I Had a Little Chair

by Donna Poole

He was probably a perfectly nice man.

For some reason, my little sister, Mary, and I took an intense dislike to our neighbor. To show our disgust we dug worms we almost gagged to touch and threw them over the fence into his yard. He probably collected them to go fishing.

Mary and I often whispered about our neighbor as we dug worms. I wish I could remember why we didn’t like him, but it was too long ago. Neither of us were school age yet.

 I remember that day. That one day.

“Mary,” I whispered, “he is probably going to hell.”

From some vague Sunday school teaching it occurred to me that if our obnoxious neighbor were going to hell someone should tell him so he wouldn’t go there. It couldn’t be me; I was only as high as his knee, and I was a strange, funny little kid, ready to dream up and execute any adventure regardless of consequences but painfully shy around anyone but family. I couldn’t possibly find courage to talk to aour neighbor.

Worm after disgusting worm, I couldn’t get rid of the thought. That horrible man is going to hell. My own sins of hatred and worm-throwing didn’t bother me in the least, but surely that terrible man had terrible sins that would send him to that terrible place.

“I’m going to tell him he’s going to hell,” I announced to Mary.

“You can’t,” she whispered. I’m imagining now how she looked, brown-black eyes huge in her beautiful little heart-shaped face.

She knew I would. We’d both heard the stories about me. We didn’t remember them happening, but they had to be true, because Mom told them.

According to Mom before I was two, I ate a pound of raw hamburger, an entire African Violet, and got into many other things the minute she turned her back. I locked her in the basement when she went down to hang the laundry and refused to turn the key to let her out. There she stayed the entire day, probably frantic about what I was doing and hoping I wasn’t feeding baby sister Mary raw hamburger and African Violets. When I was about two and a half and Mary fifteen months, I led us both on an adventure. Proudly pushing our doll carriages, we walked down the center line of one of the busiest roads in town.

If I’d done all that, I could do this. Someone had to tell our neighbor he was going to hell. I would. But how?

I had a little chair.

I walked into the house and got my little chair. Legs shaking, I carried it around the fence into our neighbor’s yard, put it down at his feet, and climbed up on it. I still remember his face. It said, isn’t that cute? That little neighbor girl brought her chair all the way over here to talk to me.

He didn’t look terrible; he looked amused and kind, and that almost stopped me, but only for a minute.

I stood on tiptoe, reached up, yanked his cigar out of his mouth, and threw it on the ground. “You are going to hell!” I yelled.

His amused, kind look turned hurt and shocked. And angry.

I jumped off my chair, picked it up, and headed for home as fast as I could go.

I remember feeling triumphant, like I’d done something brave, and good, and important. I felt sure everyone would be proud of me. But I had to keep pushing away how hurt my neighbor had looked.

Telephone calls travel faster than little girls with short chubby legs carrying chairs. Mom all but hauled me in the house. I’d had many spankings before and deserved them. But this one?

Wait! Didn’t she understand I’d done something fearless and noble that deserved praise?

There was a man in the Bible who had a little chair. He was a religious leader. He stood on his chair to pray, careful not to let his fine robe brush any part of the man on the ground next to him.

This high-ranking ruler lifted his arms toward God and shouted, “God, thank You for making me better than others. I thank you that I’m not like this sinner on the ground next to me!”

Getting off his chair, the religious ruler walked away.

The man on the ground didn’t even lift his face toward the sky. “God,” he whispered, “be merciful to me. A sinner.”

Jesus told the story; I added the chair. Jesus said which of the two men found mercy. Can you guess?

I see so many people on their little chairs shouting in each other’s faces, and I don’t think it will end when the polls close on November 3.

We find so many things to judge and criticize each other for, don’t we?

My little chair still follows me everywhere. As determined as I am never to get on it again, I sometimes do, at least in my thoughts. I’m relieved it’s not going to heaven with me!

So, do I believe in heaven and hell? With all my heart. I just don’t think screaming from a chair helps people find the right direction. A road sign shared with love might though. Here’s one.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” –John 3:16

And my poor neighbor if you’re still alive somewhere and reading this, you doubtless wondered whatever happened to that incredibly rude child who had a little chair. She didn’t become the criminal you may have expected, she became a writer, and she asks you to forgive her. I hope that wasn’t an awfully expensive cigar.