The Red Velvet Chair

I once went to visit a family who had just returned from out of town. John's dad had died. His father was quite elderly and death was not a surprise. As I stepped inside their home into a spacious foyer, there in the middle of the floor sat a red velvet chair and a few small boxes of keepsakes.

As John took my coat he said, "We just got home and I unloaded the car. This was dad's favorite chair."

John's dad was a man I knew and had the opportunity to visit with on several occasions. He was a man of faith. He worked hard his whole life and was a great husband and father. He had owned a large home and a business. His wife had died ten years earlier and he had spent the last few years in an assisted-living setting and finally, in a nursing home.

As I sat visiting with John and his wife, I thought about the red velvet chair and the few boxes in the foyer. That was what was left. That was all. But, of course, I was wrong; there was so much more. There were the memories. There was faith shared with his family and lived out by being a businessman of integrity. There was the living example of fifty years of faithful marriage and being a great dad to his children.

The size of the pile in the foyer did not matter. It would have made no difference if John would have had to use a semi to haul all of his dad's belongings. It would not have mattered if there had been a house, a cabin and a winter place in a warm climate. When death comes, possessions are not what is important.

I can see John's dad sitting in the red velvet chair. I can see the gentle smile on his face. I can hear the kind and affirming words coming from his mouth.

He knew there was more to life than possessions. He knew the good news of Jesus. He lived the good news. I will remember that and so will John. The red velvet chair might be around for several more years and the contents of a few boxes might be treasured by future generations, but the life lived in Christ is what really matters.

As we prayed it was in thankfulness for a life lived, a life shared and healing for those that would grieve. The red velvet chair was not included.

[Told by Rev. Gary L. Langness]

A Good Gift

Bidding had been a bit disappointing at the Harvest Festival Live Auction the year after terrorists removed the World Trade Center from the New York City skyline forever. The economy was uncertain, unemployment was on the rise, and people were cautious with their spending, even if the money was going for missions. But the atmosphere in the church Fellowship Hall was lively and joyful, even though many “bargains” were handed over by the auctioneer.

But then two giggling teenagers paraded around the room with a beautiful hand-stitched wedding ring quilt. Pat Armstrong nudged her husband. “That’s the one,” she said. “Don’t you think it’ll look perfect in our guest room?” Bob, who had learned long ago that it was easier to agree with his wife’s decorating fancies than fight them, wisely nodded. “Get your number up!” Bob calmly obliged, and the bidding began. The numbers rose: $150...$250...$550...$750. A similar quilt had sold 15 minutes ago for $500. People began to pay attention. Nothing in the auction so far had created this much of a stir. “Keep going,” Pat said. “The church needs the money for missions and I need that quilt!” Bob nodded. $850.

Soon, there was only one other bidder, a small man seated quietly in the back corner of the room. Pat couldn’t see who it was. But it didn’t matter. She wanted that quilt! $1150...$1350...$1500 going once...going twice...SOLD! The crowd cheered, the auctioneer wiped his brow, Pat bounced in her seat. And if Bob was slightly startled by the amount of money he had just agreed to pay, his emotions were confined to one, long sigh.

The auction continued. A week-long catamaran voyage in the Caribbean drew $3,000. But nothing seemed as exciting as the duel for this wedding ring quilt.

After the auction, Sunday school class members congratulated Bob and Pat on their win. Pat asked, “Who was it we were bidding against? I couldn’t see them?” “It was Don Frogge,” someone said. Bob and Pat looked at each other. “Don Frogge?” Pat said. “Didn’t his wife stitch this quilt?” “She did. It was the last one she made before she died. She intended it for the Harvest Festival auction, and Don thought it was right to donate it. But it was her last quilt. He realized he wanted to buy it back and keep it.”

Don and Amy had been married for 52 years. Bob and Pat didn’t even have to discuss their intentions as they grabbed the quilt and headed out to the parking lot to catch Don. “Don!” Bob called. “Wait up!” They reached Don at his car and handed him the quilt. “We bought this for you,” Pat said. “We want you to have it.” Don was speechless, and full of emotion. “I intended to buy this quilt back. I know Amy wanted the church to have the money. But I wanted to have her quilt. I could tell you meant to have it, too, Pat. So I let it go. I tried to tell myself that she would have wanted me to do that, but...” He looked up. “Thank you.”

“We’ll see you Sunday,” said Bob and Pat. And they walked off to their car, very satisfied with their $1500 purchase. Bob put the quilt lovingly on the seat of his car, closed the door, and walked back into the church. At the Auction Check-Out table, Bob pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check for $1500. He knew he was blessed to have received the quilt from his friends. And he thought it only fitting that the church's missions budget should be twice blessed by this gift.