It began, fittingly, with a move. I was thirteen—almost fourteen—when my father received orders to Whidbey Island, Washington, to serve as chaplain at the naval air station. My sisters had already left home, so for the first time it was just my parents and me. I was fresh from months in a naval hospital, recovering from gangrene in my ankle, and facing yet another reconstructive surgery. I was anxious about starting high school, about walking with a limp I could no longer hide, about beginning again in a place where no one knew my story.
Not long after we arrived, we were invited to dinner with my father’s new commanding chaplain, Chaplain Peters, and his wife. They were a curious pair—brusque but kind, the sort of people whose warmth you had to listen for beneath the dry humor. At some point that evening, Mrs. Peters turned to me and asked how I passed the long hours of recovery. “Do you read? Crossword puzzles? Knit?”
I laughed. “Much to my parents’ dismay, I watch soap operas. And I read.”
Without another word she stood, crossed the room, and came back with a canvas tote from beside her chair. “Here’s something you might consider,” she said. Inside was a half-finished cross-stitch of a little Precious Moments girl with a goose that read, Make a joyful noise. “It helps the time pass in the evening.”
That night she taught me how to cross-stitch—how to count threads, follow a chart, keep the crosses facing one direction, and make the back of the fabric as neat as the front. “Have patience,” she told me. “This isn’t about instant satisfaction. It’s about the process—watching the picture take shape. Concentrate on the stitch you’re in. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
My mother came back into the room and said kindly, “That will be a nice craft to keep you busy.”
Mrs. Peters smiled but corrected her gently. “This isn’t just a craft. It’s an art.”
That was the first lesson I ever stitched. I finished my first piece—a little girl in a graduation gown—and gave it to my sister Sharon when she graduated high school. After that came lighthouses, cottages, verses, birth announcements. Every design marked a season of my life. And when surgeries came again, as they always did, my needle came too.
In the hospital, while my body healed, my hands worked. I’d wait for the day I could sit up and feel the thread glide through linen, proof that something in me still functioned. Nurses and therapists began stopping by to see my progress, promising to check back before discharge. When pain blurred the edges of reality, the steady rhythm of tiny X’s gave me order, focus, and peace. Stitching became my companion—the tangible reminder that creation was still possible, even in rooms built for repair.
Looking back, I can see that night with Mrs. Peters as one of my father’s “pivotal moments.” A small, ordinary evening that rerouted something essential inside me. Through thread and fabric, God handed me a way to endure. When my legs failed, my hands continued the work. And in every piece since then, I’ve seen that the same patience needed for stitching—one cross at a time—is the patience required for faith.

I'm so excited to announce...I have officially been able to attend two stitching retreats this year! I had some serious doubts as to whether I could successfully go and physically manage them, but I did and I was able to stay for both of them from beginning to end!

The first retreat was in Gold Bar, Washington from May 31st - June 2nd. It's hosted by our stitching guild, the Northwest Sampler Guild, traditionally every year. I was very apprehensive about attending considering it's held at a camping resort site at the base of the Cascade mountain range and it is not wheelchair accessible. It's a rustic resort...but quaint and peaceful and with the friendliest staff. The cabins were not accessible so I had to pay extra to stay off grounds in a hotel, but to be there with those stitchers for almost four days was such a treat. It was an amazing creative experience, a cherished time to get to know fellow stitchers, and important for me to gain some confidence in being able to leave the house and follow through.

The next retreat was the Pacific Northwest Stitching Summit 2024 hosted by the wonderful Portland needlework store, Acorns & Threads. It was three packed days of treats, surprises, great food, and inspirational people. The designers were Beth Twist from Heartstring Samplery, and Teresa Kogut from her self-named art designs. They collaborated a beautiful design, talked about their creative process, and then walked around to all our tables and mingled with us. Jeannine (the owner of Acorns & Threads) and the rest of her crew went above and beyond to make us feel treated and special. The women I met and the laughs we shared will be carried with me for a lifetime!

All that to say, I'm so thankful I was able to get through both retreats. The hotels and their super high mattresses were challenging for the wheelchair, and I was very tired at the end of each retreat - but I'm so glad I was able to go. So many stitching retreats are in faraway states that I'm not able to travel for...but these were completely doable.

I'm hoping there will be more in the near future! 

These are the two current WIPs I'm working on.  Above is "Fragments in Time" series from 2023 designed after antique Berlin Woolwork by Summer House Stitche Workes.  Below is a reproduction sampler by Shakespeare's Peddler - "Sarah Woodham."

I think I’m suffering from “imposter syndrome”.  I feel like I'm wearing the title "Expert Stitcher" when really I'm sloppy and I have no idea what I'm doing.  Anyone feel this way?

Here's the reason for this malady - I was just nominated to be "president" of the needlework guild I belong to.  I was officially voted into the office of presidency for the "Northwest Sampler Guild" two weeks ago.   Why, how, what?  Last fall, a friend of mine from the guild asked me if it would be something I'd consider.  The current president has held the office for three years now and she's ready to step down.  Sadly, out of almost 150 members...there was no promising canidates so I was asked.  I naively said. "I'll consider it."  It's six months later and that's what happened. 

I'm not complaining - I'm honored to be a part of this amazing group of stitchers.  And I do have the time and heart to help.  But...I have no idea what I'm doing.  Most of these stitchers have been a part of this group for many years and they know each other well.  Many of them have stitched as long as I have but they've also taken classes and retreats and they know so much more about needlework, specialty stitches, tools and products.  I am not experienced in ANY of that!

So here's my plan...fake it till I make it!  I'm a good listener - I'm completely teachable - I have no ego and we'll just figure this out together! :) ​