It’s just a couch.
Stained with memories.
Babies.
Toddlers.
Knowledge imparted through endless books.
Resting, while heavy with child.
It’s just a couch.
Love poured out.
Knees bowed in prayer over young ones; pleading over their souls.
Years and years of devotions while the farm house slept.
Late night discussions debating all that life may present.
It’s just a couch.
Where 7 or 8 gathered for family night to watch a movie.
It was never too small.
There was always room for one more.
The place where Nana sat and loved on her grandbabies.
A couch and chair my sweet Mother in Law found for us.
A place where the sick were nurtured to health.
A place of enchanted forts.
The chair I sat in when my farmer went to the barn and I waited to make the calls
that our red head had taken his final drive.
His residence now on high, with the King of Glory.
Where I sat and pleaded before the throne of grace for this not to be.
But it’s just a couch.
A couch where youth have sat and heard God’s word.
Where friends and family have gathered to study that Ancient Word.
Where stories were told.
A couch that has lost most of its stuffing.
Springs broken and frame cracked.
Almost as important as our kitchen table.
Love poured out.
It really never was, just a couch.
