I hate the holidays, but I’m trying not to so much this year. Holiday memories are especially painful, and the past several days have been bleak to say the least.
One of the suggestions made for coping with the anxiety was to take up a craft. I chose knitting and taught myself courtesy of a book how to cast on, one stitch, and how to cast off. Confession: I have to look up how to cast off every time because I don’t remember. It does help, believe it or not, which has been a surprise to me. It is repetitive so it doesn’t require deep thought and it keeps my hands busy.
The first step, though, is to unravel the yarn as packaged and wind it into a ball. It takes some doing too because invariably there are at least two or three knots that need to be dealt with during the process.
Last night as I was pulling yarn and dealing with knots I was also thinking about the painful childhood memories, and how tender young hearts are, and how easily they are wounded and how even more easily those wounds can be harbored and fester if left unattended and bound up.
I wonder at the wounds in my own heart knotted even more because those of the little girl were hidden and left bound up.
With yarn, I pull strand by strand gently until I get closer to the knot being freed. Often it’s a matter of sorting the stands to make a way for it to come undone. Sometimes it’s simple to free it, but sometimes I can’t get the knot out because it’s too tight.
The knots in my heart are that way too. Some of the strands are easier to sort out than others, but many of them, deeply entrenched and buried for years, are tight and scary.
Even when I feel the pull from gentle hands, from the only One who can truly untangle the mess and bring wholeness it’s hard to not respond out of fear and suspicion that it will only bring more hurt.
I’m thankful today that He never stops gently tugging and for the reminders of His presence and comfort…even in the bleakest of moments.