What I Learned from My Porch Bench

Gò0dNews for Everyone

What I Learned from My Porch Bench

by Sandra Gilmore

When a curved plank caught my eye, I thought it was an antique church pew on, of all places, a burn pile! My feet couldn’t get my hands to the pile quickly enough. My mind was racing as fast as my feet with thoughts of where it could have come from. Now, I pined where it ended up! In another day or two, the heap would be scorched to ashes. Scattered bench pieces lay partially hidden, threaded into the discarded shrub limbs of a neighbor’s trimmings. Wouldn’t I be its hero by rescuing it from the flames? I dove in, shoving brush away as though the bench were calling my name, 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 sunlight through stained glass or proudly held a hymnal. Students made it in a shop class. It was somebody’s final project, sporting the rudimentary basics of furniture making: cutting the shapes, beveling the edges, leveling the legs, fastening the pieces together, staining a light coat. True to its purpose, it kept on teaching: *It wasn’t meant to be perfect. It was meant to be finished. That made it perfect. This was no Chippendale with rococo details. There weren’t even felt “feeties” on the bottom as not to scratch the floors. This was a goal, manifested in utility with a touch of bevel. *A new coat of whitewash didn’t go on well. It stubbornly held its rough-hewn nature (like a lot of us humans!). The rough spots had just become part of its charm. *It wouldn’t be here if somebody hadn’t tried. Somebody learned a new skill, dared to be vulnerable, dared to aim toward completion rather than perfection, dared to dance with an unfamiliar process and let the process lead. *Some folks didn’t appreciate its purpose. That’s how the bench ended up on the burn pile. Transition often comes

in the form of trouble. When trouble comes, just wait a little longer. The plot might thicken. The tale might have a twist! *Some folks did. That’s how the bench ended up on a new porch, in a new location, with a new coat of paint, teaching a new student the same time-honored lessons.

About The Author 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.