Messy

Earlier this week I carried that “I’m in a mess” nervousness into a yarn shop praying I’d find a kind helper.

The thought of asking for help always makes me sweaty.

I’m more concerned with being a bother than getting the help I need which sometimes KEEPS me from getting the help I need.

Hi friends.

A Spring breeze will be blowing in thunderstorms late this evening but for now it’s just the right time to sit and send some encouragement out.

It’s the uncomfortable camp chair directly in a sun beam in the back yard this week and I’m happy as a clam.

Did I tell you that I took a sweater knitting class just before Christmas?

I sat at the class and it took me about twenty minutes to realize that I was in way over my head.

That’s a little sweater humor for you.

I decided on yarn that was too thick and chose a pattern that buttoned-up so as not to feel too badly when it all “unraveled” before my eyes.

In my strange way of thinking, if it wasn’t a true sweater in definition, but a cardigan, if I couldn’t “pull it off” (okay the sweater humor is just too perfect for this post) than I wasn’t really a failure.

Because when you for some reason mention to ANYONE that you knit, the INSTINCTIVE next question will most assuredly be, “Can you knit a sweater?”

As if for instance, you’ve just begun cooking and would choose to make Beef Wellington for your first meal.

The idea is just as preposterous, but it sure doesn’t keep people from asking.

I stayed in the sock making realm because I got really really good at it and it felt comfortable, well, like an old pair of socks I guess.

(C’mon now that one just happened.)

When the gift card for a lovely little yarn shop was about ready to expire a whole year later, I decided on a whim that it was time to take my skills up a notch.

A sweater was in my future (in the safer form of a cardigan) so as not to be a complete knitting failure.

I worked extra hard and completed it under the allotted time frame which earned me a reward with money towards my next knitting project.

It was a bit wonky in places, but it was beautifully purple and blue and it was all mine.

My very own cardigan/sweater.

When a recent email showed new lighter yarn and the idea of a Summer sweater it peaked my interest.

There I was again picking out yarn and snatching up a new pattern.

No paid class this time, meaning no paid constant help.

Just me in the wild with a wild notion that I was indeed a REAL knitter who can knit a sweater.

In the back of my mind I remember the sweater that my dear Mother in law made for her soon to be husband way back when.

That sweater encountered the too familiar fate with a high heat dryer that then evolved into a much smaller sweater for MY husband, and then one fateful day out of another dryer run it became a very nice looking hot pad.

True story.

And from that point I lost contact with it, and I’m guessing it was dried mistakingly once again and now resides in some bird’s, quite posh I might add, nest.

So no matter what happens this go-around, in the recesses of my mind I hold to the fact that indeed everyone can always use another hot pad.

That’s the safety net I’m going to cling to.

I was bound and determined to read this pattern with new eyes and figure this thing out.

And about the time it said, “So take what you have been working on and place it on some WASTE YARN and start again on the whole back section before STITCHING both sections together,” I knew I was up a creek without a paddle.

Off I went to the yarn shop knowing that this time I didn’t have “help included.”

And seeing how much help I DID include with last year’s cardigan, I can see why help should indeed be paid for in cold hard cash.

So with a lump in my throat and anticipating a much lighter wallet in a day’s time, I planned to stop in and see a lady who is genuine kindness.

Her name is Linda and she and I couldn’t be more different.

Politically, spiritually you name it, we are as different as night and day.

And yet, where yarn is concerned we’ve bonded over my messes.

It’s made an indelible impression on me, that last round of help when once she calmly asked me to please “Stop apologizing” for needing help.

In her no nonsense way she smiled and said, “If you didn’t need help, I wouldn’t have anything to do. That’s exactly why I’m here!”

Seriously, 48 year old me just cried.

Mostly because not having any more Oreos or finding a missing sock these days brings tears, but more than that it was someone showering me with pure kindness.

Kindness I didn’t feel like I deserved.

And certainly didn’t expect.

Kindness was for those who have tried harder, worked harder to figure things out.

And it stuck with me as I once more walked through the door that jingles to let her know I was there.

She greeted me and without hesitation or a sigh of complaint ushered me to a worn-out chair to begin speed reading my pattern all the while commenting on what a great choice I made in yarn.

Though it was just a few strands on needles she saw what it WOULD become with,

“Oh! That’s beautiful! What a great choice that is! I love this yarn!”

My heart settled.

Someone saw what I was trying to accomplish and had the excitement that I had lost already on the way there.

I apologizingly pointed to where I was lost and mumbled something about trying to figure it out and how I am more of a “show me” kind and not a “tell me” type of person.

In two minutes flat she had the pieces turned the right way and had me up and running once again.

I watched as she greeted a woman much older than herself and with that same kindness I have come to love, carefully examined her first attempt at a scarf.

This poor dear apologized just as I did my first go-round with Linda and this time I was the one nodding as she told her the very same thing she told me months ago.

I smiled.

I knew just how that woman felt and found myself encouraging her too.

Because kindness is catchy like that.

While this woman and I worked for a little bit Linda sat and decided that this was the day for her to right the world’s wrongs and untangle a whole drawer full of yarn they kept for little projects in the shop.

When I saw the first ball of yarn she picked up it made my head spin.

I’m not sure anyone could pay me enough to even want to tackle that, I thought to myself.

With patience and a determined smirk filled with moxie, she untangled more messes that weren’t of her own making.

This picture wasn’t lost on me.

And I wondered how many messes the Lord wants to bring our way to help sort out and if I would have even a fraction of the kindhearted patience that Linda exhibited to do so.

How about you friend?

Any messes coming your way to unravel?

When I went to leave I asked Linda if I could pay for my help.

“Absolutely not!” Was her reply.

She told me that I knew exactly what to do, I just needed to be shown.

Isn’t that just like most of us in any season of life? Knowing what to do in general, but needing a moment of a friend’s time to help us work the “kinks out?”

You better believe I hugged her even though she doesn’t radiate “I love hugs” vibes and left her with a coffee and chocolate cookie because God knows we all need snacks these days.

So how about you?

When was the last time you volunteered kindness to sit and sort out someone’s mess?

There’s nothing outlandish about Linda.

Her rainbow earrings, knitted vest and flared jeans just sit and wait for messes to arrive.

No one notable sees her or knows she’s tucked inside an old brick building facing downtown.

Her name will most likely never be in bold print in the newspaper.

But those who have messes navigate their way to her and to those of us who know her patient ways, she is golden.

May I also be available for messes.

May my kitchen table, my comfy chair be a welcome place for a mess or two or twelve.

Because everyone gets tangled in one thing or another and because we’ve had one’s untangle our difficult as well.