The Chair Where He Keeps Waiting

Worthy Heart Reflection

Last Sunday, I shared a picture of my mom's chair.

The chair where she prayed.
The chair where she watched children walk home from school.
The chair where she faithfully met with God for years.

As I wrote those words, I realized something.

I have a chair too.

Every morning, before the notifications, before the calendar, before the demands of the day begin, I carry my coffee to the same place.

Two chairs sit there.

One for me.

And one for God.

No, I don't believe He physically sits in the other chair.

But making room for Him changed the way I meet with Him.

Years ago, I read a little book called Two Chairs. The idea was beautifully simple: if you want to cultivate a friendship with God, create space that says, You're welcome here.

So I did.

At first, it felt intentional.

Then it became a habit.

Somewhere along the way...

it became holy.

Some mornings I laugh.

Some mornings I cry.

Some mornings I don't have many words at all.

I simply sit.

I listen.

I read.

I pray.

And somehow, every single time, I leave different than I arrived.

Not because all my problems disappear.

They don't.

My marriage still has places that need grace.

The people I love still face battles I cannot fight for them.

My own fears still try to find their way back into my heart.

Life doesn't pause because I spent time with God.

But something inside of me changes.

Peace has a way of speaking louder than fear.

Truth becomes easier to hear than worry.

Love becomes stronger than control.

I'll also confess something.

There are mornings I don't show up.

I'm busy.

I'm distracted.

I convince myself I'll do it later.

And almost without fail, I can tell the difference.

Little frustrations feel bigger.

My patience grows thinner.

My thoughts become noisier.

Not because God has moved.

Because I have.

A few mornings ago, while I sat in those two chairs, a thought quietly crossed my mind.

I wonder if He's waiting for me on the mornings I don't come.

Not waiting with disappointment.

Not keeping score.

Simply waiting like someone who treasures the conversation.

That thought didn't fill me with guilt.

It filled me with gratitude.

What kind of God longs to spend time with us?

The kind who met a woman at a well.

Who walked with discouraged disciples.

Who lingered at dinner tables.

Who still whispers, "Come spend time with Me."

Not because He needs us.

Because He loves us.

People sometimes ask me about my morning routine.

Truthfully, it isn't the coffee.

It isn't the chair.

It isn't even the routine.

It's the relationship.

The chair is simply where I remember who I am.

Before I'm Amy.

Before I'm Mom.

Before I'm wife.

Before I'm Miss Mermaid.

Before I'm "Worthy."

I'm simply His.

And that changes everything.

So if you're reading this today, can I offer you one gentle invitation?

Find your chair.

Maybe it isn't a chair at all.

Maybe it's the driver's seat before you walk into work.

A porch swing.

A park bench.

A quiet corner of your bedroom.

God has never been looking for perfect conditions.

He's always been looking for willing hearts.

There isn't anything magical about my chair.

But there is something beautiful about returning, day after day, to the God who never stopped waiting.

Maybe...He's waiting for you, too.

Dear Little Girl, You Don't Need a Formula to Be Loved by God: Why real faith isn’t built on quiet time culture — it’s built on relationship.

Dear Little Girl,

Somewhere along the way, you started to wonder if you were doing it “right.”

Right way to pray.
Right way to believe.
Right way to meet with God.
Right way to grow spiritually.

You heard words like quiet time, discipline, consistency, structure — and instead of feeling invited, you felt a little evaluated.

Like there was a checklist.
Like God was keeping score.
Like intimacy with Him had a format.

But here’s the truth you’re allowed to remember:

God is not impressed by your methods.
He is moved by your presence.

Sometimes your time with Him looks like a Bible open and a warm cup of coffee before the house wakes up.

And sometimes it looks like:
“Hey God… it’s me again. I’m tired. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

Both count.
Both matter.
Both are prayer.

You don’t need a perfect routine to be close to God.
You need a real relationship.

The kind where you show up messy.
The kind where you argue, doubt, cry, ramble, vent, thank Him, forget about Him, and then come back again.

Because that’s what love looks like.

Not a formula.
Not a performance.
Not a spiritual productivity plan.

Just presence.

Some days your connection will be deep and reflective.
Some days it will be five minutes in the car.
Some days it will be a song that cracks your heart open.
Some days it will be a journal entry that starts with:
“God, where are you?”

And none of those days disqualify you.

Spiritual growth isn’t built on intensity.
It’s built on honesty.

Not how early you wake up.
Not how many chapters you read.
Not how eloquent your prayers sound.

But how often you come back.

Again and again and again.

Even when you’re angry.
Even when you’re confused.
Even when you’re exhausted.
Even when you don’t feel anything at all.

Especially then.

So if you’ve ever felt like you were failing at faith because you couldn’t keep up with someone else’s version of it…

Let this be the reframe:

You are not behind.
You are not doing it wrong.
You are not disappointing God.

You are building a relationship the only way relationships are built:

By showing up as yourself.

And whispering,
“Hey God… it’s me again.”

That’s not weak faith.
That’s real faith.

And it’s more than enough.

Love,
The woman who learned God doesn’t want her perfection —
He wants her heart. 🤍