The Chair {Part Two}

{The saga of the chair continues. If you'd like to catch up, read Part One of the The Chair here.}

Brad has a great idea, he tells me later than night after I mention the $750 upholstery price tag.

“Let’s keep the chair just the way it is,” he suggests. “Let’s not spend the money. The chair can be a concrete symbol of our decision to refrain from unnecessary spending.”

I know where this idea comes from. We’ve been reading The Hole in Our Gospel  with our small group, a book about the vast disparity between the rich and the poor.

It’s a great idea, isn’t it?

In theory.

“No way!” I blurt to Brad. “No way am I going to live with that ugly fabric for the rest of my life! It doesn’t even match our furniture. It’s not even our style. It’s a good idea, really it is, honey. But I don’t want to do it. I’m not going to do it.”

I think about having friends over for dinner. I'm afraid they'll assume I had a lapse in decorating judgment. I know I'd feel compelled to explain the existence of the pink and green striped chair. 

I'm not sure I'm up for having that conversation for the rest of my life.

I feel a little bit mad at Brad for making the suggestion.

"What does he care?" I fume. "He doesn't care that we have an ugly chair. He won't even notice the chair after a week, but I'll have to live with that stupid ugly thing every day for the rest of my life!"

Later I explain the chair conundrum to the members of our small group. They think they know the ending of this story. They nod their heads, agreeing with Brad’s suggestion, supporting our decision to keep the chair as is. But when I get to the part where I refuse to agree to Brad’s noble idea, they laugh, surprised. And I laugh, too, to hide my shame. I'm ashamed that 2.6 billion people live on less than $2 day while I balk over sacrificing my pride for a silly chair.

I refuse to live with the ugly chair because I am selfish and vain.

And because I don’t have to.

It’s been three weeks since I stripped the worn slipcover from the chair. Three weeks since I closed the door of the upholsterer’s shop. Three weeks since Brad suggested we live with the chair as it is, and three weeks since I refused. I’ve been living in limbo – not able to spend the $750, not able to not spend the $750.

{I blame the Ecuador Compassion bloggers in part -- reading posts like this one every day last week reminded me of the fact that the $750 I might spent on a ridiculous chair could sponsor TWO needy children!}

And then we get a note from Brad’s dad in the mail.

And with the note is a $500 check.

Jon saw the worn slipcover and the hole last time he was here. He didn’t know about my epic struggle over the chair. He’d simply observed its dilapidated state, and, because it’s his favorite chair, he sent us a check to help cover the costs of reupholstery.

It seems like this check could be the solution to my quandary, doesn’t it? I might even argue that it's God solving the problem for me.

But I don't know. I find that I am still stalling. 

I haven’t been back to the upholsterer’s shop yet.

I feel silly even writing about such a topic, but I have to ask: what about you? Have you ever really struggled with whether or not to spend money on a frivolous item?

{An addendum since I wrote this: Curt, a friend from church, left a message on Facebook after he read Part I of the chair saga. He knows someone who makes custom-made slip-covers! This could be the perfect and much more economical solution! There very well may a Chair, Part Three post!}