Prayer Chair.

I have this chair, cozy and cornered in my piano room. It fluffs with a soft violet blanket (gifted to me from a student when my mom died) and a small quilted pillow. Aside it resides a round metal stand, my parents, with lavender scent, Jesus calling, wooden flowers, and the Bible inscripted with my name from my grandma. It's this corner that I look at, and rest. And remember...

I remember that God hears prayers. He hears personal prayers. He hears prayer chair prayers.

There used to be an old, wooden, stiff-backed chair in this corner. It drew no longing, and posed like a cold fortress. It kept me out of the room, the room I had envisioned and sought to be my most comforting, my favorite with Trish's old window, cracked and hanging, Aunt Mil's wood book shelf, stacked and treasured, Homerich baker's rack, resourced and decorated, mom's fingered piano, tuned and remembered. The room needed a prayer chair.

But I felt selfish, spending so much on my house, my home, and the chair seemed like one more extravagant purchase. Yet I longed to cuddle in it, to grab my phone and linger with friends or journal the hour away or flip through Colossians and meditate or melt into Jesus Calling and be reminded.

So I prayed about it. As foolish as it seems, I prayed beyond my selfishness that if God willed it, he would provide it. And flippantly added that he provide the money from somewhere other than my depleting bank account. And I let it go. Released the prayer chair to his hands and walked away.

My mom had a prayer chair the last few years of her life. She kept her books and Bible and journals right near it and would settle in with a cup of tea and the morning light. As children, her bedroom became her shelter place, away from the hub-bub of us kids scurrying around for school. My most treasured memories are her tucked in her covers with hair all-amess and layered with sheets and pens and leather and lists.

So I prayed this day, and released it to His faithfulness, with honesty, little expectation. Until I opened the mail and pulled out a blue slip. A check. For several hundred dollars from my insurance company. With no explanation. I stared. Re-read the contents. Peered around the room. Furrowed my brow. Then touched my hand to my heart.

The Lord gifted me. He gave me my prayer chair!

Now the chair sits in my corner, a comforting reminder that the Lord hears. The Lord whispers permanent promises to us. The Lord longs to be gracious to us. The Lord leans in to be with us.

And when I doubt, and there will be days when I doubt, I will curl up into the cushion and constant testimony of my Prayer Chair.