This weekend I was in Oklahoma City for Time Out for Women.
I’ve never been to Oklahoma, nor do I know anyone who lives there, and I abashedly confess that visiting the Memorial was parenthetical, a quick detour en route to the hotel. But the moment Shawni and I crossed the threshold, our lighthearted conversation became hushed, even reverent. I had, unwittingly stumbled upon a very sacred place.
The Memorial, which honors those who lost their lives in the tragic bombing on April 19, 1995, includes a large reflecting pool; its perimeter traces that of the Murrah Building, what was once N.W. Fifth Street. At the far end, and to the left of the pool, stands the Survivor Tree, an American Elm, that miraculously survived the blast. I found myself most drawn to the 168 ladder-backed chairs, one for each person who died, large ones for the adults and miniature chairs for the children. The words of grief-stricken Marius from Les Miserables came to mind, “Empty chairs and empty tables where my friends will meet no more."
Courtesy Macy Robison Photography
As I flew home this morning (having fallen in love with Oklahoma), this image of the chairs lingered.
Chairs are such a quotidian part of our surroundings. We think of them in terms of their functionality – somewhere to sit – to plunk down our backpacks, purses, briefcases. Perhaps that's why they are such a fitting marker: what was ordinary is now an extra-ordinary signifier that each of these people continues to have a place.
I couldn't help but think too, that while catastrophes will continue to strike, there is at least one calamity that is avoidable: the loss of life that occurs when you and I fail to claim our place in the world, leaving our chair empty. Some might call this hyperbole. But, forfeiting our place is, to me, a tragedy of individual proportion.
“I’m too busy to sit down,” we say, scurrying distractedly past our who we are, “I’ll sit later.” Or “Surely there must be a fancier chair. This isn’t what I intended for my life”, we lament, “I’ll wait for a better one.” Or, “I can’t sit in that chair,” as if we we're a pretender to a throne, though it's legitimately ours, “better to stand aside for someone more deserving.”
After being in Oklahoma, and bearing witness to this devastating loss, chairs are no longer just chairs. My few minutes at the Memorial changed me; they have compelled me to work even harder to become the chair of my life.
Have you ever stumbled upon a sacred place? Where was it?
Can you think of any others reasons, besides the three that I've mentioned, why we don't claim our life - as it is?
The next time you sit in a chair, will you consider how you have already pulled up a seat to your self?
P.S. On the topic of bearing witness, you may also want to read Nilofer Merchant's post. And, as for my commitment to become the chair, my Optimist Challenge is taxing, but working...
Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I felt the sadness of the lives that were lost.
Which chair will we take? I am not waiting for the "perfect" chair....I am rolling along in my chair. Yet, I think my chair has wings and I need to fly lower. Where will my chair take me?
This is the adventure in the journey.
Posted by: Jeanne Boudreau | May 15, 2011 at 09:59 AM
Empty chairs as metaphor for lives that were lost.... powerful image.
One reason we don't always take our chair is a sense of overwhelm when considering the responsibilities that goes with it. Are ready to make the necessary sacrifices? Another reason might be fear of failure, concern that we're not competent enough to handle all the tasks associated with the chair.
Thanks for starting the conversation.
Posted by: Womennovation | May 15, 2011 at 04:29 PM
I've always wanted to go there. I appreciate your sharing this experience. And discussion. You think things I wish I knew how because I know I would be better.
Posted by: Amy Jo | May 15, 2011 at 08:54 PM
Fascinating!
I felt that way the first time I visited the Arlington National Cemetery.
Sometimes I don't feel like I've earned my chair, and don't want to sit in it until I've worked harder to get there.
Posted by: Jenny | May 15, 2011 at 09:40 PM
Moving piece. Thank you for writing and reminding us of things we fail to keep in mind.
Susan
@susanmcp1
Posted by: Susan McPherson | May 16, 2011 at 07:19 AM
come sit... lovely... :)
Posted by: vicki | May 16, 2011 at 01:32 PM
Josh and I just returned from France where we visited an exhibit at Versailles. It was an exhibition of 50 thrones from around the world. Some were from Thailand, Egypt, Russia, South America, and Rome. Some very ornate and fancy, others plain even primitive. The introduction to the exhibit made a distinction between the power and authority that they represented. I came home looking at the chairs in my house and remembering the chairs in my childhood home. I grew up with a Harvard chair where we would receive father's blessings, a 'phone stool' where my mother sat doing church calls, and my own rocking chairs where I nursed my babies.
This post is lovely, complementing beautifully my recent experience.
Posted by: Susy Yamada | May 16, 2011 at 07:07 PM
I have really enjoyed all of your comments! Thank you SO much!
Posted by: Whitney | May 17, 2011 at 02:18 PM
Wonderful post. Thank you for taking us there.
I think sometimes I like the chair I'm on so much that I'm hesitant to try another.
Posted by: Maria | May 18, 2011 at 11:05 AM
What great thoughts to give us pause about "the chairs" in our lives! I can't believe I didn't get there while we were in Oklahoma City. I am still amazed at your amazing gift of music that you shared with us as you accompanied Macy. You were simply incredible!
Posted by: Linda Eyre | May 19, 2011 at 05:26 PM
OH, Whitney. I LOVE this so much.
I love that you loved OKC and that Memorial as much as I did the first time I went.
But, I love even more this analogy.
And you are right...NOT hyperbole.
This seriously is beautiful.
Thanks for the teaching moment.
Posted by: Laurel | May 22, 2011 at 10:09 AM
Sometimes I worry that my comfortable chair will appear ugly to others. Having said that, I find that a lot of the chairs that look comfortable really aren't, and I remember being humongously pregnant and not wanting to sit on anything that resembled comfortable, because I couldn't get back out again...
Interesting to take a moment and think about how I'm viewing my life. Thanks!
Posted by: Lisle | May 31, 2011 at 10:54 AM
This reminds me of a poem I once read, I can't remember by whom, but it talks about how Christ wants for their to be no empty chairs in heaven when all is said and done. With the statue of christ with his back turned made me imagine the grief he must feel when one of the chairs reamains empty. The pain must be unbearable for him and he has to turn away.
I pray we can be more aware of the chairs we choose to place oursleves. And strive to fill the chairs that wrap us in the comfort and the peace that the savior brings.
Posted by: Amanda Cook | July 12, 2011 at 01:06 AM