This box is old. Perhaps older than 1894.
When my grandfather was a child, this box held everything needed to repair his shoes.
Pieces of leather from the shoemaker.
Thread on a large spool.
A lump of rosin to rub on the thread.
An awl to make a hole in the leader.
A last, an iron form in the shape of a foot, child size.
This box with its time-past contents emerged from the depth of a closet.
My mother polished the tiny pull. Now it shines again.
My father re-finished the finely crafted box that is really a drawer.
And they gave it to me from my ‘new’ study as I begin this ministry.
It sits beside my computer, a side-by-side story, of a two times.
(And thanks to my Common Life Group for naming this ‘sole repair.’)