Last night I hung the old canvass chair to its hanger on the back porch … thirteen months after nature’s wild winds blew it down.

It’s one of those “California chairs,” a contraption designed to swing and keep on swinging while the sitter does little more than sit and breathe. I like that, because “sitting and breathing” is about all I want to do many autumn evenings. Sit, look out at Brenda’s flowers, and breathe the cool evening air. Slowly.

I’ve been more than a year without “sitting and breathing.” Instead, I’ve been working during the light hours and coming home after dark has filled our back yard, and then eating supper far later than even Martha Stewart would allow. There’s been little time to “sit and breathe.” Not even time to hang the chair now that the porch ceiling has been repaired and re-painted a pleasant yellow. Not until yesterday.

As soon as I had it firmly connected, I sat, breathed, and sat some more.

I remember when I used to sit in the swing-chair often. I’d get a tall glass of Brenda’s lemonade (or hot chocolate if the evening allowed!), take several deep cleansing breaths (like they taught us in Lamaze classes), and listen to the breezes blow in the trees behind our house. Those are all good things. Stop. Sit. Drink. Breathe deeply. Listen.

… and sleep.

The faded canvass chair is a really great sleeping chair!

According to letters written by His friends, Jesus used to “sit and breathe.” After a full day telling stories to kids, healing their parents, and confronting demons, He’d wave to the guys and head off into the hills. I’ll bet He had a favorite sitting rock or listening chair somewhere in the vast outdoors, a spot where He could settle in, breathe deeply, empty His canteen, stare off into the heavens, and review the day with His Father.

Sometimes I’ll bet His chin would drop and He’d sleep the sleep of the exhausted. Other times He’d talk on all night long, remembering stories He should have told and planning better responses for tomorrow’s lawyerly questions. Sometimes though, I’m sure He just sat and breathed, smiling as the Wind of God filled His lungs and soul.

Maybe that is His greatest gift—permission to walk away from life’s chaos into a place of refreshing peace. Permission to breathe deeply—knowing that The Father is filling us with His Spirit, and that a dose of Divine Inspiration is going to improve everything about our tomorrow! (see Luke 5:16 and 6:12)

Dick Duerksen is an assistant vice president for mission development at Florida Hospital.