right around this time of year, my mind turns to pondering my love of soft yarn and just how a pair of knitting needles might feel clicking against my palms.
i like the way knitted things smell. that rich aroma of softness and the love that was poured into each stitch.
i like the concept of being able to create something that could benefit others.
a treasure to help keep them warm, to bring a little smile as they hold something comforting and made with their heart in mind.
but then i remind myself that i have more than enough things that take up my time without adding knitting to my list.
that doesn't keep me from my thoughts as my finger run over a precious pair of creamy fingerless gloves from a dear friend, or a wedding-gift blanket from my aunt.
knitting feels so intimate.
the joining of things once apart, individual strands that once meant very little. making some beautiful with the caress of our fingers.
for You created my innermost being. You knit me together in my mother's womb.
i praise You for i am fearfully and wonderfully made.
i tend to forget that i am intimately forged in the palms of the Carpenter. the One who makes no mistakes. the ultimate Artist.
this sunset Painter. this mountain Molder. this weeping-willow Weaver.
He knits, too. carefully, purling each stitch together, caressing the material with loving fingers as He saw His masterpiece taking shape.
knitters don't wake up to discover that their twisted ball of knots has been transformed into something precious while they slept.
it takes time and work and careful intimacy with the yarn and their fingers.
it's a process. days, weeks, sometimes even months.
no accidents here.
careful craftsmanship only.
i am more than knots and twisted confusion.
i am smooth knit-work from the Hand of the Master.