Winding Yarn is Believing in Miracles

I stand on my warm front porch and I gently slip the ball band off a skein of beautiful handspun yarn.  I take a deep breath, wrap it over a chair and start winding.  And I realize that it is a step of faith.  I wind and I think and I realize that I am steeped in miracles.
Anyone who knows me, knows that I have been a knitting maniac ever since I learned to put sticks to string 4 years ago.  And if you know my journey, you also know that my immune system has been slowly turning against its own body in the form of MS and that my hands have suffered because of it.  I stopped knitting a while ago and haven’t picked up needles or yarn for quite some time.
I had several unfinished projects here that I thought maybe I would be able to finish someday.   But it became apparent that my hands are altered too much to handle thin yarns and the projects have been a sometimes painful reminder that something I loved is gone.  I finally sent those projects off to internet friends who agreed to finish them for me.  The first finished shawl came in the mail today and instead of being sad as I had thought I might be, I was excited to open the package.  The shawl is gorgeous and I realized that instead of being reminded that I couldn’t finish the project myself, I am looking forward to wrapping myself in the attentions of a faraway friend, who – though we’ve never met – put time and love and thousands of stitches into this lovely shawl.

I wind the yarn and my thoughts turn to Colorado.  The events this last week grieved me so deeply.  I can’t explain why, but it has been so heavy on my heart and difficult for me to listen to the news or read the details.  I wind my yarn and I watch my little boys from the front porch. Little boys who don’t understand that mama’s hands don’t work, don’t understand men who shoot into dark theaters, don’t even think about these things that are constantly on the minds of the grown ups around them.  I think about Colorado and I pray for the people there.  And I pray that my boys will grow up to be men who throw themselves in front of bullets to save the women they love.  I think of the miracles that happened in that theater and the miracle of two little boys and warm sun and cool water.

This yarn is the color of a stormy sea, and I think how amazing that a short time ago it was fluffy and white and stuck to the back of a sheep!  Now it is the color of a mermaid’s tail and some skilled spinner has teased it into a twisted barberpole of yarn.  It occurs to me that the act of winding it means that I believe that I will knit it.  The act of wrapping it into a ball is an act of faith.  Friends bought this yarn for me, now I wind it and think of amazing people who love me.  I think of the miracle of friends who drive me to infusion appointments and friends who show deep care and concern for what this diagnosis means to our family.  I wind my stormy sea yarn and I believe that I will knit it and I think how very grateful I am for the friends in my life.
A boy runs up and I give him a kiss and the thought comes that all of mothering is an act of faith.  We hug them, we chastise them, we fill wading pools with water, always believing that what we are doing will somehow guide them into being lovely, caring, thoughtful, ethical humans who will make the world better in some small way.  We have faith that these boys will grow up to be part of a miracle for someone else.  That they will grow up to be the husband who says that a debilitating disease does not change one thing about his love, that they will tread lightly on the hearts of those around them, that they will report child rape at the risk of ending their sports career, that they will be miracle MEN.  I wind my yarn and have faith in my mothering and in my children.
I finish the winding.  Reluctant to leave the warm porch, I stay for a minute and watch the boys splashing water, listen to an older sister lovingly dote on them, soak up the sunshine and admire my miracle of a wound ball of yarn.  I dream about what I will make with it, because of my hands….in spite of my hands.  I have faith in the miracle that I will create, the miracle I will be a part of, the miracle I will watch unfold and fall off of my needles.  And I revel in the miracle of life that goes on in a wading pool, life that marches on in Colorado, life that lives in wonderful friends and eight amazing children and one breathtaking husband.  And I say a prayer of thanks and take my yarn inside and wait for the miracle.

8 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    bradydad8 said,

    You are amazing! Trying to keep up with you, your bravery and your strength has stretched and challenged me everyday. Thank you

  2. 2

    Rachel lewis said,

    Beautiful!!!! Thanks for sharing.

  3. 3

    Jonathan said,

    It really is unfair of you to make me cry at work. All my thoughts are with you and yours.

  4. 4

    Kim R said,

    Amazing…. I loved reading this. It made me tear up, out of understanding and belief that you will knit again because you have the desire to do so, and God knows the desires of your heart. Thanks for sharing!

  5. 5

    Nancy said,

    Wow- I love your writing! This was so moving and I am so lucky you are my friend! Keep putting your story out into the world.

  6. 6

    tanna said,

    You are rich and beautiful and your depth of heart and words touches all those who know you and love you and call you Friend. I am so blessed by all that you are and how you enrichen my life.

  7. 7

    Julie said,

    Wow. Usually you just make me laugh. Really hard. But this made me cry. I’m glad I took the time to read it. I’m glad you are open and honest to share it. I’m glad you’re in my life. And I’m glad you’re my friend.

  8. 8

    Borie said,

    Thanks for sharing. You are in my prayers.
    Please check your Ravelry message, I would like to buy some yarn.

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