Adventure in foam valley

I have an enormous bed in my furnished apartment. The Cal-King-sized foam mattress, however, has cradled its share of tenants and now concaves in the center. Thus, as much as I would like to swim around my first very big bed, I always find myself rolling toward the middle. I’ve thought about getting a new mattress, but I know the apartment manager would make me pay for it. I also feel guilty about replacing such a big and not-entirely-useless piece of furniture.

During my friend Karen’s visit, the apartment manager added a guest bed to my living room. This bed was smaller, but it came with a brand new mattress. I coveted that mattress during Karen’s stay. I then spent the bulk of the two days following her departure on that mattress.

On the third day, the new mattress and guest bed were scheduled to be removed from my apartment. In a fit of it-can’t-hurt-to-try, I confronted my old mattress. I wrestled with the v-shaped giant until I had flipped it over, nearly knocking off the mosquito net and ceiling lamp in the process.

I tried it out. Nice and firm and flat. I felt relieved that I hadn’t replaced the mattress or resigned to sleeping in foam valley for the next nine months. From now on, I roll according to will and whim! Not only is the old as good as the new, it’s also twice the size!

I thought of other occasions when I’ve experienced or witnessed the old being made new: the old dress that wears like new after an extended period of neglect in the back of the closet; the perishing friendship that reaches new depths through honesty and reconciliation; the husband who sees his wife with new eyes and new awe after the birth of a child; my parents’ God becoming my Lord.

Newer is not always better, even when things are not as they should be. What a delight and relief to discover (or remember) that somewhere between rejection and resignation is renewal, and that this middle-ground can sometimes be reached with a little hope and some elbow-grease.