One afternoon, my brain begged for a break from writing. I headed to a favorite antique shop for mindless browsing. While sorting through old box door locks, I noticed a chair dangling overhead. I asked for a better look.

I settled into the seat of the old rocking chair. The gait was perfect, and better yet, my feet were planted firmly on the ground given its squatty nature. After handing over $20, I loaded it up, excited about my incredible bargain but mostly about the relationship that was to come.

On the drive home, I envisioned myself in the chair with a grandkid on my lap and a book open before us. My mind conjured up the precious image of sweet toddlers with their creased, chunky legs dangling over either side of my lap while their head lay snug against my chest.

I thought of the newest grandson, just 2 months old, and the songs I would sing as we rocked. We’re going to make lots of memories together — though I know this chair must already have a rich history.

How many wee morning hours was it helping soothe a colicky baby to sleep? How many toes were counted and wiggled as nursery rhymes were recited? Did it hear earnest and fervent prayers spoken when worry tried to take over? Were letters from faraway family read while sitting next to a warm stove?

Did it see flapping curtains over an open window while a cool breeze brought relief to a tired momma? How many times did someone rock as tears slid down their cheeks over a broken heart, loss of a loved one or lament of hard times?

Discovery

Remarkably, I discovered a note written by the previous owner on the bottom, claiming the chair was owned by her father’s great-grandmother, “Mrs. I. Brown.” From the way it’s constructed, it’s obvious the chair is very old.

It rocked back and forth as news of wars far away and wars threatening our homeland smoldered. That steady gait would have continued through newly elected presidents, unrest, fear of unknowns hovering over a nation, and the endless cycles of joy and grief that Mrs. Brown experienced during her lifetime.

I would bet through it all there was a woman rocking her babies and grandbabies. There were moments of exhausted silence, moments of giggling and moments of hushing a little one to sleep, all while life turned upside down over and over again.

In 1865, a poem was published titled “What Rules the World,” by William Ross Wallace. The refrain has become quite popular: “For the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.” I agree with Mr. Wallace, but I would also like to add that the feet that rocked the rocking chair were equally powerful.

Think of all the ways lives have been nurtured and nourished while rocking back and forth. There’s a great rhythm to this old chair that is now mine. It invites me to stop, sit down, be still, be grateful, be in the moment — whether alone or if two chubby legs dangle across my lap.

Echoes from generations past whisper to me to keep rocking those babies, keep singing lullabies and keep whispering prayers while curtains flap in the breeze.

McClain writes from Greenwood, Ind.