Things knitting teaches me...

On Friday, I wrote about making a dishcloth a week - to try to work down my cotton stash.  So I spent some time online over the weekend checking out some patterns, and I started making the first block in the series of this KAL.  I thought the pattern would make a nice dishcloth.

Well...  over an hour in, this is what my cloth looks like:

Not much for over an hour's worth of work.  Not to mention the frustration.   

Oh, let me go head and mention the frustration.

First, I didn't understand the pattern.  I started, ripped back, and started over a couple of times before feeling fairly confident I understood what the pattern was saying.  But inside I wasn't sure that the whole problem wasn't with the pattern... (like I'm some sort of knitting expert.  FWIW, I'm ashamed of that thought now.  The pattern works perfectly).

And the kicker is, that last row I did over three times, and in the end I don't think it actually needed to be done over.  At all.  I think I just wasn't seeing my stitches correctly.

You can't really tell from the photo, but my stitches are all over the place tension-wise.  Switching back and forth from knit to purl stitches is still something I evidently struggle with.  

And to top it all off, it's too big for the size dishcloths I like.  Frankly... I just want to quit and go back to one of my tried and true patterns.  I don't want to work this hard to make a dishcloth.

And I can't tell you how many times I wished I had my scissors handy so I could cut off that long tail that kept getting caught in my knitting.   But did I bother during all 11 of the rows above to get up and get a pair of scissors?   

Nooooo....

Just as I was about to rip the whole thing out and give up on this stitch pattern, it dawned on me that everything I was saying to myself about this silly dishcloth I was struggling to knit, I could apply spiritually or practically to my life.

How many times do I struggle with understanding how something is to be done?  Do I ask for help, look for examples to guide me?  Or do I just slog through, cursing and blaming the thing that is frustrating me?  

How many times do I, in haste, unnecessarily undo what I've done only to find out that I wasn't doing a thing wrong at all?  I just didn't have the eyes (or experience) yet to recognize what I was (or maybe wasn't) seeing.   Or do I sometimes look for the wrong evidences to tell me I'm actually doing just fine.  Maybe not perfect.  But certainly okay.  And sometimes okay is perfect for where I am in the process.

How many times do I willy-nilly wander into a task or situation of a spiritual nature, not taking stock of my spiritual state of being?  Or do the same with practical jobs, and not consider if I have the stamina, correct tools, or even know-how to finish the thing?  Or how many times have I blustered into a conflict in a relationship, determined to set right what is wrong, but forget to first take stock of my own issues or consider the "logs in my own eyes"?

How many times do I look at the mess I've made when trying something new and chide myself for it?  I should be able to do better than that, I often think - not remembering or accepting that for every new thing learned, there is a learning curve.  

I look at my uneven knit stitches and I think it looks like a child is making this.  And then I think...   Did I look at my small child's drawings with dismay and tell him one dinosaur looks like a dog, and another looks like an inchworm with stilt-legs?

Or tell him that pigs don't look like hippos?   

Or maybe that hippos aren't pink? Exactly?

Of course not.  I cherished those drawings.  I was pleased and proud of what he had drawn - not giving one thought that some day he would bring me drawings that were better.  I didn't want "better" from my young children.  I simply took pleasure in whatever creations they shared with me.  These drawings were perfect.

How many times do I want to just quit when something becomes too hard?  How many times do I mutter, "this isn't worth this kind of stress"?   Or think to myself, I can't believe I'm wasting my time on this?"

And lastly...  how many times do I stubbornly keep going on a task, tripping over something I've left in the way.  Maybe it's an actual thing I'm tripping over.  Maybe it's a small task that simply needs to be quickly done so I can stop thinking about it.  Or maybe it's something bigger - like I've hurt someone and I really need to make it right before I sit myself down to say...  work on a Sunday school lesson I'm teaching, or a Bible study lesson I'm to glean truths from.   I'll get to that other thing later, I tell myself, slowing my work down and frustrating myself in the process. Or worse... stifling God's working in my life.  Sometimes we simply need to get up and do what we need to do to get that niggling thing taken care of.  And then we can work with a happy, unencumbered  heart.

In case you haven't figure out by now...  I'm no longer talking about a knitted dishcloth, or knitting at all.

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But I'm going to finish knitting this dishcloth - not because I think it's important to do so.  It's not.  I could cut the yarn, toss it away, and there's be no love lost.  No harm done.  A lot of time saved.

But no.  I'm going to finish knitting this dishcloth because it will give me the opportunity to mull over these kinds of thoughts for however long it takes me to finish it.  

And if it looks, in the end like a child knit it?  What does it matter?   I will appreciate that it's a first (of sorts) for me.  I will have learned some things about knitting in the process.  My tension will probably improve, and I may even memorize the pattern.

But more importantly, I will have meditated on what it means to be a child of God.  To be loved in spite of my unloveliness.  I also may learn some patience.  May have plenty of time to remind myself that even at my age, when doing things that are new to me, my first steps may be faltering ones.  I may even make some messes that need to be cleaned up.  And I may have to apply myself to the painful task of cutting out that which trips me up, that which encumbers me.   

Knitting this little dishcloth can challenge me to do some hard things I should do in my life, because it's in doing challenging things, we grow into maturity.  Physical, mental, spiritual maturity.

So when I next show the finished dishcloth, remember... it's not just an imperfectly knitted, no-account piece of cloth.  It's a whole bunch of life lessons.


And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.  ~ James 1:4