Finding My Awe

I have lost my awe. I have lost the moments that take my breath away when the only true response is an "Oh!"

It would be easy to pass that off with the fact that I don't live somewhere that routinely takes my breath away. I am in a town with street lights. The snow is gray with accumulated dirt. I see the stars only through roof tops. There are no mountains or ocean beaches in the heart of Illinois.

But it seems like there should be something that takes my breath away.

Maybe there is.

A year or so ago, I started knitting again.

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Torture By Chopsticks

I started knitting again this past spring. I had done it some in college and a few baby blankets here adn there, but now I started tackling sweaters and such. Still I stayed clear of socks and hats and gloves amd gloves and such. For those items, you need the infamous double pointed needles. With yarn on 3 needles and using a 4th, I think it looks a bit like some kind of acupuncture torture.

But I knit a cranberry cowl. I really wanted mittens to go with it. I confess to checking the store first to see if I could purchase some. No luck. I decided to try knitting mittens. But how would that become a mitten?

Like so many other things, I get lost in the moment and forget to trust the one who sees the beginning and end, who knows where I am and how to tell me to get where I am going. I need to dive in and trust.

Surprisingly, it has gone quite well. My mittens are almost done. I'm starting the thumbs tonight!

Trust the Pattern

“k3 p2 sm k3 p2 pick up 5″ — so goes a knitting pattern.

My mom taught each of us girls to knit when I was about 10. However, the extent of it was one doll blanket. In college, I spent a semester in England and a woman who owned a wool shop came in and gave us free lessons. I managed a couple of sweaters that semester. However, after coming back to the states, I pretty much stuck with baby blankets. I didn’t trust myself to be able to figure out a pattern on my own.

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Fixing What Can Be Fixed

I am not particularly patient at times. So, in some ways it seems odd that after years of not really knitting, I've picked it back up again. My mom taught us to knit when we were about 10. We each made one doll blanket. I spent a semester in England and a woman who owned a yarn shop gave free lessons. Of course, we all bought our yarn from her. I made two sweaters that semester. After that, I really just made baby blankets -- the same pattern over and over.

Recently, I decided to try a different baby blanket pattern. Then, at the bookstore, I ran into a woman who told me about a yarn shop downtown -- right across the street from where I work. I started going on my lunch hour. This summer I've made two vests and one sweater.

I was working on the sweater -- short sleeved with lace. I got part way down and found that I had made an error. I kept going for a bit, thinking I might be able to somehow hide the error. But every time I looked at my project, the error jumped out at me.

A gal at the yarn shop has helped me out on several things. I really wanted her help in ripping out my work and getting the stitches put back on. But it didn't quite work out. Our schedules didn't mesh. I decided to try it myself.

Looking at the finished project, I am so glad I took the risk of pulling out those rows to fix it. Yes, it was nerve racking wondering if I would end up needing to pull the whole thing out and start all over again. I wonder now if I would have really worn my hard work if I hadn't gone back to fix it. Even if it was disguised (though I still can't think of how I would have done that), I would have known it was there. But looking at this now, I think I will get a lot of wear and enjoyment out of it.

It has made me think about other things in life. Are there things I am afraid to rip out among relationships because I might have to start over or not get all the stitches on? I think there are. But, I wonder if the work and effort might be worth it rather than covering up the mistake.

Can you think of something you need to go back and fix?

No Dropped Stitches

Growing up, my mom taught us to knit. Each of us girls made a doll blanket. But that was the extent of our interest. When I went to college, I spent a semester in England. A woman who owned a wool shop came into Harlaxton College (University of Evansville's branch campus in Grantham, England) and gave free knitting lessons. Of course, we all bought our knitting supplies from her. About three fourths of the 200 students learned to knit that semester. Men and women could both be found carrying their knitting all over the castle. Once a week, about 30 students gathered in the TV room to watch what few American TV shows we managed to garnish from across the "pond." (Yes, this was in 1988. No internet based TV for us!)

 

That semester I made two sweaters. Recently, I picked it up again. Knitting always makes me think of the verse in Psalms that says God knit me together in my mother's womb. Knitting. It takes time. It takes patience. In reality, it is an intricate weaving of the yarn in and around itself. If you just knit across and then back, you get a bumpy pattern. If you knit across and use a pearl stitch back, you get a smooth "stockinet" pattern on the right side. Two stitches. You can combine them a number of different ways to make intricate patterns.

 

Some of it takes counting. I actually count a lot while knitting just to make sure I haven't dropped a stitch. A dropped stitch will inevitably leave a hole and mar the design.

 

Knitting. Time intensive design that is built one stitch at a time.

 

Knowing this, what are the implications for that verse about God knitting me together?

 

God took time.

 

He combined a multitude of stitches one by one to make me who I am.

 

He was careful with the design.

 

Each stitch, each hair on my head, is counted as valuable.

 

And God didn't drop any stitches. There are no holes even when I fell less than perfect. I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

 

Now, if I could just remember that, perhaps I could thank God for my curls or a nose that I think is too pointy or face too long or a crooked finger. Each and every detail was lovingly worked, knit together, in an intricate pattern that God calls beautiful. Who am I to argue? Okay, I do argue about it, but I probably shouldn't!

 

I am a less than perfect knitter, but I can rest in knowing that there are no dropped stitches with God.