While looking on the Instagram page of a the wife of a friend who loves needlework, I came across something I never thought I'd see.
It was a picture of a piece of framed crosstitch I had stitched for my godmother in the fall of 1983.
My godmother and third cousin Marie had taught my sister how to crosstitch when we were little girls. She tried to teach me, too, but I wasn't interested.
However, when I was expecting my first child, Christopher, I was so sick all the time that I needed occupation other than reading (which also made me feel seasick). So I dug out the one kit I had saved all those years and crosstiched it, with the goal of finishing it before the baby arrived (I did).
Fast forward two more years, and I'm expecting again for the third time. My second pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage, and I was pregnant again a month later with Sarah. Now I had a busy toddler, too, so I worked on this piece when he was napping (which didn't happen often).
We were also very poor, so I made many of our gifts that year. And that included the above piece, to pay homage to my relationship with Marie. And, yes, she loved it.
When Marie was diagnosed with colon cancer at the age of 93 (and subsequently had a stroke), she moved to a nursing home, and her apartment was broken down by another relative.
So I had to reach out to ,my friend's wife and share this story. She loved the piece, having found it in an antique shop in Michigan, and loved the story behind it even more.
Now this piece has one distinguishing mark: its frame. Joe Baltz, who taught photography at Joliet Central High School, used to own a custom framing shop in Joliet called the Jewel Frame Shop.
Joe framed many pieces for me, but I had one condition: I was only interested in his least expensive frame. And I used that frame over and over again.
Each time, Joe insisted the size of this frame was too small for the piece, but he could not talk me out of using it.
Here's where the story gets fun.
My friend showed up one day before we moved with the piece. His wife felt I should have it back.
I look one look at the piece, and I knew it wasn't mine. If you have ever crosstiched, you'll know what I mean.
Even though all of the stitches are made the same way, no two people actually do make them the same way. It's like handwriting. Even though the letters are the same, they are different.
Also, mine was under glass, to protect the fabric. Although one could theorize that the glass had cracked and was removed.
But my friend was so excited to "return" it to me - well, what could I say?
I graciously accepted it.
Well, as it turned out, another relative had "rescued" my piece from my godmother's house before her possessions were dispersed.
And we found this piece buried under other possessions, glass indeed broken.
Now, the piece was a kit, so obviously more than one person had crosstiched it through the years.
But to have two different people choose two similiar frames?
Coincidence?
Or Divine Intervention?
Because a lot of love went into the stitching, the sharing, and the giving of this piece - and also, in returning the one that wasn't mine to someone else who loved it.
I think that a gift made and given in love blesses both the giver and the receiver.
And I also believe the blessings can find their way back to you in ways one can never predict.
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