On Monday morning, my husband and I went out to breakfast, as is our habit. We went to a sort of healthy eating breakfast place, where I could have pumpkin pancakes and he could have oatmeal with all sorts of extras. I brought along a pair of footies I am working on right now. I'm almost to the toe on the second one, happily knitting along in a circle. I've got this beautiful variegated yarn that I'm working with; it must have been visible from the little green bag on my arm.
The woman who seated us stopped over at our table a little while later. "What are you working on?" she asked. I pulled out the sock I was working on, then the other, finished one. She admired them. I asked if she knitted, and she said that she did. "But I can't read a pattern," she said. "I can't imagine NOT using a pattern," I admitted. I had to admit that I admired her creativity.
"What do you make?" I asked her. "Mostly baby blankets and scarves," she answered.
"That's really beautiful yarn," she offered. "Where did you get it?"
I told her the name of the yarn store where I do most of my shopping, where I not only purchase yarn but also go to get knitting help and advice. I told her about how much they have helped me in the past couple of years.
A little later, I felt like I had been a sort of "Knitting Evangelist", inviting her to my Church, showing her the patterns that are meaningful to me, while not judging her ability to make beautiful things without one.
And I thought, if only it was this easy: to speak to one another about our faith, about the patterns of our lives, about how worship makes meaning, about the songs and the prayers and the people who walk with us and hold us up when we fall down. If only it was as easy as holding up a sock, showing off the beautiful yarn, noticing another person's scarf, and sharing the patterns, and who made the yarn.
If only it was this easy.