Gò0dNews for Everyone
What I Learned from My Porch Bench
W
by Sandra Gilmore
hen a curved plank caught my eye, I thought
the bottom as not to scratch the floors. This was a goal,
it was an antique church pew on, of all places,
manifested in utility with a touch of bevel.
a burn pile! My feet couldn’t get my hands to
*A new coat of whitewash didn’t go on well. It stubbornly
the pile quickly enough. My mind was racing as fast as
held its rough-hewn nature (like a lot of us humans!). The
my feet with thoughts of where it could have come from.
rough spots had just become part of its charm.
Now, I pined where it ended up! In another day or two,
*It wouldn’t be here if somebody hadn’t tried. Somebody
the heap would be scorched to ashes. Scattered bench
learned a new skill, dared to be vulnerable, dared to aim
pieces lay partially hidden, threaded into the discarded
toward completion rather than perfection, dared to dance
shrub limbs of a neighbor’s trimmings. Wouldn’t I be its
with an unfamiliar process and let the process lead.
hero by rescuing it from the flames? I dove in, shoving brush away as though the bench were calling my name,
*Some folks didn’t appreciate its purpose. That’s how the bench ended up on the burn pile. Transition often comes
begging for life. With the components a safe distance from the burn pile, and all accounted for, my assessment began. It was the perfect shape, height, and width for what I wanted. The back was wiggly, but the sides were stout and stable. It warmed my heart to think I had rescued someone’s memories. Maybe it had heard harmonies of choirs, or the shaky voice of a child’s solo on a High Holy Day, or the convicting preaching of a winsome pastor sharing the Scriptures in an engaging oration. Later, I learned its origins: It was not a church pew, after all. It had never been warmed by
in the form of trouble. When trouble comes, just wait a
sunlight through stained glass or proudly held a hymnal.
little longer. The plot might thicken. The tale might have
Students made it in a shop class. It was somebody’s final
a twist!
project, sporting the rudimentary basics of furniture
*Some folks did. That’s how the bench ended up on a
making: cutting the shapes, beveling the edges, leveling
new porch, in a new location, with a new coat of paint,
the legs, fastening the pieces together, staining a light
teaching a new student the same time-honored lessons.
coat. True to its purpose, it kept on teaching: finished. That made it perfect. This was no Chippendale with rococo details. There weren’t even felt “feeties” on
40 // February 2022
About The Author
*It wasn’t meant to be perfect. It was meant to be Sandra Gilmore serves the Lord as wife, mom, and encourager, mostly through writing and speaking, occasionally through cooking, rarely through anything athletic and only because of the mercy and grace of Jesus. You can reach her by email: tandsgilmore@yahoo.com or her website www.sandragilmore.org.
