In the corner of my living room sits my mother’s cherished Singer sewing machine. Almost one hundred years old now, I see it as a small monument to my parents’ rock-solid values.
The machine was purchased in 1929, the year the stock market crash brought about the Great Depression.  Dad’s business had closed, and he was trying to sell women’s silk stockings door to door.  I doubt if he sold one pair, for he was brusque and painfully honest, with neither the charm nor the eloquence to be a salesman.
Mama was pregnant with my older brother and trying to manage on near-nothing. A sewing machine salesman came by with shiny new treadle-driven machines mounted in lovely walnut cabinets, for only twenty-five dollars. “No,” she sadly shook her head. “We can’t afford one.”
“Just try it,” he persisted. “I can leave it for two weeks.” The deal was too good to pass.  She spent every moment of the trial period sewing my brother’s diapers and baby gowns.  When the two weeks were up, she cleaned every trace of its use and prepared to return it.
My dad astonished her. “No, it’s not right to use it and not buy it!  We won’t take unfair advantage of the man.”  Somehow, they found the money and paid the salesman, and the sewing machine was added to their meager possessions.
Over the next fifty years, Mama made our home comfortable and pretty with curtains and quilts sewn evenings by kerosene lamp. She used the printed sacks from our chickenfeed for fabric and even took old garments apart at the seams to make our clothing.  I was often dressed like a banker’s child!  Among my sweet memories are the little dresses she made to match for my dolls.
God gifted my dad with an acute sense of right and wrong, sometimes far beyond his pocketbook. Each time I dust the old Singer, I realize how blessed I am to be his daughter.

Prayer: Father God, I thank You for my parents, for in so many ways they pointed me to You.  Please help me pass their good values on to my own children and grandchildren.  In Jesus’ name, amen.