Sometimes A Chair Is Not Just A Chair

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I don’t often form attachments to inanimate objects, but the magic rocking chair was different. She was special. For almost eleven years, she had loved us well. It was she and I against the world on countless delirious and sleepless nights. It was her with whom I first rehearsed each of my childrens’ own personal lullabies and whispersang them across baby eyelashes a thousand times or so. She was right there holding me up when I prayed all kinds of yearnings over each of my fearfully-made treasures. She rocked gregariously with me through first reading lessons, soaking the words into her wood, book after fantastical book. She was my silent sister when scraped and world-weary toddlers needed a break from battle. She even held me softly, sleepily as I nursed all of my children. I was thousands of times comforted by her curves.

That pilled and tired-cushioned magic rocking chair is where I became a mother.

Her tidy soprano squeaks and familiar alto creaks, and the percolating percussion of the ottoman as it hiccupped lazily exactly each third time I forward rocked; these sounds became the harmony to my new-mother-melodied heart. She was my soul sister, that magic rocking chair.

About cashclan

Lisa is a grateful, born-again follower of Jesus Christ who has spent her adult life on the Gospel in several global contexts. She is the wife of one wonderful, jungle-gym of a man, who is to her the single most ravishing piece of flesh on planet earth (stolen good-heartedly from Christine Caine). She is a dedicated home educator to their four beautiful children, ages 6 to 12, whom she would be happy to gush over any time. She is an avid reader and a storyteller, an aspiring writer, a missionary to the nations and a singer of His praises, a loyal friend, an obsessive-compulsive Googler, and comedienne extraordinaire on her best days. She would also like to think that she is a loyal and loving, truth-telling friend.
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