Elise's Bench

I’ve found a new hobby, which is strange because I wasn’t looking for one. It began as a chore. A job. An item to scratch off of my ‘to do’ list; however, I’m enjoying both the process and the result so much that I plan to continue. I’m painting. Not landscapes or portraits. Nothing requiring that much skill. I’m painting furniture.

            Over the years, my husband’s not-so-funny joke has been, “What’s wrong? Couldn’t find a paintbrush to fit your hand?” I would simply answer, no, and return to keeping the children out of whichever  room was being transformed. When there was furniture to be finished or refinished, it was his job. I didn’t want to learn how  to sand, stain, or varnish. Oh, how times have changed. Or maybe I have changed.

            My decision to paint Elise’s bench came as a surprise to everyone. The bench, which once occupied the same spot under her grandparent’s carport her entire life, was transported to our home upon their deaths last summer. Formerly her great-grandfather’s, and formerly a rocker, my father-in-law made it into a bench, added a couple of coats of paint, and unknowingly preserved a piece of furniture to which Elise has attached many childhood memories.

            Hopefully none of those memories were attached to the chipping green paint. A coat of Citristrip and my son-in-law’s sander smoothed out the rough edges and produced a beautifully mottled finish. Shades of green, blue and white blended together to cover almost all of the wood. I was tempted to leave it that way, but stuck to my plan of returning the piece to its’ original white finish, then slightly distressing it.

            Distressing furniture is the perfect finish for a non-perfectionist like myself. The idea is to produce an aged, vintage look by removing paint in areas that would naturally wear away. Had the top coat of the bench been white, I would have had little to do.

            After adding a coat or two of white paint, I began to sand away a few spots, revealing a little blue here, a little green there, and even a few glimpses of the wood. I think it’s beautiful, and such a reflection of life. At least mine.

            When age, life’s storms, stress, and pressure chip away at me, there’s no need to panic. Attempting an appearance of perfection is futile, frustrating, and fully fictional. Gradually, and I hope gracefully, I’ve come to embrace both the aging process and the circumstances that have become part of my story. When either of those cause my exterior to fade, it’s okay. I’m still trusting God to cause everything – the good, the bad, the happy, the sad – to work together for my good. (Romans 8:28)