THE VIEW FROM MY CHAIR

DEVOTIONAL

First thing, early in the morning on a cold winter day, I gravitate to my chair, light up the wood burner, and relax. The warmth of the fire envelopes me. During winter, the stars seem brighter. The soft swish of the owl’s wings and the lonesome cries of coyotes make me shiver. Ice crystals waft, suspended in the moonlight. Cold air seeps through calk cracks around the glass patio doors, but I feel comfortable seated in my chair, secure by the fire. A rabbit creeps onto the porch, barely visible in the darkness. His whiskers twitch, sniffing, sorting a myriad of odours and aromas. Cautiously, he nibbles at something ears and eyes alert for the slightest movement. I sit like a statue, afraid he’ll bolt. Ever so slowly, I reach for my water bottle. He notices and scampers for the bushes.

The colours of spring help break up the monotony of winter’s snowscape. As the first fragments of light are emitted from the emerging sun, I see the mountain behind our house. Gradually, trees come into view. Clouds take on an eerie orange glow, absorbing sunlight. Barely green stubs of grass are clipped short by bunny teeth. Clumps of dirty snow die a slow, stubborn death under the prodigal sun. Robins that recently returned from migration feast on seeds and slow-moving bugs. From my chair, I watch as sparrows, quails, and grosbeaks pick daintily at pieces of twelve-grain bread. Summer from my chair is bright and hot. If I am lucky, I will see deer or moose. Later, when the sun is full strength, crows occupy fence posts looking for an easy meal. Honeybees hover around the pollen-laden stamen. Their hairy legs, yellow and weighed down, lunge into the air like jet fighters from the deck of a carrier. I see the grass needs mowing and the weeds need hacking, but not today. I sip water from a tall glass, lean back, and revel in the warm sunshine.

Fall winds make me want to turn back the clock. Clouds dash across the sky like commuters sprinting for a subway car. Stepping through the glass doors, rain pellets sting my face, wind-blown on a horizontal trajectory. The trees beyond the wheat field are ablaze with colour. I see bright oranges, fire-engine reds, and brilliant yellows on a backdrop of green. I want summer back. From my chair’s vantage point, I see the wood pile needs my attention, so I grab my axe and go out the door, but before long, I’m back where I love to be: in my chair, gawking out my back door.

I’m not sure from where the chair came — an orphan from someone’s yard sale? A hand-me-down from a neighbour? I can’t remember. What was it like on the day the new owners bought it? Did they sit in it and rock back and forth, testing for the right feel as they savoured the aroma of new furniture? The ivory nylon fabric has a faint olive tint with a touch of red. When the footrest is up and the back is down low, it sleeps like a high-end bed, made in the days when furniture was expected to last. The wood is scuffed and tarnished; the arms are threadbare, but that’s what gives it class. I have fallen in love with this ugly piece of landfill fodder. Everyone calls it “Dad’s chair,” and I wouldn’t trade it for a thousand La-Z- Boys. This ancient relic has served me well. Favourite chairs are like security blankets, turning the world into a better place — perhaps like the one Jesus tried to create.

It’s 4:00 in the morning. All I hear is the hum of the refrigerator and an occasional car. I hunker down in my chair, grab the handle, and make the necessary adjustments. Now I am good to go. With my pen, pad, and Bible in hand, I take a deep breath, relax, read a text, and imagine an encounter with God.

Mentally, I am by the Sea of Galilee; I see Peter, James, Andrew, and a few others casting nets. It is early morning, and there is a cool wind blowing. All night, they have worked with nothing to show for it but wet nets and seaweed. Casting, dragging, and pulling an empty net all night has worn them out. They decide to quit.

Jesus is ten yards away. He cups His hands to his mouth. “Peter, cast your net on the starboard side.” “We’ve tried that. Besides, it is daylight,” Peter calls back.

I hear Andrew arguing, “Once more, brother, for the Lord.”

Wearily, they fling the net with a mighty heave. It sprinkles on the still morning water, resting a moment on the surface, and then sinks. They watch, expecting nothing, slowly pulling it in. Unexpectedly, the water explodes into a frenzy of dancing trout. Caught, they twist sideways, jerk their bodies, and flip randomly, desperate to get away, but there is no escape. Astonished, the fishermen yell for help. Nets strain and chords snap under the weight of the squirming sea creatures. Securing the catch, Peter leaps from the vessel's bow and runs to his Benefactor. He falls at His feet and cries, “Lord, depart from me, for I am a sinful man.” He is awed by the close proximity of a divine being.

Five thousand men and their families gather to hear Jesus preach on a mountainside. His sermon lasts all day. Everyone is tired and starving. I’m in the crowd, blessed and peaceful. I listen as Jesus poses a rather odd question to His disciples: “How are we going to feed these folks?” “Can’t do it,” one of them answers. “It would take all the money earned for one year by a common working man.”

Jesus tells them to seat the people in groups of fifty. Andrew has found a little boy who offered to share his lunch of five loaves and two fish with the Lord. Jesus thanks the young lad, then lifts His face to heaven and thanks His Father for the food. He breaks the blessed bread, and the disciples pass it around to us. We all fill up on the simple fare and then watch in astonishment as twelve baskets of leftovers are gathered. I cannot believe my eyes.

The place stinks of sheep, goats, pigeons, and doves, all for sale on the temple steps. The cacophony drowns out the temple service beyond the gate. Jesus arrives from a night of prayer on Mount Olives. Taking it in, He sees all the injustice. He watches buyers cheating sellers and priests cheating buyers. Angry and overwhelmed, He reaches for a tangle of leather straps used for securing tent pegs, asking the owner if he can borrow them.

Weaving the leather into a whip, I see Jesus stride toward the money changers, wielding the whip like a flaming sword. He overturns tables laden with coins. They clank down the steps. The sellers run for dear life. He frees the noisy, bawling sacrificial lambs, adding to the confusion. The merchants scatter, terrified of Him. I watch as the place becomes peaceful and the worshippers gather around the Lord. Gradually, the religious leaders slink back. Ashamed of their hasty exit, they now accost Jesus, asking by what authority He has acted. He responds, “Destroy this temple, and in three days, I will raise it up.” What a day I have just experienced in the life of God’s Son!

Today, I am a quadriplegic, lying on a dirty mat, waiting to die. Unable to work, I am reduced to begging. Every morning, a few friends carry me to a street corner where I sit with a cup in my hand. This morning, the four of them burst into my house. “We are taking you to Jesus!” I had heard about Jesus, but having been condemned by the priests and rabbis, I didn’t feel very hopeful that this rabbi was any different. The four grab my mat and carry me to Peter’s house. I knew Peter and had heard he was a follower of Jesus. The place is packed inside and out. Repeatedly, my friends try to get through the crowd. In frustration, they set me down, and I look up at the roof. “Let me down through the roof!

They grab a piece of rope lying in the yard and secure my mat. They elevate me up to the roof, where they pull up tile and thatch and lower me to the feet of Jesus. He forgives my sins and heals me, too! The story comforts me. God knows I need His healing love today — right now.

Daily, I sit in my chair, writing about life as I view it. There it is in panoramic view: creatures outside and characters in Scripture as real as life itself. My hand goes down to the wooden handle that adjusts the footrest. The chair back eases into an upright position. I lean forward, pray, and meld into a new day, ready for whatever I might encounter.

By Dennis Nickel. He was a pastor for 30 years in Alberta, British Columbia, and Upper Columbia (US) conferences. It was during his morning times with God in that chair that he wrote his book A Day in the Life of Jesus.