By Kay Etheredge

My daughter’s across- the -street neighbor died.  A widow who had no children, she and our daughter never met.  There was to be an estate sale.  Her closest relatives lived across the country and everything was to be sold.

I saw in the photos my daughter sent that the estate sale included a vintage ceramic Christmas tree.  I own several and our daughter- in- law loves them, so I decided to drive down and try to purchase the tree for her for a Christmas gift.   Emily called as I drove down and said she was in line, there was a crowd, and for me to “find her” in the house.  I entered through the basement and immediately found the tree and got it.  It felt so exciting to have a gift that I knew my daughter- in -law would love.  I found my daughter and we looked through the house.  I began to get a feel for the woman who had died.  Her keys hung neatly on a hanger in the kitchen, each one labeled with the name of the corresponding lock.   A calendar on the kitchen wall displayed “December 2023”.  Later, my daughter told me that the woman had gotten sick and had surgery a year ago.  She survived the surgery but died before returning home.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the calendar, hanging there for a year, stuck in time. 

My daughter came to me and said there was a “sewing room”.  You could fill a bag for $5 with sewing supplies.  The sewing room was a hub of activity.  Sewing supplies that the woman had kept neat and organized were being rifled through and tossed aside as women decided they didn’t want them.  I found stacks of counted cross stitch fabrics and patterns and in the cramped room tried to make decisions about what I would and would not use, but even in this frenetic scene it became very apparent that this woman had been an excellent seamstress.  I did counted cross stitch in the eighties and loved it.  As my children grew and our schedules became more hectic, I donated most of my pattern books and I had regretted that many times.  Recently  I returned to cross stitch and embroidery and enjoyed it as much or more as I had when I was younger.  I selected cross stitch patterns and fabrics, filling my bag with needles, pattern books, and other items. 

When we got back to my daughter’s house, we spilled our treasures onto her kitchen island.  We talked about the woman (her name was Barbara) and how our daughter wished she had known her.  Emily had purchased a recipe book with handwritten recipes.  I told her it was a wise choice.  As I went through my bag of sewing supplies, I pulled out a cross stitch pattern booklet for The Lord’s Prayer.  I had selected it from a huge box because I had just completed a cross stitch piece of The Doxology and felt like I would enjoy this one as well. As I pulled the booklet from the bag I saw something that I hadn’t seen before…a corner of fabric peeking from the pages. I pulled it out and found that Barbara had completed almost half of the pattern.  The threads were all inside, and her needles remained in the fabric, still threaded with the correct colors.  I purposed in my daughter’s kitchen to complete the half-done piece if at all possible.

As I began to unfold the piece when I got home, I noticed that the fabric was smaller than any I’d ever stitched on, and the threads were a type I had never used.  The needles were very small.  Barbara had made copies and carefully highlighted the areas she had completed.  I could see that she was very accomplished, and as I looked at the tiny needles I began to doubt my own abilities. I prayed for God’s help and dove right in.  I have done a small bit each night; it truly has been an inch-by-inch process.  My prayer is to finish the piece, have it framed, and give it to my daughter. 

One night as I sat stitching, I noticed something.  Barbara had changed the pattern.  The original pattern finished with “For Thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory forever, Amen”.   On close examination, Barbara had penciled in “forever and ever” and had totally changed the alignment at the bottom.  It would have been very painstaking work, counting and carefully placing and moving, even for her.  It made me wonder why it would’ve been so important to her to add the word “ever”. 

 I sit directly under a lamp to even see the tiny squares.  It may sound crazy, but I feel like with each night’s stitching I am having a lesson.  My confidence has grown, and even though the small needles and squares are daunting, I have grown to love the one- strand Dutch threads.  They sew so beautifully and with each addition the piece grows more beautiful and dearer to me.  Emily found Barbara’s obituary online and in the obituary it says that her beautiful hand sewing blessed her nieces and nephews.   Cross stitching involves lots of counting and there is much room for error.  At the end of each line I have been amazed that her counting and my own match. I credit that entirely to her. 

 Our daughter called recently and said someone had bought the house across the street.  One of the unsold items was Barbara’s piano.  Emily said she watched with horror as the workers wheeled the piano outside, took some kind of large tool, and beat the piano to pieces.  We assumed it was easier to destroy it than to move it.   She said pieces of the keys were flying up in the air.  When they finished, they threw the pieces of the piano into a dumpster.  It was a very sad story.

I never knew when I walked into the basement of the house across the street how much I would be changed by this woman’s life.  My daughter and I talk about Barbara often.  We regret not knowing her. Emily also heard stories from other neighbors confirming her faith, which we had both observed seeing certain things around her home.

There are so many analogies that God is showing me as I sit and sew day by day.   I think of the men who come through the doors of BBM.  Many come with great self doubt, no knowledge of the God who created and loves them, and they have been bashed to pieces by the hard hitting and finely honed tools of the enemy.  They have been tossed into life’s dumpster.  Drugs are often just a way to numb the deep hurts they have suffered.

As they come to view themselves through the light of God’s Word, it’s double-edged sword power begins to change them.  They come to know God and His great and unfailing love for them, and once they yield to His love and redemptive power, many are unrecognizable from the men who first walked through the doors.  Godly chaplains and wise teachers take the time to show them new skills, and they are helped with reading and job readiness.  Just today a staff member came into my office and said, “So many of these guys still see themselves as how they were, instead of  the new creation they are now.”

On Christmas Eve, Emily made a cookie recipe from Barbara’s recipe book.  We reference Barbara often.  We feel certain that we will meet her in Heaven.  I hope to be able to ask her about her laborious alteration to the cross stitch piece to add an “and ever”.  I don’t think she has any idea how her life has affected total strangers and the analogies we have drawn from being in her home.  I have wondered many times if she ever looked out her kitchen window to see my grandchildren learning to ride their bikes, and if she noticed how busy my daughter’s life was.  We all ultimately want to leave a legacy in this life.  I don’t think Barbara’s legacy was solely her stitching even though that was part of it.  I think her faith spilled over into all that she did, and I think she would have made a lovely neighbor. Her obituary said she was active in her church.  I’m sure she made dishes for her church family from the cookbook that now belongs to our daughter.  Her faith led her to stitch and she derived great joy from giving away what she made.  Many cross stitchers sew their initials and the date in thread at the bottom of a piece, and I will put BT on top of my own, since it was definitely a joint effort.   I now believe I can finish this one, although it won’t be a quick thing. Nothing worthwhile ever is.   I believe our BBM friends are learning that same lesson.  It is time in the light that pushes our perspective to “forever and ever”.