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…The Chair Before Mine

Dear Little Girl,

Before there were Two Chairs...there was one.

Today would have been my mom’s 90th birthday.

For My Mom on What Would Have Been Her 90th Birthday

And today, I finally understood where my own chair began.

Ninety Years Old!

How has it been almost ten years since we said goodbye?

Some days it feels like a lifetime ago.

Other days, I still find myself reaching for the phone at three o'clock.

Because for years, that's when we talked.

Almost every day.

You would be sitting in your prayer chair, rosary in hand, looking out the window at the children walking home from school. You loved watching them. You prayed for them, even if you didn't know their names.

I can still picture you there.

My Mom’s Prayer Chair….legacy of faith.

And I don't think there's been a single day since you've been gone that you haven't crossed my mind.

They say time heals.

I think time softens.

The ache isn't as sharp as it once was, but love has a way of leaving fingerprints that never disappear.

Maybe that's why the saying is true...

The greater the grief, the greater the love story was.

And ours was a beautiful one.

Today is another beautiful day in our family.

It's Alex Foley's wedding.

On your birthday.

He didn't even realize it until I told him.

He smiled the biggest smile.

And all I could think was...

Mom would have loved this.

Yesterday I found myself wondering...

What if God let you come to the wedding for just five minutes?

I can see it so clearly.

You'd walk in wearing that dress you loved so much—the one you wore to Robin's wedding.

Your beautiful red hair.

Your rosy cheeks.

Your little nose.

Your pink lipstick.

Those sparkling blue eyes that somehow smiled before the rest of your face did.

I miss this little firecracker!

You wouldn't rush.

You'd simply stand there for a moment...

taking all of us in.

Then I think you'd smile and say,

"Heaven is more beautiful than you can possibly imagine."

"Trust Him."

“Keep Praying…”

You always trusted Him.

Every single day.

You sat in your prayer chair with that worn prayer pad—yes, I still have it—and faithfully prayed through every name on your list.

People counted on your prayers.

Dad used to laugh and say,

"Your mom has the direct connection."

I believed him.

I still do.

One of the last conversations we had was in the ICU.

I asked if you were scared.

You folded your hands in your lap, looked at me, and quietly said,

"Sure...but we all have to do it."

At the time, that answer unsettled me.

I didn't want my mom to be afraid.

But today...

I think if you could speak to me now, you'd smile and say,

"Don't be afraid, my angel."

That's what you always called me.

Your angel.

I miss hearing that.

I miss your blue eyes.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of them in Graeme's face, and for just a second...

it's like seeing you again.

I see you in other places too.

I see you in my heart for forgiveness.

In my love for people.

In my compassion.

In my desire to pray before I panic.

And then, as I sat here writing this letter...

I realized something that stopped me in my tracks.

You had a prayer chair…

I have Two Chairs…

I always thought…my Two Chairs were born out of my own heartbreak.

Out of losing you.

Out of losing my marriage.

Out of learning to trust God in the hardest seasons of my life.

But maybe...

they began long before that.

Maybe they began with a little girl watching her mother faithfully return to the same chair every day to meet with God.

You planted seeds you never got to see bloom.

Those seeds carried me through your death.

They carried me through betrayal.

They carried me through grief.

They carried me back to hope.

And now they are carrying other people too.

You never knew your faithful prayers would become someone else's healing.

That's your legacy.

Not because you wrote a book.

Not because you stood on stages.

Not because the world knew your name.

Because you quietly showed up to meet with God every single day.

And a little girl was watching.

Mom...

You taught me about prayer.

You taught me about forgiveness.

You taught me about serving others.

You taught me what compassion looks like.

You taught me to keep showing up when life hurts.

You taught me that faith isn't built in extraordinary moments.

It's built in ordinary, faithful ones.

Fifty years from now, I hope people remember you as the redhead with the faithful prayer chair.

The woman who believed God heard every prayer she whispered.

The prayer warrior.

Her final prayer list…..

The cook who made everyone feel at home.

The mom whose greatest sermon wasn't something she preached...

It was the life she lived.

And today, on your birthday in Heaven, I hope you're celebrating with Dad.

With your family.

And if you're with my baby...

Would you hold that little one close for me?

Tell them how deeply they are loved.

Tell them their mama thinks about them often.

And one day...

We'll all be together again.

Until then...

Know this.

Because you loved me...

I am okay.

I am better than okay.

I am whole.

Love,

The little girl who finally realized her faith began in the chair before hers.

Dear Little Girl, The Chair Was Never Empty

Three years ago, I sat on a stage with a simple chair beside me.

Just one empty chair.

The Chair Was Never Empty

That was the visual.

One chair for me.

One chair for God.

That's it.

Show up.

Sit down.

Talk to the One who never leaves.

What I didn't tell everyone that night was that I was living through one of the hardest seasons of my life.

Trey and I were separated.

Our marriage was ending.

And as I stood on that stage, I cried because I didn't want it to.

Speaking Through Tears….Held By Grace

My marriage felt like it was slipping through my fingers, and I honestly didn't know how the story would end.

I had originally planned to speak about my Good Life Journal—how it was born out of grief after losing my mom.

Instead...

I threw my notes away.

I spoke from my heart.

Months later, someone saw a picture from that night.

They quietly said,

"That picture always broke my heart.

It looked like someone was missing."

For a long time...

I thought they were right.

I thought that chair represented the person who wasn't there.

The husband I missed.

The future I couldn't see.

The life I thought I had lost.

But today...

I see that picture completely differently.

The chair was never empty.

Because God never left.

Even when Trey walked away...

God stayed.

Even when I cried more tears than I thought one person could cry...

God stayed.

Even when I questioned everything I believed about marriage, trust, and the future...

God stayed.

Day after day...one chair at a time.

Long before my marriage was restored...

My heart began to heal.

That was the first miracle.

Somewhere in those daily conversations, something inside me slowly changed.

I stopped trying to control every outcome.

I stopped believing my safety depended on another human being.

I stopped waiting for my circumstances to change before I allowed myself to breathe.

I discovered that I was never sitting in that second chair alone.

God had been there the entire time.

By His grace, Trey and I found our way back to one another.

Our marriage has been restored in ways I once thought were impossible.

Grace Wrote A Different Ending

But if I'm honest...

The greatest miracle wasn't that Trey came home.

The greatest miracle was discovering that even if he hadn't...God had never left.

Everything else grew from there.

So if you're sitting in a season that feels painfully quiet...

If someone you love is distant...

If you're waiting for healing...

If you're wondering whether hope is foolish...

Pull up a chair.

Not because every story ends the way mine did.

But because every story can be met by the same faithful God.

You don't have to have the right words.

You don't have to know how the story ends.

You don't have to fix a thing.

Just show up.

Sit down.

Be still.

Because healing doesn't begin when life gets easier.

It begins when you discover...

The chair beside you was never empty.

The One you've been longing for...

has been sitting there all along.

Love,

The girl who discovered God's presence was enough before His answers ever came.

💭 A Question to Journal On

Have you ever felt like you were waiting for someone—or something—to return before you could finally breathe?

What if the presence you've needed most has been with you all along?

🙏 A Prayer

Dear God,

Thank You for never walking away.

Thank You for staying when everything else felt uncertain.

Thank You for meeting me in the silence, in the waiting, and in the questions I didn't know how to ask.

Teach me to trust that Your presence is enough for today.

Help me believe that even when life feels unfinished, You are still writing a beautiful story.

And remind me, again and again, that the chair beside me has never been empty.

Amen.

With hope and healing,

Amy

Dear Little Girl…You Don’t Have To Chase God

Dear Little Girl,

The busy season is ending.

The performances have happened.
The schedules are shifting.
The deadlines that felt so urgent are beginning to loosen their grip.

And yet...

You still find yourself carrying things.

The questions.
The worries.
The hopes you have for people you love.

You thought peace would arrive when life finally settled down.

But peace was never waiting on a clear calendar.

Peace has always been a Person.

You keep thinking you'll meet God in the next season.

After the trip.
After the decision.
After the answer arrives.
After everyone is okay.

But what if He wants to meet you here?

Not in the finished version of the story.

Not after you've figured it out.

Here.

In the ordinary summer morning.
In the quiet cup of coffee.
In the walk around the neighborhood.
In the empty chair waiting for you to sit down.

You don't have to create a spiritual breakthrough.

You don't have to chase a feeling.

You don't have to prove your faithfulness.

Simply show up.

The same God who met Jacob while he was running.
The same God who met Hagar in the wilderness.
The same God who met the disciples in their fear.

He still meets people right where they are.

And He will meet you too.

Not because you've earned it.

Not because you've finally gotten everything right.

But because He loves being with you.

So take a breath today.

Let the pressure leave your shoulders.

You do not have to force the next chapter.

You only have to take the next step.

God is already there.

Waiting.

Love,
God