Stitchery
A few months ago, I admitted to my little habit of cross-stitching, and since I just finished up a recent project, I decided I might as well make a full disclosure on the blog today.
Now let me start by saying that I know how very unpopular cross-stitching has become. It’s not exactly a “cool” hobby, like say, scrapbooking. It doesn’t have the allure of those trendy ink stamps or the color-coordinated ribbon and cardstock collections out there. Most likely, the cross-stitch section at your local crafts store has shrunk in proportion to the size of your supermarket’s RAVE hairspray selection from the 80s.
But somebody has to stick up for this time-honored tradition. People have been stitching for centuries. In some eras, it was a sign of refinement when a young lady could handily use a needle and en embroidery hoop. In another time, stitching was used to teach the alphabet to the pioneering young girls of our young nation. Things took a decidedly ugly turn when the 80s kicked stitching into questionable territory. (Sweatshirts. Purses. Decorative wall brooms. Really?) But despite its abusive use a couple decades ago, stitching is a noble pursuit that doesn’t deserve to be shunned. And I have hope for a comebac
k. Just look at knitting.
My own journey with cross-stitching goes back to my girlhood. My mom taught me how to stitch when I was still in grade school and it’s a hobby I kept up with until the busy years of high school and college came along. I stitched quite rarely during the early years of my marriage. But then I became pregnant with Noah. And suddenly, I had to stitch. Perhaps it was a nesting thing. I don’t know. But I just had this unexplainable urge to stitch something. And so I did. I made a little bear train scene to hang in Noah’s room. I like to imagine that it will be a family heirloom, hanging in my grand-child’s nursery someday. More realistically, it should at least fetch a decent price at a garage sale someday. I’ve also stitched a couple of pillow designs for my nieces (the opening image of this post). And my current project is a pattern that will hang in our adopted child’s bedroom.
So now that you know my stitching history, let me share the reaons why cross-stitch has become my hobby of choice:
1. It’s relaxing. I’m a rather indecisive person, so even though the design aspect of scrapbooking appeals to me, I would get sick of the constant questioning. (”What color paper to use for this page?” or “Should I use stencils or stickers?” etc.) Once you’ve picked a cross-stitch pattern, you just roll with it.
2. It’s very portable. It’s easy to pack up and take on a vacation, or just a craft night with my girlfriends. And if I need to put it away because, say, a toddler comes storming in the room and demanding that I play horsie with him, it’s easy enough to toss aside until a better stitching time presents itself.
3. You can’t get “behind.” See, I’d be a lousy scrapbooker. I can hardly keep up with putting my pictures in plain, old photo albums, much less embellishing them all. But with cross-stitch, you can just leave it for weeks or months, and you’ll never really need to “catch up.” (Well, unless you happen to be stitching a pattern for your niece’s birthday, but that’s an exception…)
4. I can stitch in my arm chair. No stiff-backed chair at the kitchen table for me. I can just kick back and enjoy a comfortable chair, even with a cozy blanket to keep me warm in these cold winter nights. (Yes, I know this makes me sound like an 90-year-old grandma. I don’t care.)
5. It’s inexpensive. Supplies for a project usually cost somewhere around $10-$20. And that project will last me for months. (If not years, in some cases!) Compare that to scrapbooking or cardmaking, where people may easily use up $10 of supplies in ONE NIGHT! It’s defenitely a good recession hobby.
Well, there you have it. One woman’s quest to bring cross-stitch back. I’ll be the first to admit that finding appealing patterns is a little difficult. You have to wade through a lot of memories from 1987 before you find some patterns with a more contemporary feel. But that should improve as the number of cross-stitchers swells across the land and demand for updated patterns grows.
So if you’re looking for a new hobby — something crafty, inexpensive, that doesn’t require high commtiment — just think cross-stitch. Really. We can bring it out of the dark corners and revive it as a socially-acceptable hobby. It just takes a few brave souls to start the revolution.
Three!
Wow. Our little guy is three years old already! We had a little party at our house yesterday to celebrate the special day. It was actually twice the fun because it was a double party: Noah’s cousin Courtney turned three just one day before Noah, so we combined the families for their birthday celebration.
I don’t have a lot of time to write today, but I thought I’d at least post a few pictures of the birthday boy. And I’m kinda proud of the little candy train I made for his birthday. (Since I’m not really good at the whole cake decorating thing!) So there’s a couple pictures of that too. Enjoy! (You can click on the images for a larger picture of you want.)
Growing Pains
I love it when God shows up in the everyday moments of my life. Of course, I know He’s always there. But sometimes certain experiences, sights, or people will show His presence in a special way. And as a parent, I’m amazed and thankful for all the many ways God “shows up” like this through my interactions with Noah.
This week has been a big one for our little boy: We said good-bye to the pacifier. (Is it strange that I got a little weepy when I saw him with his pacifier for the last time? When did my little baby turn into such a big boy?) Actually, Noah’s done really well. Of course, he misses his paci and has asked for it when we put him to bed, but he hasn’t cried inconsolably or thrown any tantrums over it. Without the pacifier, it’s been taking longer for him to settle down in bed. But all in all, he’s doing great.
The experience hasn’t been without it’s heart-tugging moments, though. I’ve been prepping Noah the past few days about giving up his pacifier. I’d say things like “You’re getting so big and strong now, you don’t need a pacifier anymore” and “It’s not good for your big, strong teeth to keep having a paci in your mouth.” Apparently, some of my logic got through, because the first night we went up to bed without the pacifier, he kept saying “I don’t wanna get stronger! I don’t wanna get stronger.” Those words really pricked my mommy heart and brought a few tears to my eyes. I was so tempted to give him his pacifier back, yet I knew this was an important step we had to go through and I couldn’t back down.
And it was somewhere in those moments that I saw a picture of myself in my little son. Sometimes, when God gives me challenges or struggles to fight through, I don’t want to get stronger either. There are things I cling to and it’s hard to give them up, even though I know it’s the only way to grow in my faith.
I remember a moment, several years ago, when I was in the midst of our infertility struggles. Looking back on those four years, I have a lot of general memories of sadness, tears, lonely grief. But one moment stands out especially vivid in my memory. I was listening to some music in the living room, trying to pray and sort out all my churning emotions. As a pounding melody played, I literally fell to the ground in tears, beating my fists against the carpet and crying out to God that I couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much. Even at the darkest, I knew God was using my infertility to shape me and give me a deeper, stronger faith. But my desire to be a mom was intense, just like Noah’s love for his pacifier. And on that particular day, my heart’s cry was just like Noah’s: “I don’t want to get any stronger. I don’t want to give it up.”
Now, as I reflect on all this from the other side of infertility, I sometimes see it from God’s side. In moments like this week’s struggle to let go of the paci, I think about what He must have felt as he watched his daughter wrestle through infertilty. I imagine it broke his heart a little bit to see me that day, laying on the floor in tears, begging for him to give me my dream. I imagine that a part of Him wanted to just give me the baby of my dreams, right then and there. Yet He knew that I needed to grow up. To get “bigger and stronger” in my faith. And so He held his ground, though it probably made his heart ache to do so.
Early Tuesday morning (4:44 to be exact), I heard Noah whimpering a little.”I want my paci. I want my paci.” He repeated this for several minutes, and I debated getting out of bed to check on him. And then it grew quiet for a minute before he said something new: “I want mommy. I want mommy.” In less than a minute, I was snuggled in his bed, hugging him close and telling him that even though his paci was gone, his mommy was still here and loved him very much. It was one of those sweet, quiet moments that every parent understands–when you feel as though your heart can’t contain all this love and so it bubbles out into a stronger hug and another kiss to your child’s forehead.
I’m in awe of how much God loves me. Despite my toddler-like selfishness and my tendency to get attached to the things of this world. I can get so fixated on my own ideas or desires, and I I’ve cried out so often to have it my way, on my terms. And there God has always been, just waiting and longing for me to cry out for Him.
I don’t talk about my journey through infertility very often. I guess mostly that’s because I don’t want to be a downer by talking about a difficult chapter of my life. But then again, maybe I should. Because it was on that hard road where I started growing up. Infertility changed me. It changed my faith, my view of life, my way of coming to God. I look back and yes, I remember the tears and the deep sadness that ached in my heart. But I also see grace upon grace that God showered upon me through the storm. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I stopped seeking my own way and just asked for Him–and that is when I experienced the peace and joyof being held tightly in his loving arms.
I want to remember this. I want to keep growing up, even if it hurts a little. I want to see things as they really are and realize that nothing in this world is worth holding onto so tightly. No matter how convenient, how comfortable, or how familiar, there is nothing that compares to the peaceful surrender of letting God pull me toward him.
I love it when God shows up in the everday moments of my life.