My Paisley Chair

Often reading scripture brings a memory, long tucked away, back to the surface! Is 46:3-4 presents a lovely reminder of how sweet it was to be carried – which hasn’t happened in a very long time!

Isaiah 46:3-4 “Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been borne by me from before your birth, carried from the womb; even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.

Though I’ve been carried under a variety of circumstances, the sweet memory that came to mind was of the Sunday night ritual. Many a Sunday night Daddy carried me in from the car and tucked me in bed. Sometimes I was not fully asleep and remember drowsily begging “Please Daddy, carry me”.

For as long as I can remember Sundays were exhausting! Though my parents were not pastors, our day was jam packed from start to finish. Never EVER did we miss Sunday School. In fact I still have the Bible given to me in 1967 for perfect attendance. Hmmm…. I don’t recall ever getting perfect attendance certificate at school, which underscores the priority that was placed on Sunday School.

Prior to leaving for church, we had to make sure our rooms were clean, bathroom spotless and the house was “company ready”. Hardly a Sunday went by that we didn’t have our pastor and some church visitors over to our house for Sunday Lunch. I still marvel at the fellowship around our table and the comfortable atmosphere for guests to meet our pastor. My mom’s gift of hospitality remains unrivaled in my eyes. After cleaning the kitchen, regardless of our protests that we were “NOT tired”, a nap was required. This “laying before the Lord” remains a ritual for me to this day, although I don’t protest any more.

Sunday afternoon was super short. As children, we had Bible training in the form of Missionettes and Royal Rangers while the choir practiced prior to Sunday night service. Because the afternoon was taken up with a big lunch, kitchen cleaning, and napping, supper was always delayed until after Sunday night church. I am tempted to say “always”, but it may have been “most of the time”, we went out after church to grab something to eat with someone from the church. Yet another time of fellowship with the people, though not related, we called “Uncle, Aunt, Brother or Sister”. This family had such an impact on my life and supplied a rich spiritual heritage that continues.

Needless to say, after a day like this, we were exhausted and as a general rule my brother and I fell asleep in the back seat on the way home. My mom had several “momisms” to describe this level of exhaustion, to name a few; “I’m plumb tuckered out, I’ve run out of soup and/or I have run my horns off”. On the rare occasion that I wasn’t plumb tuckered out, I may have been known to play opossum for the joy of being carried in by Daddy.

Of course there are other times I can recall being carried. Sitting on my dad’s shoulders to see something that was so far above my view, I needed to be lifted up to see above and beyond a crowd. David actually carried me across the threshold of our first tiny apartment over 47 years ago. After a ER visit when I sprained my left ankle and tore the tendons in my right one, David flipped me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and put me in the car for the ride home. Crutches were a no-go! On other occasions, just for fun, a piggy back ride seemed like the appropriate mode of transportation.

At some point if someone were to offer to carry me now I’m sure I would protest “Put me down, I’m too heavy!” I don’t enjoy not having a say or much control about where I am put down. For the record – how long it takes to get where we’re going may depend upon how much I wiggle.

I find myself in the middle-ground not having been carried in a while. As a child being carried by someone who loved me and I trusted seemed tender and fun, no anxiety about where I would end up. Now I tend to want to take myself where I want to go, thank you very much. There may come a day when I am dependent on someone to take me where I want to go. I can’t help but wonder if becoming independent is all it is trumped up to be. I can only imagine how difficult it will be to unlearn this skill set!

There is a certain level of trust and deep relationship that develops when I allow myself to be carried. Recognition of the “Carrier’s” provision, protection, proximity, authority, control, mercy and compassion come to mind.

I’m grateful for the declaration that God will carry me, not just when I am young, but when I am old. I hope that I will not struggle or try to wiggle from His loving hands, when He gently picks me up to carry me to where He wants me to be. It is in that place, where He wants me, that I discover His plan for me. When I relax and let Him carry me to the place of His choosing, trust is complete, grace is lavished without measure, rest is secured and nothing else matters. I was created for this – to be carried by the One who loves me!