As I write this, I’m sitting on one of two recliners in our living room. These recliners are well over thirty years old. They were my grandfather’s recliners. My grandfather has been dead since 1998, and they were already well-worn when he died.
When we first bought our house in 2003, we needed furniture to fill it, and these recliners were available. They were only meant to be space holders until we settled in a bit and found furniture of our own. They were already old back then and on their “last legs.” I had to remove the 2x4’s my grandfather had installed under them to lift them up higher to make them easier to get out of. While I rather appreciated sitting up higher, they tended to give a precarious feel to the chairs—like they were always on the verge of possibly tipping over.
But as we settled into the home, at first other, more pressing concerns claimed our attention. The chairs were serviceable, and so they could wait for a bit. Then as time passed we found that we rather liked them. The color fit remarkably well with the rest of the living room. They both swiveled and rocked—which can be a bit hard to find in newer chairs. And, perhaps most importantly, both Elizabeth and I fit comfortably in them—not an easy feat as there’s almost a foot difference in our heights. And as we had children, and particularly as one of our children was a spitter as a baby, we decided to keep the chairs through the early childhood years so we wouldn’t be concerned about kids jumping on them or spilling on them or pulling on them or drawing on them or…. There’s something nice about having furniture you’re not trying to protect. These chairs have served us well.
Now, however, their time has come. Their fabric is fraying thin. Their armrest covers have long ago been lost or destroyed. The chair I’m sitting in now leans perpetually to the left and the footrest will occasionally just spring out on its own accord (this can cause great amusement if it happens as the dog is walking by). The swivel feature is starting to wear down and both chairs are leaving sawdust on the floor from where the rocking motion is wearing into the wood frame. I looked into bracing them or trying to repair them, but even I had to come to the obvious conclusion: Their time has come.
Getting ready to say good-bye to these chairs has had me thinking quite a bit about legacy. These chairs, in their own strange way, have been a connection to my grandfather. They were something he liked. Something he sat in quite a bit. Something he MacGuyver-ed himself in order to make them sit better for him. But that relationship is complicated. My grandfather taught me a lot about life—how to play checkers and think ahead about the consequences of my actions, how to be resourceful, how to press ahead in the midst of adversity. But he could also be downright stubborn. Tact was not his strong suit. And he had a clear racist streak.
He had a strong faith, but there was no gray area for him—there was a lot of black and white. I remember him fiercely debating my dad on church issues like women in office. It took until he was dying for him to admit that perhaps the Christian Reformed Church didn’t have the corner on truth.
One memory in particular sums up much of his personality: We were visiting him in Bradenton, Florida, where my grandparents spent several winters in a row. My dad was driving my grandfather’s car with most of us packed in when a truck pulled out in front of him and cut him off. My dad simply backed off a bit and didn’t even honk the horn. My grandfather was perturbed. “If I were driving,” he announced, “I would have sped up, pulled in front of that truck, and then slowed way down.”
There’s something about these chairs that we’re about to get
rid of that connects me to my past. It’s a past that’s complicated. Not nearly
as simple or as clearly good as I would like to remember, though there’s certainly
good there. I’m doing my best to be aware of the ugly parts and how they might
still be influencing me while also celebrating and cherishing the good. I’m also
still wading through some of the consequences of decisions and actions that
were taken long ago. I remember writing a paper on my family history while in
seminary and being shocked at how many skeletons were in the family closet once
I started digging just a bit. All of those stories—the good and the bad and the
in between are part of who I am now, though they by no means define me.
And as Elizabeth and I look ahead to new chairs, I realize that the future is wide open. Even as the past shapes me and influences the way I engage the world, I’m writing my own legacy each and every day. Someday my children or grandchildren or my friends or colleagues will be remembering me. They’ll remember the good things and the bad. There will be things to celebrate and things that make them cringe. But my goal, my hope, is that there will be far more good things than bad.
I’m particularly aware of it during this pandemic. How I (and Elizabeth) process all that is going on, how we deal with the almost-daily disappointments or frustrations, how we handle the uncertainty and manage the unknowns is shaping how our children respond, how our friends respond, how colleagues and neighbors and those we encounter regularly respond. It shapes how they learn to deal with change and uncertainty, how they process death and disappointment. We make more mistakes than I’d like to admit, but hopefully we’re getting a few things right as well.
Galatians 5:25 directs us “since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.” This comes right after the fruit of the Spirit given in verses 22 and 23: “but the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” It strikes me that part of keeping in step with the Spirit is producing the fruit of the Spirit each step of our lives. I tend to think of the fruit of the Spirit as something I might produce every so often—a little patience here, a bit of joy there… But keeping in step with the Spirit is more an encouragement to produce these fruits every step along the way.
I hope and pray that when people remember my legacy, they’ll see the fruit of the Spirit.
No comments:
Post a Comment