Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

tough decisons

The Chair {Part Two}

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{The saga of the chair continues. If you’d like to catch up, read Part One of the The Chair here.}

Brad has a great idea, he tells me later than night after I mention the $750 upholstery price tag.
“Let’s keep the chair just the way it is,” he suggests. “Let’s not spend the money. The chair can be a concrete symbol of our decision to refrain from unnecessary spending.”
I know where this idea comes from. We’ve been reading The Hole in Our Gospel  with our small group, a book about the vast disparity between the rich and the poor.
It’s a great idea, isn’t it?
In theory.
“No way!” I blurt to Brad. “No way am I going to live with that ugly fabric for the rest of my life! It doesn’t even match our furniture. It’s not even our style. It’s a good idea, really it is, honey. But I don’t want to do it. I’m not going to do it.”
I think about having friends over for dinner. I’m afraid they’ll assume I had a lapse in decorating judgment. I know I’d feel compelled to explain the existence of the pink and green striped chair. 
I’m not sure I’m up for having that conversation for the rest of my life.
I feel a little bit mad at Brad for making the suggestion.
“What does he care?” I fume. “He doesn’t care that we have an ugly chair. He won’t even notice the chair after a week, but I’ll have to live with that stupid ugly thing every day for the rest of my life!”
Later I explain the chair conundrum to the members of our small group. They think they know the ending of this story. They nod their heads, agreeing with Brad’s suggestion, supporting our decision to keep the chair as is. But when I get to the part where I refuse to agree to Brad’s noble idea, they laugh, surprised. And I laugh, too, to hide my shame. I’m ashamed that 2.6 billion people live on less than $2 day while I balk over sacrificing my pride for a silly chair.
I refuse to live with the ugly chair because I am selfish and vain.
And because I don’t have to.
It’s been three weeks since I stripped the worn slipcover from the chair. Three weeks since I closed the door of the upholsterer’s shop. Three weeks since Brad suggested we live with the chair as it is, and three weeks since I refused. I’ve been living in limbo – not able to spend the $750, not able to not spend the $750.

{I blame the Ecuador Compassion bloggers in part — reading posts like this one every day last week reminded me of the fact that the $750 I might spent on a ridiculous chair could sponsor TWO needy children!}

And then we get a note from Brad’s dad in the mail.
And with the note is a $500 check.
Jon saw the worn slipcover and the hole last time he was here. He didn’t know about my epic struggle over the chair. He’d simply observed its dilapidated state, and, because it’s his favorite chair, he sent us a check to help cover the costs of reupholstery.
It seems like this check could be the solution to my quandary, doesn’t it? I might even argue that it’s God solving the problem for me.
But I don’t know. I find that I am still stalling. 
I haven’t been back to the upholsterer’s shop yet.
I feel silly even writing about such a topic, but I have to ask: what about you? Have you ever really struggled with whether or not to spend money on a frivolous item?

{An addendum since I wrote this: Curt, a friend from church, left a message on Facebook after he read Part I of the chair saga. He knows someone who makes custom-made slip-covers! This could be the perfect and much more economical solution! There very well may a Chair, Part Three post!}

The Chair {Part One}

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{You wouldn’t think a homely chair could produce enough fodder for two blog posts, but then, I am a wordy girl, you know. Today and Friday I am writing about my grandparents’ wing chair and the epic struggle that’s ensued over it.}

I wiggle my finger into the ragged hole; a hint of striped upholstery peeks from beneath the threadbare cotton. The floral slipcover on the arm is worn right through.
Dust billows, glittering in a shaft of light and then settling in a grey film on the end table as I strip the wing chair of its slip cover. When the boys come home from school they notice right away. “What happened to the chair?” Noah asks. “Why’s it striped and pink now? Where are the big red flowers?”
The chair was my grandparents’. When I tear off the worn slip cover and see the original pink and green-striped fabric, I remember sitting primly with my silky dress smoothed over knees, white socks with lace ruffles, black patent leather shoes. I smell acrid incense twirling smoke ribbons next to the bottle of pink poodle shampoo in the bathroom. I hear Papa singing Michelle My Belle as he flips pancakes on the griddle.
I see that chair, and I am a child again, tucked into the Cape Cod house on the hill for a weekend sleepover at my grandparents.
The problem, of course, is that despite the memories it provokes, the chair itself is hideous without its slipcover. The original pink and green fabric clashes with my ruby velvet couch, leopard-print chair and gold walls. It’s not quirky or eclectic or funky. It’s  just plain ugly.
Yet I want to keep it. They don’t make chairs like this anymore, sturdy and solid, with a swooping back and elegant cabriole legs. This chair is too rich with memories, too rich to donate to the Goodwill.
I stop by the upholsterer’s shop on the way to work. The man behind the counter estimates that it will be $750 for the labor and fabric to recover the chair and its matching footstool.  I page through a heavy book, chenille and cotton and tweed between my fingers. Then I slide the book back onto the shelf and close the shop door quietly behind me.
…On Friday the saga continues. To pay to have the chair reupholstered…or not?

 

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On Roller Coasters, Tidal Waves and Letting Go: A guest post by Abby Alleman

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I’m honored to introduce Abby Alleman to you today. I’ve been reading Abby online for a while now, and was delighted to meet her recently at the Relevant conference, where it was obvious to me that her heart for God is just as wonderful and true in person as it is online! Abby and her husband and two young children will be leaving for Hungrary soon, where they will live out the Gospels as missionaries. Please spend some time over at her blog, Fan the Flame — I guarantee you will leave inspired and empowered to live in God’s love! And please, will you keep them in your prayers as they make this life-changing commitment?

As we were preparing to go overseas to Hungary for the summer of 2010, I remember sharing with some friends how I felt like I was about to get on a very tall, very fast, and very scary roller coaster.

It must have been a bit prophetic.

I felt that way anticipating taking our family of four, which included one not quite three year-old son and one not quite one year-old daughter and thankfully, one very hands-on father, across the ocean for five weeks.

I came home after those five weeks with the full weight of a long-term call, which, although it included much joy and excitement, had the undeniable mark of a great upheaval for our little family.

Fast forward fifteen months and I am still on that roller coaster. The ride has felt too much like the clink, clink, clink up to the summit and my nerves on overdrive with anticipation of the high speed fall to come.

Filled with logistics that have included the massive overhaul of all of our belongings, the leaving of a life and friendships we love, travelling most of the way across the country and back, five moves in four months {yes, you read that right} and the pending leaving of our families and dear friends at home, it has certainly felt like a life-sized quadruple loop thriller.

The anticipation is always what gets me. I give into fear. I try to picture this completely new life where we take our little family with one-way tickets to a place that we know a bit, but never as the long-term, raise-our-family home we now choose it to be. I feel my stomach tie into knots as every sure look at my weak little self shows how I don’t have what it takes to do this even nearly well.

And that is where I am both right and so very wrong. Just like a roller coaster, this can be fun, exhilarating even, when I let go. When I fix my gaze on the One who moves me along, inching up to heights and flying free down the other side.

But, I am liking another analogy better right now. It is that of a tidal wave. I stand on the shore and this wave is massive and intimidating and I know I am a lousy swimmer. I am sure I will be drowned.

And yet, in an instant I can change my perspective on what that wave really is. Instead of an overwhelming set of circumstances and changes, I can choose to see it as the fullness of my God. His grace, love, joy, peace, hope, goodness, as they rise up high and command the focus of my heart of hearts. And the crashing in of this wave holds not the possibility of death, only life.

In letting go and breathing deep that salt air, drinking in that salt water, I am preserved and sustained. And the fullness of God becomes my own. So when language foibles brand me witless, when I get lost on obscure European roads, when I can’t understand my children’s teachers, when all I want to do is come home but that must wait a long time, I can crumble into that wave and rise in a strength where my God is All the Glory.

That sounds like a pretty amazing way to live, do you agree?

When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse
everything I know of you,
From Jordan depths to Hermon heights,
including Mount Mizar.
Chaos calls to chaos,
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.
Then GOD promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night!
My life is God’s prayer.
~Psalm 42: 6-8
{The Message}

How is your life a roller coaster? A tidal wave? Are you embracing it as an opportunity to know Him as the One who overwhelms in the best of ways? Let’s walk this journey together.

So I Bought Boots Instead of a Camera

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I’ve been saving money bit by bit to buy a new camera. You know, a fancy camera – a DSLR – because I love to take pictures. In fact, I spend a lot of time taking pictures, mostly in my own backyard and neighborhood. Taking pictures helps me slow down and focus on God’s intricate handiwork. Peering through the viewfinder, I spot beauty I would ordinarily brush by in a flurry of haste and multi-tasking.

So why then did I take the money I’d saved for a camera, money given to me by my parents and sister this past July for my birthday plus some I’d saved on my own, and spend it on a pair of boots? [super cute boots, but boots, not a camera, nonetheless]

It wasn’t a rash decision, believe me. Over the last month or so I realized that I can’t pursue my love of photography and my dream of becoming a published writer. And I can’t do both (or at least do both well), because both require a lot of time and dedication.

The truth is, to do both means that one will suffer. And I know myself well: I know I would snap pictures to procrastinate writing.

This isn’t to say I won’t ever take another photograph. I’ll continue to take photos in my backyard with my perfectly good point-and-shoot camera. But I won’t spend hours and hours reviewing a complicated manual and learning every facet of a sophisticated DSLR camera. And I won’t diminish writing time by pursuing photography.

Sometimes pursuing a passion requires tough decisions. I’ve made more than one lately. In addition to the camera decision, I also resigned from a freelance writing job. Over the last year I wrote devotionals for Tandem, which is a part of Back to the Bible, an organization based here in Lincoln. I loved working with my editor there, and my writing improved through the process of learning to write short pieces (350 words for this wordy girl is a challenge!). Plus I got paid – and believe me when I say I don’t get paid for many writing gigs. In fact, the money I saved from writing for Tandem paid for my conference fee and airline ticket to attend the Relevant conference at the end of this month.

But the hard truth is that writing anonymous devotionals on deadline twice a month took time away from my primary goals: building readership for this blog (and hopefully someday an audience for my book) and finding the time to begin a second book. And so after much contemplation and angst, I emailed my editor to say that I needed to step down.

I’ll be honest: part of me resents the fact that I have to make these decisions. Part of me resents that I have a day job that takes time away from my passion. I bemoan the fact that I can’t build a blog, write a book and earn money in the process, too.

But for now I tell myself that it’s all okay. I tell myself that there will be time for other pursuits later. For today, and maybe tomorrow, I am keeping my eyes focused firmly on my passion.

Have you ever had to put something on the chopping block to make room for pursuing a passion in your life?