An Empty Chair

My house sits at the end of a long driveway and every night well after dark, except for an occasional passing car and the hum of the garage spotlight, all is quiet. I like to come out here, wander up the driveway toward the dark road and back a few times or more in contemplation and prayer.

Tonight was such a night. Moments before stepping outside something had happened that caused me to think about the level of vulnerability my children face every day and I was afraid for my daughter. It was weighing me down and I sought comfort. So I did my usual thing up and down the driveway. At one point, because I thought it would be more comfortable, I grabbed my comfy porch chair, moved it to the driveway, and sat down.

But not for long. With a mosquito buzzing in my ear and a bat or two darting nearby, I was unsettled, so got up and began to walk again.

At some point I was midway up the driveway and turned around and saw the silhouette of the chair in front of the bright spotlight. It struck me as profound in some way that I could not understand, so I took a picture.

Empty chair

I thought about how I try to assign a meaning to everything that happens in life. How there is really nothing that happens to me that I don’t try to make sense of. And then it occurred to me that everything really does have meaning. That there are no accidents or coincidences in life.

I received comfort regarding my daughter as I remembered that God loves my children and wants them to return Home far more than I want them to. Then I gave thanks for the guidance I’d been receiving since I’d submitted to His will over a year ago.

Then I said, "But you really have allowed me to suffer a lot, haven’t you?" It was not a complaint, just an observation.

He said, “It’s taken you a long time to let my love in.”

I tearfully expressed to Him how long I had been trying, reaching for Him, before the crisis had forced me to turn completely to Him.

But in my lack of faith, I stopped just short of putting it in question form as I realized maybe I wasn’t ready for that truth yet--the truth of whether or not I had, in fact, been trying my best to reach for Him prior to the crisis.

At this point I had made it all the way back to the chair and placed my hand on it. I looked up the driveway, then back to where I stood behind the chair.

Then I saw with His eyes.

The empty chair represented for Him my absence from His presence. Just as I longed for my daughter to always remain clean and worthy to receive God’s love, He too had suffered every day because I had separated myself from His love. And He too had longed for when I would be ready to receive more of that love, and suffers still to the degree that I shut Him out daily.

I looked back up the driveway from where I had walked. Though I had seen earlier some dead leaves, twigs, and stones that littered the driveway, when I looked again, standing in the light, I saw for the first time how brightly lit all the debris was.

I then walked away from the chair, toward the road and all the debris and realized that I was now looking away from the light. It was a challenge not to focus on the debris that was scattered all over. I then placed a few more stones on the pavement and stepped back, my back still against the light. Those stones were lit by the light and it was impossible to not see them, even when looking up toward the road.

I then walked beyond the stones and turned around, looking back into the light and at the empty chair. I looked down at the stones and other debris, but could barely see them. They were drowned out by the light. If I focused, it was there. But as I looked toward the light, it was as though much of the twigs and stones vanished.

I have found this to be analogous to my life. When I turn away from Jesus Christ, stepping stones turn into stumbling blocks and they are all I see. But when I return my gaze back to my Savior, those same stumbling blocks become stepping stones, inching me forward, closer to His presence.

Just as I placed the stones in the driveway, sometimes I place stones in my own path through disobedience. And sometimes the debris I must pass through has been placed there by others or is the result of the fallen world I live in and is part of God’s divinely orchestrated plan for me.

But the way through all the debris is the same. Only by following the Light of the world--which is Jesus Christ--can we return to His presence and receive a fullness of His love. 

His plan for you and for me is perfect. Every part of the plan is driven by love. That's what amazes me the most about Him. All that He does is because of His love. When we turn from Him, in His divine mercy, He allows us to be humbled by the twigs, stones, and other debris on our path that loom large. And when we turn back to Him those same stumbling blocks become stepping stones we pass through with more ease that bless us with opportunities to grow so we can become more like Him, so we can return to Him.

More than we can possibly know He wants us to return to the empty chair we left behind when we left His presence. He wants us back far more than we want to go back. May our hearts ever be broken for Him so that He can heal us with His pure love as He so infinitely yearns to do.