Knitting to Quiet My Soul

Turn off the news, pray for the world,

Then knit yourself into serenity.

If today's news clips make you cry, if you feel hope unravelling in our world, consider knitting your way into peace. This ancient art revives my equilibrium.

A few years ago, my church offered a spiritual formation class on Knitting as Meditation. The gentle focus on a simple pattern, the rhythmic hand movement, the softness of the fibers, the murmur of discussion -- all helped to create a calm, prayerful ambience. Perhaps it could help me now in these troubled times. So, I've resumed knitting after a hiatus.

Baby blanket based on dishcloth pattern. Very repetitive, very soothing.

The first few projects relaxed my mind but produced nothing usable. No matter. I calmly slid all the stitches of a should-have-been hat into a hot pink, ramen-like heap. Mercifully, my mind had unkinked even if the yarn had not.

Then I start afresh. I counter destruction in the outside world with creation in my own two hands. Once my hands find a cadence, my mind relaxes, and my soul exhales. Whether or not something useful or lovely emerges from my crafting interludes, I can always count on some peace.

My only sweater -- so far. I pondered meeting baby as I knit.

My neighbor taught me to knit when I was 11. She cast on enough stitches for a washcloth, and I knit about 2 inches under her watchful eye. Once on my own, I forgot the process but did not ask for help. Instead, my needles and yarn languished until I went to college, and someone showed me again. This time I stuck with it, envisioning a luxurious navy and moss green striped scarf for my boyfriend. Though I sometimes became so enraged at my mistakes that I tried to snap the plastic needles, they only bent in half and turned white. I persisted. Boyfriend and I broke up before I finished the scarf, so I decided to add a different color for each new beau: a violet stripe attested to my pathetic love life. Luxurious scarf went to Goodwill, and my needles went into storage for the next 40 years.

.

About 20 years ago, I admired my college friend’s knit hat. “Oh, I made it in an evening,” said she. “I wish I could knit like that,” said I. Now Carol was a world-classes knitter who made mittens as a kid and could knock out Nordic sweaters between college classes. And as a former 2^nd grade teacher, she knew how to motivate learning. For my next birthday, she gave me bamboo circular needles with Icelandic Lopi yarn cast on. “Just knit,” she said.” That’s all. Just knit until it’s 7 inches.” I was on my way. Once I learned how to finish the hat, I was so pumped, I made at least 3 dozen more in a rainbow of colors.

My idea of a candy store: a yarn shop in Bodrum, Turkey.

Then when visiting my older daughter, I saw a basket of her knitting and my fingers twitched. With her permission, I added a few rows to her project. Her Christmas gift to me that year? Several skeins of irresistible yarn, rose and gold with metallic thread and another in lush ocean blues. My support system had begun to evolve.

Perhaps the Canterbury Shaker Village provided the ideal milieu for resuscitating my erstwhile craft. For several years, I worked as docent in the Family Center (then located in the Creamery). During slow days when I awaited guests, I’d knit sitting in a reproduction Shaker rocking chair. Back and forth. Back and forth in a haven of peace and simplicity, in an experiment in Utopia. Could anywhere else be so perfect for knitting?

This started out nicely, but I lost count. Who needs a 14" scarf? Maybe I'll try again next year. For now, I stick with simple, calming patterns.

One of the spinning wheel demonstrators saw me at The Village and invited me to join her fiber arts group. Now these ladies were the Ph.D.s of knitting, and little ol’ me was a pre-K student by comparison. But no one judged, rather they taught. I learned a lot from these skillful women. And though I could only knit and purl without the fancy stitches, I was seriously hooked on both the craft and the relaxation it generated. Thanks to a kindly expert knitter, I began to call my frequent snags and holes “spontaneous design elements” as she did.

Though my knitting still has not advanced to complex patterns, knitting has provided me with a safe haven of calm in our chaotic world. Surely, hours of knitting scarves during ER vigils as my Mum began her long good-bye, grounded me in peace. When she didn’t want to hold hands, I could knit my anxiety and grief into soft yarns. And by calming myself, I brought calm to her. When I make a project for a specific recipient, I reflect on that person while I craft the hat, the scarf, the baby blanket.

And now my grandkids want to learn to knit! Left-handedness challenges my grandson, but we press on. Meanwhile, my granddaughter, 9, is well on her way with the supplies I gave her at Christmas. In fact, she’s drawn her Mom into her hobby, and both have finished wooly throws by finger-knitting. Though I cannot yet teach them fancy stitches, I have given them a pattern for peace of mind. ###

A fun use of leftover yarn knit with my granddaughter.

From age 2, my granddaughter showed interest in knitting. By 7, she helped knit her scarf-of-many-colors (left). Now 9, she knits by herself.