The Couch
I never thought I would cry over a couch, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. The couch showed up at our door a few days after we ordered it, looking nothing like I had expected. As my husband and the delivery guys pulled the plastic covering off of it, my heart dropped.
“That’s not the couch we ordered,” I told my husband.
“Well, it’s the one they sent,” my husband responded. “Are you sure this isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I asserted. “I never would have ordered a couch with big, brown flowers on it. The one we picked out had circles or something. Why didn’t you say anything at the store?”
“It had this plastic stuff on it so I couldn’t see it very well,” he explained. “What did you want me to do?”
Angry tears filled my eyes. “I don’t know. But I know this isn’t the couch I ordered.”
We were fresh in our host country and didn’t speak the language yet, so buying furniture was a team effort. We had visited the one furniture shop in our little town that didn’t have much. When none of the bright pink and purple couches in stock tickled our fancy, the saleslady pulled out a shiny catalog to show us the options we could order. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least there were some more toned-down color options to choose from. The crushed velvet look I left behind with my third grade church dresses was coming back to haunt me in the form of bold, bright fabric sofas. I swallowed my pride and resigned myself to a brown couch with beige pillows that had brown circles on them. It seemed like the least awful option. Our teammates helped us negotiate a price and choose a delivery day. All that was left was for us to wait for a call saying the couch had arrived. I didn’t think I would need to verify it being the correct couch before it was delivered. Why would I? I had pointed to it in the catalog. She knew which one we wanted.
But here I was, staring at an ugly, brown and white velour couch with big 70s flowers on it.
A couch we had paid several hundred dollars for.
A couch I hated.
And it wasn’t even comfortable.
The couch was hard and you could feel the springs in the cushions when you sat on it (I didn’t know couches came with springs in the cushions??). But in our host country, there are no returns and no exchanges. Saying they sent the wrong couch would make them lose face and that is the worst kind of offense. There was no other option than to swallow my pride again, and try to make the best of it.
And we did. For two years we used that ugly brown couch and we lived a lot of life on those springy cushions. We had family pizza nights and movie nights on it, hosted many friends and family on it, read stories and prayed prayers on it, and used it so much that the velour started wearing off and leaving bare spots.
At the end of two years, before leaving for home assignment in the States, we had to choose what we would store in our friends’ spare bedroom and what would be given away. The couch was falling apart at this point and I didn’t think anyone would want it. But when I asked my neighbor if she would be interested, her eyes lit up as she quickly responded with a delighted, “yes!”
Once again, I didn’t expect to get emotional over this couch, but I may have had a little lump in my throat as we carried it piece by piece to its new home.
Much of my life overseas has ended up being like that couch. I entered into the situation with certain expectations, and my host country delivered a totally different experience than what I thought I had signed up for. Life abroad has not always been pretty, and I’ve cried my fair share of tears over disappointments and unmet expectations. In the end, though, I have found that one of the most important traits of an expat is adaptability—being able to let go of what you expected and make the most of what you’re given.
I didn’t want to be given a flowery, velour couch. But after shedding a few tears, I determined that a couch wasn’t going to define my experience overseas. I didn’t know it then, but that determination was going to be necessary for countless other challenges I would face. Learning to push past my idealistic preferences and embracing reality has kept me grounded and focused on the reason I am here—not to have a pretty home or an Instagram-worthy adventure, but to love God and love people. I can do that, even with an ugly brown couch.
When we returned to our host country a year later, I bought a real couch I picked out from a real furniture store in the capital city and had it shipped up to our village. It isn’t velour and doesn’t have springs or flowers. I have prayed countless prayers of thanks to God for my lovely, comfortable couch. I’m not sure, though, if I would be quite so grateful for this blessing if I hadn’t endured our first couch and the character it developed in me. My life overseas is richer and fuller because I’ve experienced the joy of letting go of my expectations and living life open-handed, trusting God to provide exactly what I need—
even if it’s an ugly couch.