Here is a picture of baby S on Thanksgiving:
Note the little hand-knit sweater she is wearing. Isn’t it lovely? It came with this matching cap:
Both are beautifully and intricately knit…upon close examination, the details are beautiful, and even the expert knitters in my family were unsure how some of it was done. Whoever made them did a wonderful job.
The thing is, I have no idea who made them.
See, I bought them a few years ago at a church garage sale. I was pregnant with my son W but didn’t yet know if he was going to be a boy or girl. Eager new parent-to-be that I was, I went to the garage sale, saw this pretty sweater set, and snatched it up for like $1 or some ridiculously cheap price, just in case I’d need it.
I can’t help but wonder what the story of the sweater is. Who made it? Who wore it? Did anyone wear it? Was it ever treasured or simply tossed away carelessly? How did it end up on a card table piled high with onesies and worn out BabyGap clothes?
I don’t know. But you know what’s funny? I started this post out as a simple anecdote about a garage sale sweater and now I’m all deep, thinking of how we are each so much like that sweater in the eyes of our Maker (see Psalm 139 & Romans 8ish).