Living Toward…Part One

Yesterday, an important anniversary nearly passed by unnoticed by me.  It was July 21, 2014, seven years to the day from the release of the seventh and final Harry Potter book.

Now, it may seem silly that a grown woman wistfully remember dressing up in robes with a lion hat perched on her head, real-live radishes hooked on her earrings, and a cork necklace around her neck, waiting impatiently for a brick of a book to be released, and I will not blame you if you laugh at that idea.  But, for that young woman, that day - July 21, 2007 - was one she had dreamed of and lived toward for many, many years.

It is that idea of living toward that intrigues me today.  When I think back to that young woman, waiting with her friends in her costume for a book to be released, I realize how happy she was to be living toward the moment that book would be placed in her hands.  So much excitement had led up to this moment: hours spent discussing and debating what had happened in prior books, and what could possibly happen in this one; even more hours reading and rereading each page of each book, reliving the stories as if for the first time.  All of those hours, days, years, had been spent living toward the release of this seventh and final book, when all would be revealed and the story would be concluded.

When she received that book, was the excitement over?  No…but she began living toward something new…the next chapter, and the next, then the end of the book, then the conversations that would come.  Some new thing to live toward appeared, and she followed along the path toward those new things.  And other things, not related to Harry Potter, certainly followed.  College graduation, acceptance into graduate school, attending graduate school, marriage…the list goes on.

In our lives, we are accustomed to living toward things.  Our next birthday, the conclusion of a school project, prom, graduation, marriage.  One thing follows when another is concluded, and we are rarely left with nothing to look forward to.  

It is the living toward that is exciting, isn't it?  When I looking forward to the final Harry Potter book, those moments of living toward were (dare I say it?) more exciting than the actual living of it.  It was more thrilling to imagine what might be in the book, than to read what was in the book.  But the danger of it is that we might become too enthralled in the imagining that when that thing we have been living toward arrives and passes…we do not know what to do next.  

My senior year of high school, I spent weeks on a major project for my literature class.  It was a project and presentation I had looked forward to doing since my sophomore year.  My every thought was about this project - what work needed to be completed, what work had been completed and if it needed to be edited, how I would present it, what I would wear when I presented it.  My whole existence became centered around living toward this project.  When the presentation concluded, suddenly I had nothing.  I had forgotten about prom, forgotten about graduation and college…I had forgotten that I needed to live toward something else next.  

So what happens when that thing we have been living toward disappears?  If the seventh Harry Potter book had been canceled, never to be released, what would I (and so many others) have done with all the anticipation that had been building?  If the project I had prepared for suddenly had been canceled due to unforeseen circumstances, what would I have done with all of that preparation?  

I've recently been struggling with this problem.  Following marriage and graduation from divinity school, I have been living toward having a family.  It has become my all-focused goal.  After all, it is what we are supposed to do, right?  Graduate, find a job, get married, start a family.  But when miscarriage followed miscarriage, and the expected ease of having a child proved unrealistic, I found myself with nothing to live toward.  

Saying "nothing" is perhaps an overstatement.  I have everyday goals and happinesses.  I certainly live toward each evening when my husband came home, toward ordination into Christian ministry, toward many other things….but that central thing that I was living toward had seemingly vanished.  How do you move forward when the rug has been completely swept from underneath you?  How do you keep standing, keep living?  How do you seek out that next truly meaningful thing to live toward?  

It has been, and continues to be, a complete life adjustment.  There are only so many days one can set aside to crying in bed and waiting for life to cooperate with your expectations.  And so, lately I have been seeking out new things to live toward.  They've been small, but have managed to fill that space in my life.  Cataloguing our entire 500+ book library.  Learning how to fix and sew on a 1920s-era treadle sewing machine.  Rediscovering the utter joy of reading for pleasure.  Finding a job.

I'm not entirely sure what I am living toward these days.  Perhaps it is finding those simple life pleasures that make you smile.  Or perhaps it is seeking out something new to live toward.  Living toward something to live toward.  

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!