Reasons I enjoy crocheting, and the like

The gentle, lulling, repetitive motion

One loop after another after another … flows into a gentle sinusoidal wave of comfort, erasing jumpy, haggard patterns of stress and anxiety

An imitation of the great act of creation, watching a hat, a doll, a blanket, a mobile slowly emerge from my hands at the impetus of my own will ~ understanding in some small measure the joy and pride of my God, as a mirror humbly beholding and reflecting His creative essence

Projects turn to prayer as a friend, a brother, a joy, a fear is shared with God, my Comforter

In turn calmly crocheting or passionately exploring new designs and dreams, as my mood and energy dictate

I used to struggle with myself over the irony of the apparent futility of creative endeavors. Before I discovered crochet, I used to enjoy making puzzles, and yet I couldn’t quite stand up to the annoying reasoning voices telling me that putting together a picture that has intentionally been cut apart is the epitome of vanity. So I became a closet puzzler, hiding in the recesses of my mind from myself as I enjoyed long periods of piecing together a puzzle, finding irrational pride in matching pieces of cardboard  together and watching dazzling images emerge, even as the voices were saying “you could have bought this picture whole to start with!” As I began to emerge into the mature adult I might become I ventured out into the world of cross stitch as a direct act of defiance to the voices that nagged at me. “Why would you spend twenty hours making something that serves no purpose? Who will ever appreciate this? You could be doing something else to make the world a better place right now. Or you could be sleeping. Who are you trying to impress anyway? Seriously? One stitch after another after another … ?” Sometimes it got to me. I don’t know how to answer any of those questions. There’s no point. But my mom does have one of my cross-stitched masterpieces framed on her wall. And I did find an indescribable peace of mind and heart every time I sat down to add another color, a new thread, an extra element to the picture. When I recently got married and started embellishing my dabbling interest in yarn, I would give voice to all these doubts and questions and often get myself worked into quite a frenzy, crocheting a hat while explaining that I really didn’t know why I enjoyed this (but I did, somehow, in those closets of my mind) because I knew it didn’t matter and I could just buy one and I know I’m not really accomplishing anything that counts for anything and I could be doing something better (or sleeping ~ that’s always an option!) and etc, somehow feeling obliged to side with “the voices” now that I had a sounding board (aka, my “hubband”) who might, just might, contradict me and release me from the bondage of perpetually making sense. Which he did, interrupting me, poking me, laughing at/with me at the absurdity of my sense of sense-making and encouraging me to just relax and enjoy the simple things in life. If you enjoy it, that’s good enough. … oh glorious freedom! J

I realize now that a lot of those downward spiraling thoughts of “this isn’t worth anything, don’t waste your time, what’s the point?what’s thepoint?what’sthepoint??” was symptomatic of a ferocious hunger to be seen, noticed, appreciated … and of a depression that was eating away at the joy of simply living. Since finding my husband I have discovered a precious ability to enjoy life, now that this anxiety to count for something or matter to someone was set right. With a companion to love, one in whose love (because it is growing with the Love of God) I could rest securely and confidently, I was able to face life in a fresh way and not be caught up in a whirlwind of anxiety-driven “dosomethingamazingnowandeverymomentoryou’reworthless”-ness.

I wish I had been able to reach this point earlier, but in my journey, I needed Timothy to set me free to be me and be happy with me. If I have a daughter, though, I hope she can learn to appreciate herself and enjoy discovering life and her own talents in a peaceful way, instead of feeling compelled to throw herself to the wind, hoping someone will catch her when she falls.

And I’ve digressed sufficiently from yarn to esoteric musings on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness so I shall call a halt to this blog post. Blogging. That is definitely an onomatopoeia.

p.s. for clarification sake, I didn’t actually hear voices. And I hope I haven’t offended anybody who does, b/c I can imagine that must be an incredibly frustrating experience, not to be belittled. Seriously.