A Stinky Hippie on my Supple Sofa

Herb the stinky hippie sat on my supple, Italian leather sofa, testing it out while he thoughtfully pondered buying it. As he reclined, he revealed the source of his pungency. The stains on his shirt's armpits proved that he was too pure to bow to many pretentious social conventions, conventions like deodorant, (but he did have 1800 dollars cash, which was why he had been invited inside my home). Now don't get me wrong. I would love to save the planet, and I own second hand furniture and a herb and vegetable garden to prove it; but I would rather be poisoned by the aluminum in my deodorant than alienate everyone I do know and everyone I might ever want to meet. I wish I could sugar-coat the truth better, but there is simply no other way to describe the smell of dear old Herb than to say that he reeked to high heaven with unadulterated body odor.

The sofa on which Herb reclined, had been more than a sofa to me. It was a chocolate-brown, soft, leather symbol of Greg's and my independence and comfort. It was the first brand-new set of furniture that we bought when we moved into our very own house. Our tax return one year had facilitated the purchase of my prize possession, fashioned from Natuzzi leather, at once both cozy and costly. This fantastic set of sofas was not just beautiful, it was even practical, having survived reflux in three Mizell infants unscathed. In my mind, the addition of that sofa transformed my living room from a large living space to a warm and inviting haven, and I loved that sofa both for its comfort and for its meaning.

When Greg and I pondered our move to Oz, it was impossible to make the decision without counting the cost. Shipping everything we owned was not a financial possibility, because shipping something as large as that set of sofas to Australia (and then back when we moved again) would require paying for it twice. Even storing it would cost more than buying it all again in both places. When we had finally made the decision that we would chase new dreams abroad in Oz, I cried as the realization that we would have to sell that sofa set dropped on me like a ton of bricks. Those tears shined a spotlight on my heart, revealing the over-valuing of my possessions, namely the Natuzzi sofa set, which had been flourishing within me for several years.

Now, there is nothing wrong with enjoying something that is beautiful. I believe that beauty is quite simply a gift from God. There is no problem with making my home a warm and inviting place that is comfortable and lovely for our family and for visitors; and in fact making my home a loving and pleasant place to be is very important to me. But, loving furniture so much that its potential sale brings me to tears is just plain wrong. Affection toward sofas is at best misdirected, and at worst materialism. Even this morning I was talking to my daughter about how loving things crowds out the love for God and others in our hearts. Materialism is ugly in a six-year-old and terrifying in a grown woman like me. My sofa was the symbol of pride in possessions to me, and it took moving overseas for me to see truth.

Herb was, no doubt, the beneficiary of my hard lesson. He was looking for a sofa for his new holiday home in New Mexico, and he needed something nice--something like my leather sofa set. Herb was wealthy, friendly, and honest, and I am glad to have met him. (Herb eventually bought the sofa for 1700 dollars. I would have sold it to him for 100 more, but Greg felt sorry that he had to deal with such a merciless swindler as me, and so Greg gave him a discount.) Sure he stunk terribly and used our bathroom with the door open, but God had a higher purpose in bringing him into my life than just our (and your) entertainment. As my symbolic sofa bounced down the road, destined for a new life in a new state, tears gathered in my eyes again. The experience of selling my sofa to Herb was the scalpel that sliced away my sofa and thus separated me from a thick layer of my own materialism.

It's funny how my life turns out. We started over in Australia almost ten months ago, with a shipment of about 10% of what had been our possessions--no furniture. On a tiny budget, we bought a whole new set of used furniture for our house from eBay and Craigslist. We even bought a used Natuzzi sofa. Just like the last one, it is comfortable and it makes our living room warm and inviting, but I hope this time, that I will be able to appreciate the couch without turning it into an idol.

Through the sale of my first sofa to Herb, I learned (and am still learning) that the beauty of my home does not depend on owning a fine sofa. My home is not a physical location; my home is an idea, a concept that moves where my family moves. Home is built (or torn down) by my own hands and my own heart toward my little girls and my husband. My security is not found in the springs and timber, in the stuffing and leather of possessions that make me more comfortable. My security and my hope is in God, who apparently had to move me overseas so that my love for Him and for others could become more pure, unhindered, or maybe hindered less, by the idol of materialism represented by my supple sofa.

I am sad to say that I have no pictures of the first sofa or of Herb who now owns it. This is a picture of the sofa that we bought in Sydney with my oldest and youngest little girls enjoying it.