He is Always in the Chair

Last Thursday night Mary and I were the primary caregivers to six young kids. Three had a genetic connection to us, the other three were a part of our daughter-in-law’s family. The assignment was designed to facilitate an adult evening around a Rehearsal Dinner.

The park, pizza and lots of outdoor play was our strategy. Run, jump, chase and climb were key ingredients to wearing these five little boys and one girl out.

With prayers said and hugs given, Mary escorted the three non-grandchildren to their room. The plan was for these three little boys to stay in the same room. The youngest, Abe (2), was confined to a small portable crib.

Before the soundwaves could settle from my congratulating Mary for getting the job done so effectively, the younger two boys emerged. It seems that Abe could escape from his confines, and he had.

A quick glance at Mary and I said something that amounted to a commitment to engage, and off to the bedroom I went with Abe and Silas.

The room was dark. And soon I had placed both boys back in their appropriate beds. Situated by the bedroom door was an overstuffed chair, and without speaking I sat down.

The boys flipped and shifted, but without a word. Within five minutes the stirring stopped. The clear evidence of sleep hung in the room. Victory. I waited a few more minutes to “make sure the paint was dry” and then I quietly escaped.

I walked back into the living room where Mary was seated. I was adorned with an overly smug look. I confess and now repent.

And yes, there were no escapes after that. At least not on our watch!

So why did it work? Why was my presence enough?

Perhaps these three young lads, sleeping away from home, confined to a single room needed my presence to reassure. Perhaps I represented safety and comfort to them.

Or…

Perhaps as an untested commodity to these boys I represented an imposing and fear-inducing presence that forced them to bite their tongues and paralyze their limbs in intimidating compliance.

Or…

Maybe, just maybe, a little of both was at work. Comfort and awe. Warmth and fear.

Most importantly, what followed was sleep. Rest. Restoration. Preparation for wedding day.

Rest. Restoration. Sleep.

In the chair beside us, our Father. Our souls are a mix of tenderness and reverence. We are both comforted and frightened. We sleep, because He is in the room. He is here. He is present. He extinguishes our foolishness even as He vanquishes our enemies. We know Him. But we don’t understand Him.

Unlike me, our Fatherly King needs no rest. He is always with us. He never sneaks out of the room so that He can seek His own rest. No, He is always beside us. Always worthy of our praise and always lavishing us with love.

Why would I worry or fret or toss or turn? He is here. He is in the chair. 24/7.

In every unfamiliar setting. In every painful environment. In every familiar location. God. The King. Our Father. Lord. Master. Friend.

Sabbath exposes my confidence. True rest is only possible when I trust.

Sleep. Sweet, wonderful sleep. Because He is always in the chair.

Foolishness vanquished. Comfort guaranteed.