When I was newly married we lived in a teeny tiny house. One thing I remember distinctly deciding not to waste space with was an ironing board. Who needs it? With everything permanent press, why even own an iron? I was more than happy to let ironing go the way of the wringer washer.

However, Hubby liked 100% cotton shirts at that time. Too bad for him! I know, I was awful. I just felt that to buy something that needed that much care was stupid when a perfectly good alternative existed. Why make someone, namely me, iron shirts for no reason? That was my attitude at the time.

Even my mother could not shame me into changing my mind. When she saw my husband in a wrinkled shirt she pulled me aside to quietly admonish that I wasn't doing my wifely duties. I took it as the previously suppressed generation trying to suck successive generations into their oppressive mindset.

As a new bride it really baffled me how just a few weeks prior to this I was wined and dined and put on a pedestal. We each took care of our own cooking, laundry, bed making, grocery shopping, and book keeping. Then, suddenly, thanks to the ring he'd placed on my finger, a whole heap of work was plopped in my lap like I was the maid or something! I balked! A LOT!

It wasn't till years later, when I was in a position of having to iron tablecloths for special events and funerals at the church, that I saw it from a different perspective. Other women volunteered to help me. While working away at smoothing out wrinkles in the table cloths, these women also helped smooth out the kinks in my attitude.

One woman shared how her mother, who was widowed at a young age, used to iron for a living. This woman loved ironing because it reminded her of her mother's humble, diligent efforts to provide for her family. Her mother had taken such pride in her work, and taught by example that excellence, even in humble things, was important.

Another woman shared how she'd had to make almost all of her kids' clothes. They were of very modest means but her willingness to work and sew and iron made it possible for their family to be clean and neatly dressed, and to stay afloat financially.

The other woman was one of those good at everything, leader of the pack sorts. I was surprised she'd volunteered to iron with us because I would have thought she'd be too busy, or that this would be too menial a task for her. I was wrong. She had the attitude that no work was too menial if it is done in service of others. Her cheery, energetic, and efficient efforts made ironing so much fun!

I still do not own an ironing board but it's more because I haven't got my space ironed out than because of an aversion to it. I do have an iron, and I'll iron on my table when the mood strikes me. When I do, it's a downright pleasant experience!

With every stroke I think of the lovely women who helped me learn a new way of being. Their sweet dispositions and charitable spirit are with me as I drag the iron back and forth, re-enforcing what I needed to know then, and still need to be reminded of from time to time. I'm sure glad I got that ironed out!