Knit One, Purl You!

I just took up knitting. I squeeze it in between shopping for support hose and cleaning my dentures. But seriously, knitting seems to be the "in" thing now. Every time I hit the craft-store yarn sales, I end up garnering color advice from barely pubescent youngsters wearing poofy, wild-colored scarves of their own making.

I didn't take up the needles in fulfillment of a long-standing desire, to fill an abundance of leisure time, or even as some sort of "turning 40" ritual. I did it for one reason—salmon. But in typical God-fashion, he ended up teaching something entirely different.

Here's where it all started: I purchased a pair of corduroy jeans in the most gorgeous shade of salmon. Their hue is a cross between Sebastian on Little Mermaid and Princess Fiona's hair. Unfortunately, there is not a sweater, blouse, or T-shirt in all of Southern California that matches.

In a flash of genius, I thought, I'll bet I can find yarn to match! Sure enough, there was. A package labeled "Knit This Scarf" in big letters contained two types of yarn that everyone within three aisles agreed was the perfect match for my pants. I took it home, ripped open the package, and began reading the instructions, confident that within hours I'd be sporting a smashing salmon ensemble. But wait—what in the world is "casting on"? What is "knit one, purl two"? I had these two sticks, some yarn, instructions that might as well have been Martian, and no idea how to make my dream scarf a reality.

After three frustrating days of attempting to construct the scarf with downloaded instructions, I decided to visit a yarn shop and ask someone to show me. A wonderful lady overheard my dilemma and came to my rescue. "Well," she started, "first of all you've got the initial knot all wrong." How do you get a knot wrong? It's a knot. That sweet saint sat down with me for 25 minutes and showed me over and over and over again how to get that first row started, and then how to knit the rest of the rows.

Unfortunately for the recipients of my scarves, I forgot to ask her how to finish off my masterpieces. I have since found out I've been finishing the bottoms of my scarves all wrong. I hope my friends and family will get at least a couple wears out of them before they unravel like toilet paper in the wind.

But my vast, three-week wealth of knitting experience has shed new light on a Scripture I've read and quoted countless times: "You knit me together in my mother's womb" (Psalm 139:13). God knew the purposes he had for me even before he made me. He has placed me where I am in the whole scheme of life because of my uniqueness. He chose materials that were pleasing in his eyes, creating the perfect shade of "Lisa" to match his beautifully colored world. And he needed no instructions and made no mistakes when he set out to knit me together. He's proud of me because I am his handiwork. But the best part is that he's still working on me.

I can't wait to see how he finishes off his masterpiece.

Lisa Johnson is a writer, speaker, and recording artist from Southern California. She is the author of Days of Whine & Noses (Jossey-Bass).

Elisa Morgan is president of MOPS International. Call (800) 929-1287 or go to www.mops.org for information about a MOPS group in your area.

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