How to Finish What You Start

For the past two days, I have been doing something new, yet also old. Twenty-four years ago, my husband gave me a beautiful cross-stitch project for my birthday. Our family had just moved to the Netherlands, and we were living in a hotel waiting for the home we planned to rent to become available. The owner of the home liked renting to military families and had a knack for lining up new tenants before the old ones moved out. The home was worth the wait; it remains one of my all-time favorite standouts from our many moves.

The long-term hotel we were staying in, however, was not close to town, and our family had only been allowed to bring one car overseas. My husband needed it for work, so our three sons and I were somewhat hotel-bound. Furthermore, we only had the belongings we had carried in our suitcases for entertainment. We made good use of the library on weekends to keep us occupied throughout the week. The cross-stitch project was something I could do whenever the boys were engrossed in Legos, books, or DVDs.

The project was massive—one of the biggest I had ever attempted. I made good progress on it while we lived in the hotel and for a time after, but then I set it aside for other activities. If I remember correctly, I discovered I’d made a mistake and couldn’t see a simple way to recover from it. I have always meant to return to the work to complete it, but I didn’t do so—until now.

Yesterday, I found my place. I couldn’t find the fatal mistake, but I figured out what color I had been working on and started where I left off. This won’t be easy. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so I have to turn on all the lights in the brightest room to see what I’m doing. Furthermore, a lot of the colors are pale and strikingly similar. Discerning the difference between white and very light pearl grey on ivory is harder than it sounds.

I can only finish this project by making one small stitch at a time. I have a new motivation, though. The picture of a little girl collecting rocks on the beach makes me think of my new granddaughter. We took her to see the ocean for the first time a few months ago; it was her mother’s first time seeing the ocean, too!

My granddaughter was too young to appreciate the sight, but it’s possible she’ll be examining rocks on the beach the next time she visits. I pray for her while I add new stitches to the picture. Perhaps I’ll finish it by the time she turns sixteen. My goal is to keep stitching in hopes of finishing on some future day.

Sometimes my husband will ask how we ever managed to get where we are from where we were when we first got married almost thirty-eight years ago. I say, “By living one day at a time.” We don’t always know where God’s taking us day by day, yet day by day is the way we live. Someday, we’ll get where we’re going and be amazed to look back on the path over which God led.

While stitching this morning, I thought of all the cross-stitch projects I have finished in the past twenty-four years. Most recently, I stitched Precious Moments pictures for each of my older grandchildren. The projects were fun and turned out beautifully, but the patterns weren’t as intricate as the one I once abandoned. I realized that my cross-stitch project isn’t the only big project abandoned. I have started but never completed a novel. I write profusely, but lean toward smaller works—essays, blog posts, poems. Even the two books I have published are compilations of smaller works: devotionals and prayer prompts. Like the cross-stitch project, the novel feels too big to handle.

But I want to finish it. Therefore, I must write one word at a time and add a few words every day. Sometimes I may have to delete sections of words like ripping out misplaced stitches and trying again. My granddaughter may be sixteen before I finish, but word by word I’ll get there. Word by word is how I must write.

* * *

Photo by Janet Benlien Reeves