Our Yarn: Knitting, Pt. 1

Part 1 (Knit-wit) — Part 2 (Better Knit)

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Cassie: Jedi Knit

Cassie started to knit in high school. She always talked about how she wanted to do more with it. In fact, Cass had one incredibly specific dream she wanted to make a reality by knitting (to be discussed in the next knitting post). I really don’t know how, with all her imagination, she only made that one goal. I also don’t know how, with the copious amounts of yarn we owned, she only made a couple of scarves. For some reason, she never got around to focusing on this random hobby of hers.

Knits Out

I have a good deal of experience with crocheting, like I mentioned before (for the uninitiated, it’s pronounced “crow-shay-ing,” read: sort-of-knitting). But knitting has never made any sense to me. Crocheting is simple and straightforward to understand: you use a hook to pull yarn through other yarn; that makes loops; loops let you pull more yarn through to make more loops. Knitting is entirely different. How on earth people use two pointy sticks to jab string until fancy, wavy interlocking chains come out is way beyond me.

But if I was going to make Cassie’s dream come true, I had to try it. So I grabbed Cassie’s old metal knitting needles, some yarn, and some patience. Then got to work.

My report after hours and hours of learning: it’s still witchcraft. I made several rounds of a blob of a thing that could maybe turn into a pot holder. But even after successfully knitting (and purling and whatnot), I still don’t get how I did it.

Knit Wits

In all my posts about these little adventures, I try to tie in the experience to some aspect of my beliefs or how to live like Cassie would have us do. I tried really hard to find a quote or a verse to go with knitting without resorting to a cliché. Knitting seems like such a bizarre thing to relate to spirituality, especially as I’m learning it. It’s just a weird, frustrating process of stabbing needles through yarn.

But as I did some research, it turned out my issue wasn’t that there are no analogies to make. My issue is that there are too many analogies. Granted, some of them seem like the author makes a huge stretch to pull out the analogy:

Like life, knitting requires risk. The working stitches must be kept close to the edge of the needle.

(If I’m going to make fun of this, I probably shouldn’t cite the writer)

I mean, really?? “Life is dangerous… like knitting?!” You’re joking right?

But the person quoted wasn’t joking. She did have something of a point—just one that really should have been phrased a different way. I found plenty of other bits of wisdom people gleaned from contemplating knitting during the hundreds of monotonous hours they spent doing it:

 “In life, as in knitting, don’t leave loose ends. Take the time to thank the people who matter in your life.” 

Reba Linker, Follow the Yarn: The Knitting Wit & Wisdom of Ann Sokolowski

“Everything is done one stitch at a time. No amount of wishing will get a cable sweater done faster. It is all done stitch by stitch. And that is a good thing.”

Pastor Judy Anderson-Bauer

“Knitting has also helped me develop my imagination and vision of possibilities. Plain yarn can be worked into elaborate patterns; yarn with a great deal of texture and personality requires simpler patterns. Literally thousands of designs exist for hats, scarves, mittens, and more. Two knitters using the same needles and the same yarn can create very different results.”

Marianne Antczack, U.S. Catholic, January 2015 

At the End of the Knit

The last one seemed like gold to me. Truly, it resonated for a few reasons:

• 1) Yes. It’s ridiculous how many different things people have made. Plus, it’s ridiculous how different my things look compared to what others’ make with the same pattern.
• 2) The practice of knitting does inspire the knitter to constantly envision what he/she is making. So, again, yes.
• 3) I’m blown away with the imagination of all these knitting people. They took something so mundane and made some deep wisdom out of it.

Seriously! When you sit someone down and have a person do the same thing over and over and over and over and over again and again and again (a.k.a. knitting), they can come up with some pretty creative thoughts. And apparently, if you put a dedicated enough Christian alone in a room with a ball of yarn, eventually they’ll find a way to grow closer to God with it.

Ultimately, while I have yet to learn to appreciate the art of knitting, I have come to appreciate the human imagination better. Imagination is an important part of our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health. It’s what lets us imagine the life of Christ just from reading the gospels. That’s the thing which lets us think of our relationship to Jesus differently every time we take communion/Eucharist. Imagination is what makes the vague and incredible descriptions of heaven so incredible to everyone who pictures it.

Imagination makes us more than human. It helps us understand the depths of our soul, empathize with others, and reach out to the super-human. Using our imagination is something we all need to practice more: in our faith and elsewhere.

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Part 1 (Knit-wit) — Part 2 (Better Knit)

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P.S.

How can we do that? Well if I can make a suggestion, I’m going through the book Imaginative Prayer by Jared Patrick Boyd. I got it from my library’s digital content. It’s written to help parents guide their children to use their imagination in understanding God and themselves through all kinds of emotional and mental exercises. But, considering how useful it is, the parents who used the book felt they got at least as much out of the book as their children. I think they have a point.

If it feels like I’m pushing some weird experiential form of Christianity by promoting a recently published book, then there’s always the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius too. I touched on my experiences with those at the end of my testimony. It’s a practice that’s been around for 500 years, and is a wonderful way of engaging your imagination in relating to Christ.