Our couch

bekah General Leave a Comment

I’d mentally staked my decision that it would indeed, be my last day sprawled pathetically on our couch, resembling an afterthought of roadkill.

Three days deep into having strep throat, I had rested, napped, and become a semi-permanent resident of the couch, like the recent pillows that had welcomed themselves at home in it’s corners.

Yes, I’d had about enough of being a Bekah blob on those extra-deep, newly washed, heaven-tested cushions.

Please don’t get me wrong.
It wasn’t the couch.
I’m quite fond of our couch, and so is every person that enters our home.

In fact, our couch has refused hundreds of job offers to relocate to friends homes, and has remained loyal to the Pogue household, happy to hold our family.
Every morning it welcomes the curly-haired duo while Ty drinks his morning milk, nestled in the far left and middle cushions, and Tanner claims the corner, his Spiderman blanket tucked under his chin, watching Dinosaur Train, or whatever educational show drugs our boys at an ungodly 6:30 am.

We purchased this specific piece of furniture for our home in Templeton, and every day, have been thankful for the comfy investment.
It has since traveled to Anaheim Hills, Yorba Linda, and now sits, quite at home in Huntington Beach.

We bought it with people in mind. With enough room to seat four couples in a life group, offer a makeshift bed for overnight guests, and serves as a focal point in our living room, where after an abundance of brownie sundaes, good conversation must be shared!

Never, have we given so much attention to a couch.

Throughout the day, it serves as a fort anchor,
a launching pad {which I remind them every time, that ahem, we don’t jump or stand on furniture},
a snuggling respite for afternoon movie-watching.
Then, after the boys have yawned their final yawn before drifting to sleep, Bryan and I lay on our backs, our feet meeting in the middle of the L-shaped sectional, recounting the day, our bodies tired and content.

Our couch has heard gut-wrenching laughter, and deep, soulful sobs. It’s held babies and grandmas, heard children’s prayers, and prayers for our own children.

It offers a safe place for me to write, my legs crossed, nestled into the far left cushion, the one closest to the side table, where a cup of tea or glass of water aids my thoughts.

When we made our most recent move, I had thoughts of selling it.
Out with the old, in with the new.
To me, there is something symbolic about making investments in new places. New to us, at least.
It’s a big couch, perhaps something smaller would be better.

But the thing is, this couch fits our family.

On a whim, I stripped the cushion covers off, and washed each one.
And something magic happened.
Our familiarly old couch, became new again.
The soft greenish blue hue reconnected us to the sands throw of waves 5 miles away, and the plush cushions had a revived bounce and spring to them.

For our anniversary, I treated myself to some orange and yellow pillows that brought the pop I was envisioning, into our home, and onto the couch corners.

And after three days of resting and healing on our couch, I was struck by the similarity I share with our sectional.
I too am worn in certain areas, a bit faded, but all the while hoping to bring a craved sense of home and hospitality. And God is doing a washing of my soul, he’s churning it, removing the cracker crumbs and stains, and renewing me from the inside out.

He sees the same person, but in a different light, shaped by a new, hopeful season.

For now, I will be content with our couch, our family couch whispering millions of memories, and a million more to come.
Perhaps all we need is a good washing now and then, to bring back some sparkle and remind us of what is new and true and home.

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