Hello sweetheart! Come swing with me. Let’s stitch.

What an interesting hobby, cross stitching.

It takes hours, sometimes weeks or months, to complete a single project. And when you’re stitching for someone else, you don’t just hope they like it. You hope they love it. You hope they see it, pause, and realize just how much time and care went into every single thread. Because it’s not just a gift. It’s time. Intention. Thoughtfulness, woven in quiet.

My journey with cross stitching has only one origin, and it’s clear as day to me.

There was a framed birth announcement that hung on the wall of my childhood bedroom. A gift to my mother from my aunt. It had my name, birth date, birth time, weight, and length, all carefully stitched into soft little designs. For most of my childhood, it faded into the background. Just another piece of artwork. But sometimes, it caught my eye. And when I was pregnant with my son, it caught my heart.

I asked my mom about it. Then I reached out to my aunt, wondering if she might make one for my baby. The answer was a kind acceptance. She couldn’t begin until the baby arrived, since we were keeping the gender a surprise. And when she finished it, she made a passing comment that struck something in me, something about the project being painful on her fingers, hard on her eyes, and something she wouldn’t be able to do again.

Later, I shared my worry with my mom. She offered to try in the future. I know her heart was in the right place. But I could already see her frustration in my mind’s eye, struggling with the same tiny threads and tired fingers.

So I had a choice. Find someone else to carry the tradition forward… or learn the craft myself.

I wasn’t deterred by the learning curve. I’ve taken on other projects in the past, and something about this one felt personal. Legacy-worthy. So I began researching, what I’d need, how it worked, what beginners wished they’d known. And then one day, I picked up the most basic supplies and simply began.

I started with a tiny design. Just something small to decide whether I even liked the process. I didn’t even finish it, before I decided to move on to bigger, better things. Christmas was coming. And like I sometimes do, I aimed a little high, I picked a complicated pattern and gave myself just a few weeks to finish it. The recipient? My dear friend Sophie.

She lives many states away, so I knew I’d need to mail it early. I chose a pattern that tied to her birth month and included subtle biblical references. Soft, meaningful, beautiful. What I didn’t consider? The color palette made it nearly impossible to stitch at night. And suddenly, time started slipping through my fingers faster than thread.

I learned quickly: always check the full pattern before reaching the edges. And no, the back doesn’t have to be messy, though mine was, especially in those early days. However, that doesn’t mean it has to be clean either.

As December began, my anxiety grew. Would I finish it in time? Would I wash and frame it properly? Would it even arrive before Christmas?

And more than that, would she like it?

Even though Sophie is one of the most selfless, gracious people I know, I worried. Cross stitching isn’t exactly modern. Would it feel outdated? Would it seem silly?

At the end of each session, the same question settled over me like a fog:

“What if she thinks it’s dumb?”

My heart kept whispering that she’d love it. But my head made so much noise, I couldn’t hear me heart clearly. My husband reassured me over and over again, he knew she’d treasure it. And when I finally mailed it, with an arrival date of December 26th, I held my breath.

Sophie didn’t even know a gift was coming. So when I sent her a photo of the tracking receipt, she immediately began sending messages of excitement. Before she even knew what it was.

When it arrived, she sent a photo.

Along with this message:

“Did you MAKE THIS?!”

My heart leapt.

And when I told her yes, yes, I made it just for her, she replied with tears. Happy tears. She couldn’t wait to hang it up.

That moment stayed with me.

If only I’d listened to my heart instead of my head.

I did know.

I just forgot for a while.

Her ability to see the thoughtfulness in it made every hour worth it. And along the way, I learned the craft. I learned I could do it. And maybe one day, I’ll stitch a birth announcement for another baby of my own, Lord willing.

Until then, I’ll keep stitching, learning, and remembering:

Even imperfect hands can make beautiful things.