I sat with my six-year-old granddaughter, Kira, in the shabby, overstuffed chair in the corner of her room. It was wide enough for us to sit side by side.
“Today, instead of a storybook, I’m going to tell you the story of this prayer chair,” I told her.
“Why do you call it the prayer chair?” Kira asked.
“Well, when Grandpa and I first got it, 25 years ago, it was too big for the living room, so we put it in our bedroom. It was so comfy that I used to read my Bible and say all my prayers in it,” I answered.
Kira snuggled down into the plush cushions. “What did you pray for?” she asked
“I prayed for the whole family, especially when somebody was sick, like your great-grandma. And I asked God to watch over your aunt Autumn and uncle T.J. when they traveled, and for you and your mommy and daddy when you moved. When I had a lot of things to talk to God about, I even got down on my knees and leaned my elbows on the chair to pray. Just like you do at your bedside every night,” I replied.
“But how did the chair come to our house?” she pressed.
“When Aunt Autumn married Uncle T.J., they didn’t have much furniture, so I let them borrow it. Uncle T.J. studied to be a doctor in this chair. Then your aunt and uncle moved away to travel in the Air Force, and your mommy asked me for the chair. When you were a baby, she rocked you in her arms every day right here, in this very spot.”
Kira looked up at me. “So now can it be my prayer chair?” she asked excitedly.
“It sure can. Let’s say a prayer together: Dear Lord, thank you for giving us this chair for everyone in our family, young and old, to pray in.” “And thank you for making it so comfy!” Kira said. “Amen.”
