Knots
The yarn spirals and twirls into a bigger and bigger wad of knots. I yank to pull out the single strand which hopefully presents itself in the midst of chaos. The scarf grows and expands as row after row is completed...the fireside dances.
Try as I might to ignore the prolific knot, I eventually can ignore it no longer. I tug, nothing comes. The single strand doesn't look so hopeful anymore as it's caught fast by the claws of the yarn around it. Defeated.
But not about to give up. Because sometimes, you evade the knots and simply start out by keeping the yarn contained and in place, and other times you don't and have to face the problem. But better to face the problem than to completely give up.
That strand is still there, beckoning hopeful restart, once you work this knotty situation out.
I call for Misha, my trusty unknotter, because many times, the solution requires asking and seeking help.
She comes with tweezers in hand and I work slowly away at the rows while she tugs and pulls...how can one knit a scarf in such a manner? The yanking and jerking, it all is rather bothersome. And I think that way about my life occasionally. How can I live this way? One yank here, another there, and still the knot looms gloomy. What I, the single strand, do not see, are the beautiful and pearly rows that are being stitched, and the loving hands which are doing the pulling for my own benefit.
I feel the pain and confusion, yet the love seems rather distant.
Try as I might to ignore the prolific knot, I eventually can ignore it no longer. I tug, nothing comes. The single strand doesn't look so hopeful anymore as it's caught fast by the claws of the yarn around it. Defeated.
But not about to give up. Because sometimes, you evade the knots and simply start out by keeping the yarn contained and in place, and other times you don't and have to face the problem. But better to face the problem than to completely give up.
That strand is still there, beckoning hopeful restart, once you work this knotty situation out.
I call for Misha, my trusty unknotter, because many times, the solution requires asking and seeking help.
She comes with tweezers in hand and I work slowly away at the rows while she tugs and pulls...how can one knit a scarf in such a manner? The yanking and jerking, it all is rather bothersome. And I think that way about my life occasionally. How can I live this way? One yank here, another there, and still the knot looms gloomy. What I, the single strand, do not see, are the beautiful and pearly rows that are being stitched, and the loving hands which are doing the pulling for my own benefit.
I feel the pain and confusion, yet the love seems rather distant.
And it can become distant, if you let it. If you don't fix your gaze upon the work which is being done, then you will quickly wonder what it's all for anyway.
And if you don't continually remind yourself of the work to which you're called, then it can all be rather discouraging. Yes, it's oh so easy to get sidetracked and to become forgetful and to wish for things to be easier, but all good things are hard, or so I've heard. And so for the joy set before me, I plunge on into the yarn and work to make it my own, to make it realize that right now it's only seeing dimly, but soon it shall see face to face.
Partial fades away, the perfect comes.
The faith, hope, and love, these three strands, become gloriously enveloped and woven into the life that lives, knows, and breathes that the greatest of these is love.
And what love is this, that I should be called a child of God? Yes, the discipline is hard sometimes, and the road is rough, but the destination, the eternal perspective, that heavy weight of pure joy and glory is far beyond comparing to these little ragged knots that come and go.
I know you've thought it before, that there must be something more, something that makes all these messes into something. Something that redeems our idleness, our selfishness, and all of our eye-wandering.
There is something more, something worth holding on for--the work shall be completed, the love shall be immense, and the radiance of Christ's face...oh.
Pure bliss.
Your heart aching in joy or in anguish knows the truth. We were made for something more, something greater than what this world has to offer. This world is pure beauty gone wrong, and He is purity itself, born to redeem, resurrect, and reign.
And if you don't continually remind yourself of the work to which you're called, then it can all be rather discouraging. Yes, it's oh so easy to get sidetracked and to become forgetful and to wish for things to be easier, but all good things are hard, or so I've heard. And so for the joy set before me, I plunge on into the yarn and work to make it my own, to make it realize that right now it's only seeing dimly, but soon it shall see face to face.
Partial fades away, the perfect comes.
The faith, hope, and love, these three strands, become gloriously enveloped and woven into the life that lives, knows, and breathes that the greatest of these is love.
And what love is this, that I should be called a child of God? Yes, the discipline is hard sometimes, and the road is rough, but the destination, the eternal perspective, that heavy weight of pure joy and glory is far beyond comparing to these little ragged knots that come and go.
I know you've thought it before, that there must be something more, something that makes all these messes into something. Something that redeems our idleness, our selfishness, and all of our eye-wandering.
There is something more, something worth holding on for--the work shall be completed, the love shall be immense, and the radiance of Christ's face...oh.
Pure bliss.
Your heart aching in joy or in anguish knows the truth. We were made for something more, something greater than what this world has to offer. This world is pure beauty gone wrong, and He is purity itself, born to redeem, resurrect, and reign.
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