Many Chairs

I like order. I like process. I like things to be neat and tidy. Three kids have challenged my ability to execute but I really do believe there should be a place for everything and everything should be in it's place. I also think everyone needs a junk drawer. Not a proverbial junk drawer. We all need an actual one--a place that is filled with disparate items that don't easily fit into neat categories and file folders.

In my nightstand junk drawer I have a tiny bib that belonged to my tiny baby boy. It is embroidered with the words Little Prince and the neck opening barely fits around my wrist. I have a size 2T shirt that says Big Sister. Peyton wore it on the day we brought home Ben. I have one of Emerson's small size pacifiers--the size that newborn infants use. I kept in my nightstand so that I could always find one in the middle of the night when it was my turn to be on pacifier replacement duty. I have the pink ribbon breast cancer pin that my Grandmother wore until she died from breast cancer. I have sweet cards from Beth. When I'm old and my kids have to clean out the drawer, I won't mind them knowing how much she loved me. I have a huge unused screw. When Peyton was a little younger we would tease each other about having a screw loose. One day she came home from a trip to the hardware store with Beth and handed me the screw. She said: "Mama, I've found your loose screw. You can stop being crazy now."

In my junk drawer I also have scraps of paper with ideas scrawled in my illegible handwriting. When I hear or read an idea that resonates, I write it down in hopes that I'll be able to use it for clarity at some point in the future. When I open the drawer and pull out one of these items or scraps of paper, they remind me to focus on something different. I like to think that it's one of the ways that God speaks to me.

I have a 3 x5 card that is tattered from the weeks it rode around in my pocket. At the top of the card is a picture of a yoke, the kind a pair of oxen wear. Inside the yoke is the word "kindness." Under the picture of the yoke is a definition: Be yoked together in a fashion that makes the way of another easier. I like this visual. A yoke means work is involved. I'm not a farmer but applying a bit of logic would indicate that an ox could pull a large load with half the effort if another were involved.

Back when I was in college, I would sit around with my friends envisioning our future apartments. I described a stark, sterile condo in a big city high rise. There would be nothing on the counters--everything would be put away. The walls would be covered with bookshelves filled with classic literature. I would have one comfortable chair for myself and one hard, straight-backed chair in case a guest showed up. I didn't want to encourage long visits. What an ass I was. With all the hubris of a 22-year-old, I proclaimed that I could make it on my own. I would have books, a career and a life unfettered by the messiness that accompanies relationships. I would spend long days focused on my career and I would find respite in being alone.

Now I find comfort in the visual of a yoke built for two and the idea of living my life side by side with others.

Some days I forget the yoke illustration and I lapse into thinking I can be kind by simply holding the door open for someone or holding the elevator when someone is running to catch it. I smile at a neighbor as we pass by each other on our dog walks. As I leave the office at the end of each day, I tell my colleagues to have a pleasant evening. Sometimes I mistake politeness for kindness. I think they are all together different.

I have a very good life. It is completely different than what I envisioned back in college and it is so much more than I could have hoped for. Most days it seems silly to compare it to oxen pulling a cart. Still I hold onto that illustration. When I think of the good stuff, I think of walking side by side with another. I think of the active kindness of my friends.

I know the kindness of a birth mother whose choice allowed me to know how sweet a life could be when there are messy kids involved. I have a partner who challenges me to choose creating memories rather than compulsively cleaning. I have friends who make time to send me a supportive note every single Friday after I post my blog. It doesn't matter what else is going on in their crazy days. I have friends who will walk my daughter to school so that I can catch an early train. I have a boss who insists that I stay home with my sick kid. I have a friend who will meet me late in the evening for coffee because that's the only time my schedule will allow. I am nourished by her wisdom and perspective. I have a friend with whom I share carpooling duties for sports and church and school. Her kids are so intricately linked with mine that I find myself treating them as if they're my own. A couple of times a month our families share completely unplanned mid-week dinners full of chaos and laughter. I have a life made full by the active kindness of others.

I have a thing about comfortable chairs in our house. Ones that aren't, don't last long around here. I want plenty of chairs in my home. I want chairs that invite our friends to linger. The yoke is built for at least two.