and relaxing in an old chair that's been around the block a few times.

I once read a blog entry from a gal who said she likes to have at least one ratty, old chair in every room. She said it helps guests feel at home, unafraid of tipping their coffee cup or spilling a drop of wine. Well, I don't know about ratty, but I can see her point. An old chair in a room somehow provides both instant character and approachability. It says, "Hey there. Welcome! Check formality at the door, because we're all family here."

Tom and I happen to have a red wing chair in our living room that belonged to Tom's dad. It has generous proportions and lovely flared wings. It's stout and comfortable. I don't even know how old it is, but it's been recovered at least once and is fixing to need it again. No matter who it is that comes to visit, they almost always gravitate to that old, red chair. Maybe it's the color. Maybe it's the size. Who knows, but it's rather interesting to me how much a magnet it is for those being welcomed into our home.

Old chairs are not unlike old boots. Their beauty lies in how they feel after we've worn them in a while. They support us, conform to us, give in just the right places. They comfort. They envelop. They beckon after a long day, "Come. Sit. Relax." They are the perches from where we digest the day's news, rock a fussy baby, announce the new job, read to a child, plan the next week, comfort a loved one, cry over a loss.

These are inanimate "friends," always at the ready to fill whatever need arises. They wait patiently for an opportunity to do so, and they don't complain, no matter how much use (or abuse) they get.

Oh, that we could all be more like old chairs.

Ready.

Willing.

Beckoning.

Welcoming.

Poised to support, comfort, and uphold as needed... every family member, friend, neighbor, or stranger who crosses our path or comes to our door. I suppose it's all in starting somewhere, for a new chair doesn't become all those things until it's been used, until it's given the chance to succor the first.

So here's to all the old chairs. May they live long in our homes, and may their example live even longer in our hearts.