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When my daughter was accumulating furniture for her first apartment, I bought an old oak rocking chair at a yard sale for eight dollars. When moving day arrived, she decided that the rocker would not fit her décor so I placed it in a spare bedroom. For years it sat there
ignored.
A few weeks ago at my own yard sale, I decided to let it go. I sold it to a shocked gentleman for three dollars. After it was gone, I missed it terribly and wondered, "Why had I sold it
... and for only three dollars?"
The answer came quickly as one of those light-bulb-over-the-head revelations.
Because I had paid so little, I never appreciated it’s real worth. I never considered the craftsman’s hands that turned the spindles, the skilled furniture maker who fastened the joints in place, or the babies who were rocked to sleep in it. I always saw it as just another yard sale bargain. And I sold it as
trash. What a lesson.
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