A few years back, I brought my antique Singer treadle machine to my workplace, a large, sparsely furnished office. It didn鈥檛 fit our small home anymore, but I wasn鈥檛 quite ready to part with it. My mother taught me to sew on a treadle. Considering my accident-prone nature, she chose that over her electric. I used it to sew more drindle skirts and doll clothes than I can count.
I had no expectations for the old stitcher in my downtown office, except to fill an empty spot. The humble piece of Canadiana did that well. But it did something else; something no one expected.
Happy people don鈥檛 frequent my workplace, generally. Only those with a problem or a complaint. We expect frowns there, even tears, and do our best to help.
After I brought the Singer to work, a funny thing started happening.
Most people never saw the antique sitting between the Canadian and Saskatchewan flags. They charged straight to the reason for their visit. But a few, mid-stream in the telling of their story, looked in that corner 鈥� and the magic began.
Some of those people wandered over to stroke the golden oak. Others wanted a look under the hood. And almost all of them spent a few minutes reminiscing about similar machines used by their mothers and grandmothers.
I heard comments like, 鈥淭hat old machine could go through bout anything, even my old deerhide coat!鈥澛� And 鈥淵ou should鈥檃 seen the gorgeous things that came off my mother鈥檚 treadle.鈥� And 鈥淚 still have a quilt my grandmother made on hers.鈥�
One person told me the rhythmic music of the treadle was his nighttime lullaby.聽 And another came for a second visit, bringing an antique sad iron to keep the Singer company.
Of those who noticed the machine, when the sudden jolt to their memories had settled down a bit, they had changed. Frowns disappeared. Worry lines smoothed. Angry words wilted. Their problems didn鈥檛 seem to irk them as much as they had when they walked in.
My old friend hadn鈥檛 fixed their problems, but it had given them a gift. It had taken their mind, for just a few minutes, off a very real difficulty. Transported them to a good place, when someone they loved sat at just such a machine. The memories it evoked acted like an emotional salve, and helped them tell me the rest of their story with less angst.
The Bible tells about a young Jewish woman, uprooted against her will from her home and taken to the court of a foreign king. Esther didn鈥檛 expect the king would choose her for his queen. Nor that God would use her faith and obedience to save the Jewish nation from annihilation. (Read the complete story in the Old Testament book of Esther.)
Have you been uprooted? Don鈥檛 hang an 鈥渙ut of service鈥� sign on your spirit. And don鈥檛 imagine God can鈥檛 use you where you are. He wastes nothing 鈥� not even tired old Singer treadle machines.
