As soon as Betty opened the door, Christine wrapped her in a hug. “How are you doing, Mom?”

Betty blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes. She would not cry. Not now. This was time to spend with her daughter. There would be time enough to cry later. God knew she’d been doing a lot of that the last two months. “I’m doing OK, dear. Definitely better now that you’re here.” She glanced at the bag slung over Christine’s shoulder. “What did you bring?”

Christine slid the heavy bag off her shoulder and carried it to the kitchen. “I made some meals for you. I figured by now you would have gone through all the casseroles the church folks made after the funeral.”

Betty pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank you, dear. That was so sweet of you. And you’re such a good cook.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll put these things in the fridge and freezer, and then we can talk about how I can help you around here. I’m sure you have a list, since I haven’t been over in a few weeks.”

Betty nodded. “Yes, I could use some help with a few things, but first, let’s just sit and talk for a spell. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Sounds great.”

Five minutes later, the ladies settled on the sofa in the small living room of Betty’s apartment. Betty glanced, as usual, at the worn green recliner in the corner of the room. It sat empty, as it always did these days. Christine must have noticed. “That was always Dad’s chair. No one else ever sat in it.”

“He spent quite a bit of time in that chair the last few years. Every time I see it sitting there empty, it’s a fresh reminder he isn’t here anymore.”

Christine set her mug on the end table and squeezed Betty’s shoulder. “I could arrange for it to be taken away. Would that help?”

A momentary panic filled Betty at the idea. “Oh, no, I don’t think I’m ready for that. But we can pack up his clothing today. He had some nice things, and I’m sure the local thrift store would be glad for them.”

“That’s fine. We can take things one step at a time. I just don’t like the idea of the chair causing you grief.”

Betty patted Christine’s hand. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need the chair for that. Your father and I were married for 59 years. I’m going to think about him every day whether there’s a chair there or not.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

That evening, after Christine returned home, Betty sat in the quiet of the living room, staring at Harold’s chair. Was Christine right? Should she get rid of it? She made her way across the small room and stood before the chair. It was just a chair, after all. She’d never considered sitting here, even on the rare occasions when Harold wasn’t sitting here. She stifled a small laugh. How would he have reacted if, after he got up to take a trip to the bathroom, he returned to find her in his chair? In their younger days he might have tickled her and lifted her out of it. But those days were a long time past.

She settled into the chair and raised the foot rest, just like Harold always did. When she inhaled, a faint trace of Harold’s scent lingered, and a sense of home filled her. A memory stirred. Harold always did his quiet time in this chair. He probably did most of his praying sitting right here. And that knowledge, that Harold’s prayers, especially those for her, took place right here, reopened the connection with God that had been severely lacking over the past two months. She hadn’t reached out to God. She was too angry at Him for taking Harold away. What right did she have to be angry? They’d had nearly six decades together.

And at that moment, she finally released all her grief to God. She poured out her sadness, her anger, her fears, and her doubts, and laid them all at the feet of Jesus. Peace washed over her in waves. Sitting in this chair was like being wrapped in Jesus’ arms.

She awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows. She glanced at her watch. It was 7:00 in the morning. She’d been in this chair over 10 hours. She hadn’t even visited the bathroom. After immediately rectifying that, she returned to the living room and stared at the chair. She’d just slept through the night for the first time in forever. Her sleep lately had been restless without Harold by her side. But last night, she hadn’t felt alone. No, she’d never feel alone again. Sure, she’d always miss Harold, but Jesus was with her, no matter what.

After brewing a cup of tea, she grabbed her Bible, and returned to the chair. No, she wouldn’t have Christine take it away. This chair wouldn’t be empty anymore.

Psalm 139: 1-10

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.

 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.

 Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
 If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

God, no matter where we are in life, You are always with us. You know us intimately, and you know and understand our pain. You are no stranger to grief, as we know Jesus lost loved ones on earth. Thank You for your faithfulness when we grieve those we love. Thank You for always welcoming us back to You after we walk away. Help us, Lord, when we feel far from You, to reach out to You. You will accept us as the father running to greet the prodigal son. What comfort there is in the realization You know everything about us and You love us anyway. No matter how far we’ve fallen, or how long it’s been since we’ve spoken to You, You’re ready and waiting for us to return. We can never thank You enough for the love You have bestowed upon us. In Jesus’ name, Amen.