There are so many times when I’ve been thankful for my ability to stitch. There have been some really button-busting moments, like when my brother, a grown man, cried when I gave his baby son a simple and sweet sampler. There have been some blue ribbons and red ribbons at fairs. I know this is very vague, but there have been times when stitching has made me feel connected when I was in a disconnected state of mind. And there have been times that my stitching has opened a world of new friendships for me.
But there is one time that stands out in my mind, front and center, so I’ll tell you about that. Back in 2007 I was scheduled to go to a cross stitch retreat, but my dad had just died. And I mean just. We buried him on a Monday and the retreat started Thursday. So I was really raw. A wreck. I didn’t want to go, but my husband told me that maybe it would be good for me, so I went. (Love that guy. He can be so smart.)
What a blessing. I can’t tell you how peaceful it was, sending my needle in and out and listening to the other ladies talking. I didn’t have to be….anything. Just a stitcher. And just like the constant motion of the needle, I could feel that life went on again. It may not have been the same, but it went on.
So I’ll always be thankful that my stitching brought me to that retreat and gave me peace while I was there.