So, what do you do?

It's a question you hear a lot.  When you meet someone new and strike up a conversation, it's bound to be asked at some point.

"So, what do you do?"

It's a question that has become increasingly more interesting (and difficult) to answer.  For a while, it was simply "I'm a student."  Then, it became "I'm a student and a children's minister."  Then I was simply a children's minister.  And all of those answers were fine.  A little out of the ordinary, but nothing that didn't at least lead to further conversation.

Then I left my church.  I wasn't in school, I didn't have a job, and I didn't have an answer to the question everyone asked.  "Well, I was a children's minister."  "I'm searching right now."  These are all correct and acceptable answers.  But it is so disheartening to give them!

Things have continued to change in my life, and among those changes is my answer to that question.  "I'm a chaplain at a children's hospital, I work at a mall museum store, and I am trying to start my own sewing business."

Might be a bit of an overload.

But the answer that I want to give to that question is much simpler.  What do I do?  I do what I love.  It has taken years to come to a place where I can say that I do truly love what all do, all that I do.  I feel fulfilled in my work, and am excited for it to continue.

When you ask someone what they do, typically the question you're asking is "What is your job?" or "How do you spend your time?"  But wouldn't it be interesting if the question we were asking was "How do you feel about what you do?"  And if we were to answer that question and share a bit more of ourselves than the work we do to make money.

I do what fulfills me.
I do what I need to get by.
I do what I want to.
I do what I enjoy.
I do what I have to, but someday I will do what I want to.

I work with amazing people.  I help incredible children (who often in turn help me).  I knit.  I sew.  I create.  I do what I love.

What do you do?

Knitting, Lectio Divina, and the Holy Spirit

The knitting and spirituality class that I taught at my church ended a few weeks ago, and I've been thinking a lot about the group since then.  Although by the end of the six weeks, there were only four or five women coming regularly, I really feel that those six weeks were well spent, and that *something* was accomplished. It is that *something* that I have been thinking about most.

In the third week, once the women felt comfortable knitting and talking at the same time (no small task), I decided to try something new.  Instead of just asking questions like "What is spirituality?" or "How are you spiritual?", I began using Lectio Divina during the second half of the class.  I love Lectio Divina - it is a wonderful and useful practice.  If you aren't familiar with it, you might want to check out the Wikipedia page, which is decently informative.  The version that I typically use is taken largely from Rethinking Youth Ministry.  Even though their version is meant for kids and youth, I find it works really well with adults.

Here is my version.  It is designed to be done in a group setting, but could easily be adapted as a personal practice.

1. Read the passage aloud.
--Meditate on the passage as a whole.
2. Read the passage aloud.
--Meditate on a word or phrase that stands out to you.
3. Read the passage aloud.
--Meditate on how the passage is relevant in your life.

Typically the meditations last for 2-3 minutes, or until people start moving and looking uncomfortable in the silence.  The first week I tried this with the knitting group, I decided to read Genesis 1.  (Fun thing I discovered -  the "Genesis 1" story that everyone talks about actually goes through Genesis 2:4.  Weird!)  It's a long passage - an entire chapter! - but a good one, and relevant to our knitting.  I was worried people would get bored with such a long passage, especially since I was reading through it three times, but something amazing happened - they listened.  They sat happily knitting (and crocheting) as I read the passage three times, pausing each time to meditate.  No one complained about the length.  No one sighed loudly when I read the passage yet again.

When we talked about the experience later, several of the women told me that they were able to sit through such a long reading because they were knitting.  Because their hands were busy and a piece of their minds were already distracted, they were able to listen to the entire passage without becoming bored.

I think that this is why I love knitting, and why silent sitting-type meditations just don't work for me.  When my body is still, my mind cannot help but race 100 miles an hour.  But when my body is moving, just a little bit, my mind is free and able to concentrate better.  I've knit in classes, movies, Bible study, and even worship.  I used to visit coffee shops with my drop spindle and spend time watching people while my hands were busy making yarn.  In each of these experiences, I've found that my mind is more connected with the world around me when my hands are busy knitting, or spinning.

I asked myself after that first week of trying lectio divina, "Where is the spirituality in this?" I can't quote a Bible passage, or explain this to you theologically, but I can say this: Those moments when the restlessness of the human body is quieted, and the mind is able to fully engage in the surrounding world?  Those are moments full of the Holy Spirit.

Teaching Knitting

I learned two important things on Sunday.

1) A circle is not the best chair arrangement for teaching knitting.
2) If you're confident in what you're doing, people will listen to what you have to say.

Yesterday I started a group that for a long time was just an idea in my head.  Knitting is an important part of my life, and I have been wanting to share it with others.  I had many ideas of how this might work: teaching middle schoolers how to knit, crochet, and spin in a one-day workshop; teach knitting at summer camp; offer a Sunday school class on knitting squares for an afghan.

But as I talked about my idea with friends and colleagues, I realized that it wasn't just knitting that was important; it was spirituality.  To me, knitting and spirituality are incredibly intertwined.  When I knit, I get in touch with the spiritual part of myself, the part of myself able and willing to sit quietly and pray, or listen, or do nothing.  The part of me that is usually restless and fidgety is silent.  I often have a problem sitting still; I bounce my legs or tap my foot or finger.  But when I knit, all that frantic, endless movement is transferred into my hands and fingers, which are moving needles and yarn and creating something.  When I knit, I am calm.

(Unless, of course, I am knitting lace.  Lace usually makes things worse.)

The group of women who showed up to knit yesterday was varied, from middle school to sixties/seventies.  But they all came to learn to knit.  I listened to their stories: some had knit before and given up for this reason or that.  Some had never knit.  Many were former crocheters with wrist problems.  As a former crocheter myself with similar problems, I understood.

It is intimidating teaching something new to people who are twice your age or more.  These women had more life experiences than me, more stories they could tell, perhaps even a better understanding of "spirituality."  Why should they listen to me?  Why would they pay attention to what I had to say?  But I sat there and said my piece, explaining why we were there, why I loved knitting, and why I wanted to share this love with them.  And then I taught them to knit.

And you know what?  By the end of that hour and a half, every single woman there was knitting.  Most of them had at least four rows completed.  And all but one seemed eager to come back next week.  And hopefully they will, because I am even more excited and confident now!

Community

There is something so wonderful about sitting with a group of friends and talking. It doesn't matter if the discussion is being led, or if it comes and goes as the group wills it; what matters is that we are gathered together in this time, at this place. What matters is the moment and the community.
A while ago I joined a knitting group. The group meets in a coffee shop on Wednesday nights for three hours, talking and laughing and enjoying the time away. Many of the group are young mothers; some have demanding jobs. It was clear to me from the start that most of the members of this group came to knitting as an escape, an away place, a time where things were different.
I came to the group for similar reasons. Being in seminary while working in a church means that almost all the time you are surrounded by one type of person: religion geeks. And that is exhausting. And so I came to that group on Wednesday nights to escape my real life and be with people who did not talk about church.
It was a different kind of community for me. These women were so varied, ao different, yet they shared a commonality in their love of fiber arts. The group gave me a space to find myself, to find my identity outside the student, the youth minister, the preacher. I was able to find my identity as a knitter.
I believe it is important that we make room for community time jn our lives. Not just the communities we are a part of every day, but communities that are made up of different kinds of people. In my knitting group I was able to meet people whose lives were drastically different than mine, and I could appreciate them for those differences. I was able to see beyond my church and school walls to the world outside. And none of this would have happened without my knitting.
Knitting allowed me to connect with these women, to find a point of familiarity and engage in conversation. And from conversation about projects and yarn and technique, we were able to move forward to conversations about favorite movies, family, and more. From such a simple starting place, we were able to connect and create a community.