Proof The Bible Is True

I turned down a row of end tables, peering around every corner. There were hundreds of cabinets, dressers, nightstands, but nothing like what I was searching for. This is ridiculous, I thought. Maybe it’s time to let go of the sewing chest.

 

My sister-in-law, Debi, and I had decided to stop by the antiques mall on our drive home from Christmas shopping in Kansas City. Antiquing was our favorite hobby. We strolled through the mall, navigating the aisles of lamps, armoires and ottomans. Debi fell in love with an ornate secretary’s desk. But I could think of only one thing I wanted–the sewing chest. I hadn’t seen it in ten years, but I remembered every detail.

 

My father had given it to my mother for Christmas in 1943, right before he went off to World War II. A small wooden cabinet on four legs with a button on the side that opened a secret compartment. Growing up, I’d sit by Mom’s side, surrounded by layers of organza and taffeta, and watch her create church dresses, Halloween costumes, even clothes for my dolls on her Singer sewing machine.

 

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