The Story Behind the Blue Chair

Recently, I shared a video on my Instagram page, and I felt it was important to give some context. It’s so easy to forget that behind every short clip or post we see online, there’s always a deeper story. Pain, growth, stretching, confusion — all of it often stays hidden behind the scenes. When someone shares wisdom, there’s usually a depth that words alone can’t fully capture.

One experience that has profoundly shaped me was my time in the NICU. It's not something often talked about, and one of the biggest lessons I learned there was how much we don’t see when we pass by each other. Walking outside the hospital after long days in the NICU, I realized that not everyone could know just by looking what was happening inside — the battles, the prayers, the hope, and the heartbreak. It opened my eyes to how we interact as people: we walk past one another, often unaware of the unseen stories being carried.

The video I shared talked about a song that resonated with me deeply during that season. When our NICU journey began, I prayed for God to give me something to hold onto — some kind of answer. What He gave me wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t a quick fix or an immediate solution. It was a chair.

The simple act of sitting in that chair beside the incubator became a place of surrender. A quiet whisper from the Holy Spirit told me to "Lean Back" into His presence. The chair represented a different kind of answer: not an escape from the hard things, but a resting place in them. It wasn't easy to accept that reality, but it was exactly what I needed. That blue chair taught me to release what I couldn't control and to rest where I was.

Sometimes the answer we’re looking for is the uncomfortable one — the one that invites us to stay, to trust, and to be held even when the waiting feels endless. For me, that blue chair carried me through one of the hardest seasons of my life. And I’m still grateful for it today.

Maybe you have your own version of the blue chair. Maybe you're in it right now. My hope is that you find the courage to lean back, too.

Yours Truly,

Gill