The Cross Lady

Evelyn Shamay Mayfield

"I’m used to dealing with a crisis,” I wrote, “but I just wish I could get a break between each one. Then I could at least recharge.”

I continued to pour out my heart to my friends on the Internet. The group, Shep’s, we called it, was named for the Good Shepherd. We were Christian ladies interested in handcrafts. Back in 1987, when Shep’s started, when I lived in Southern California, we never dreamed we could become as close to each other as we did. Now it was 1996 and I lived in Henderson, outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. I was 55 years old, and some of us had been in the group for almost 10 years. Our soul-count varied from time to time – anywhere from 15 to 115.

By swapping handmade items with each other, we learned new crafts and re-discovered the beauty in old ones. We supported each other with heartfelt prayer during each bump on life’s trail. This time, however, the little bump in life’s road was a bit higher than the usual.

“I’m so glad you are all out there. Just knowing that so many of you are praying for us makes a big difference. Thanks for being there,” I wrote.

Our patchwork quilt of a household lived in a tiny apartment that the ads called “roomy.”  My dearest friend, Jane, who was now approaching 70, and her son, in his late 30s, lived with me, plus our aging Calico cat, Amber II. Jane’s son, who I had known since he was 10, was between jobs. The only car in the household was having troubles constantly and most days I needed to take the bus to work, a 25-mile ride, 3 buses, and 2 hours of riding. All of these issues were wearing on my nerves.

“I’ve been a Word Processor since 1994 when they hired me,” I’d told someone at work that day. “But I’m a Technical Writer and Editor. Two years ago, they promised to move me up at the first opening.” So my job, too, at an environmental engineering firm specializing in government contract work, also added to my stress level.

At Mass on Sunday, I tried to hide the small amount I was tossing into the collection basket.

Dear Lord, what can I do? I don’t even have enough for the collection basket. I can’t seem to be of any help to you.

My life seemed to be falling apart instead of going forward.

Less than a week later, a card-shaped envelope arrived. I recognized the name as one of Shep’s group. The envelope felt lumpy, a sure sign that Jennifer had sent what we called a “tuck-in” – a small gift of some sort. I assumed it was something inspirational, perhaps a bookmark or magnet. I couldn’t help grinning at how much the simple act of getting an unexpected card in the mail had lifted my spirits, and how much I was looking forward to the contents. 

“How sweet of Jennifer,” I thought. Everyone in Shep’s had their own problems, and for someone to take time to cheer another, in the midst of her own troubles, always amazed and touched me. I couldn’t wait to walk past three buildings, from the mailboxes outside the manager’s office to my own apartment, so I began opening it along the way.

“I wish I could help you with your financial troubles,” Jennifer had written, “but I can’t. I do hope this little gift will brighten your day.”

I gazed in awe at the “tuck-in”, a little 2” x 3” plastic canvas cross that was woven with a shiny satin ribbon. The long ribbon trailer meant I could use it on the car’s rear view mirror, or as a bookmark, any place at all. It was a beautiful peach color. Instead of the edges being smooth, as in most pieces of plastic canvas work, these edges were jagged. Right then, I couldn’t pinpoint just why this impressed me but it seemed appropriate.

I walked quickly to the apartment, showed it to Jane, who also loved the beauty of the cross, and turned on the computer.

“Jennifer,” I wrote, “your card and beautiful cross made my day.”

I went on to thank her, knowing I sounded overly enthusiastic, but I couldn’t help the feeling of joy that washed over me because of that little cross and her kindness. 

That night, before bed, I checked my email. 

“I’m glad I brightened your day a bit, but I didn’t make that cross,” Jennifer had replied. Her mother had made many of them, and Jen still had a few left, in a cigar box.

“I wish I could do plastic canvas,” I responded. “Still, weaving isn’t exactly the same as cross-stitch. Maybe I can figure it out,” I emailed. 

Thank you, God, I thought. I had asked the group for prayers to ease my financial burden, and God had sent me, through Jennifer, the cross, distracting me from my obsession with money worries.

In the 115-degree Southern Nevada heat, about a week later, I trudged, as usual, from the bus stop to the apartment mailboxes. A slip of paper told me there was a package inside the office. We weren’t expecting anything, so I was very surprised to see Jennifer’s return address when they brought it to me. I almost ran home, wondering what on earth she had sent. 

At home, I told Jane, “Jennifer has her own troubles; why would she spend money to send a gift?”

It was a little cigar box, latched with a dressmaker’s pin. Inside nestled five more plastic canvas and ribbon crosses. They were so beautiful! 

“These are the last of Mom’s crosses,” Jennifer’s note inside stated.

I wept openly at her thoughtfulness. I flew to the computer to send a Thank You. 

That evening, I carefully unwound one of the precious crosses. It was so intricately woven that I feared I could never put it back together, so I made a diagram detailing each twist and turn. I prayed hard, and in a few days, I finally reproduced the cross. I was ecstatic. I wanted to make some of my own. I already had several people in mind to cheer with these little treasures.

Jane had worked with plastic canvas often. “The plastic canvas won’t cost much,” she reminded me.

“But where,” I asked her, “can I ever find this beautiful satin ribbon? And even if I find it, how can I ever afford enough to make crosses with it?” 

That weekend, I tucked my cross in my purse and strolled through Wal-Mart’s craft aisles. I showed the clerk my cross and she smiled.

“I used to have one of those,” she said. “It finally wore out.”

With the clerk’s help I found the ribbon. I was amazed that it cost much less than I’d supposed.

“Why,” I thought, “I can easily get 4 or 5 crosses out of one spool!”

I had just a few dollars on me, but I bought the supplies. On a whim, I found the clerk who had helped me, and I gave her the cross I carried. She was overjoyed. It was the first of many, many more.

“One simple cross – how could these little crosses bring so much joy?” I wondered.

That was the beginning of an amazing journey of faith and ministry for the Cross Lady.

Even though I was still in the same boat, financially and at work, my days were suddenly exciting. I couldn’t wait to get home to make some more crosses. I began carrying a plastic sandwich bag in my purse, with a dozen at a time, giving them away as simple Thank You gifts to people. They loved them.

I had worried about not being able to give more at Church and You sent me a way to help others that cost little except for time and love. Thank you, Lord!

At work, people did not hesitate to send porn or lewd jokes back and forth on the office email system, but anything deemed religious was frowned on. I was even criticized for setting a text screensaver with the simple words: Isaiah 40:31. Apprehensively, I hung a deep purple cross, on my cubicle wall. I shouldn’t have worried. 

“What a beautiful cross,” one co-worker after another remarked. Each time, they shared a story of Faith. It seemed to open them up, and it showed me a side of many of them that I hadn’t known existed.

Meanwhile, although life still went on, often in turmoil, I now had a new purpose. My little stash of crosses grew. The cost was very low. I still kept a dozen in a baggie, in my purse, at all times. It was strange how the opportunities always appeared to give one away, and stranger still, how much the recipient was overwhelmed with joy. 

One day, while weaving the ribbon, I looked closely at the jagged edges. “They’re like thorns,” I realized. “That’s why it means so much to me. The thorny edges show how much Jesus suffered for me and for all of us,” I thought, “and the satiny beauty of the ribbon shows the glory of His love when He sacrificed Himself for us.”

That was the whole secret of this particular pattern, I realized, and the whole secret of why people loved it so.

Time passed. 

A lady in our apartment complex advertised on our bulletin board that she had polyester filler for crafters available, free. When I went to see her, she was trailing the longest oxygen hose I'd ever seen. On a whim, I gave her a cross. Within a few days, she called me.

“Do you mind if I give my friend your phone number? She likes the crosses and wants to get some.”

Of course, I agreed.

That evening, I got a call. 

“Is this the Cross Lady?” the caller asked. “I’d like 50 of these, various colors, and I insist on donating something for the materials and time.”

The name, the Cross Lady, seemed to stick with me from that day forward..

Late in 1999, I was filing for bankruptcy, admitting I was in over my head. I was also diagnosed with Stage Three Colon Cancer. During my healing, before I could return to work, a lady from Church made a pastoral visit and I thanked her with a cross. Before I could stop myself, I promised Sue one hundred crosses over the next four weeks for her homebound ministry.

Because the long piece of ribbon used for hanging, or as a bookmark, kept getting tangled when I stored a lot of the crosses together, I sought out a supplier of tiny little baggies. The smallest amount I could buy was 3000. I only needed 100.  On a whim, I ordered them, wondering how I would recover the $35 that I spent.

“What on earth will I do with all those remaining baggies?” I wondered.

I happily worked on getting the crosses ready for Sue, and she had them on time. The cancer surgery had required a temporary colostomy plus six months of weekly low grade chemotherapy. It drained me physically and emotionally, but I somehow managed to hit every work deadline.

About 11 months after my cancer surgery, they “took down” the colostomy. At the hospital, the Catholic Chaplain stopped to see me. Father Lou was overjoyed when I gave him one of the crosses. Word got around and the nun in charge of the hospital’s volunteers, Sister Michael, got my number, in more than one way. I still smile to think of how quickly we bonded and how unabashedly she asked me for lots of crosses. After that, every few months, I took her a hundred of the crosses.

Time passed. I decided I wanted to share the story of the Cross Lady. I searched for Jennifer’s email address. We had long ago lost touch. I prayed hard on the matter. One day I searched the Internet and found her. I made a phone call. We reconnected. I not only used the original 3,000 baggies that I bought, but I bought more. At this writing, I estimate that I have given away over 7,000 of those little crosses. My financial situation is about the same; but my attitude is far different. I’m so grateful for the beauty that Jennifer’s first cross brought into my life.

I had asked God, through the prayers of friends, for help, and he sent me Jennifer, whose one little act of kindness, eight years ago, has brought joy to thousands of others!

http://prayersncrafts.blogspot.com

http://www.evelynmayfield.etsy.com

email: mayfieldpubs@aol.com