It’s been cold this past week. Which means I pulled out my
winter dress coat to go to church this past week. Which means I tucked my hands
into the coat pockets and found my hand-knit scarf hiding in there, waiting to
be found after a summer of un-needed-ness.
I smile every time I rediscover my hand-knit scarf tucked into
my dress coat. It’s made from super-soft, burnt-orange alpaca wool imported
from Peru. I know this because I knit it myself. Margaret Jager taught me to
knit through several of her knitting evenings hosted at church. She patiently
guided me through all my mistakes and carefully corrected a few of my more
egregious ones. She also gave me a pattern to follow that was not “beginner-level.”
It took me all winter to finish. Between the slowness of my
learning-curve and the extra-long length I needed so that the scarf hung at a
reasonable length down my torso after wrapping around my neck, it was a big
project. I completed it just as the first crocuses were breaking through the
snow and stashed it away in the closet for the next winter.
I smiled that first year when the snows came again in the
fall, and I reached for my new scarf to wear it in the cold for the first time.
It was sooooooo soft. And perfectly warm. And made my neck happy. One-of-a-kind.
Definitely worth all of the work.
And so, when Elizabeth had a late-night craving for macaroni
and cheese (this was the year we were expecting Emma) I grabbed my new scarf,
threw it around my neck, and ventured out on the snowy roads to D&W. I didn’t
much understand these strange food cravings—we hadn’t eaten macaroni & cheese
in all our married years to this point—but I knew one thing: I needed to come
home with mac & cheese. Not because Elizabeth would be upset if I didn’t,
but because it was my duty as a new father-to-be.
This was just my second time wearing the scarf. It wasn’t a
dress-coat only scarf back then. When I got to D&W, I tucked the scarf in
my coat pocket, found the requested brand, and checked out. I returned triumphant
with the box of mac & cheese. (And actually, I bought several—just in case
this odd craving might strike again).
The next day, when I went to put on my coat, I reached for
my scarf. It wasn’t there. I checked both coat pockets. I checked the floor. I
went all through the house, turning everything over to see if I set it down
somewhere. I went back out to the car and checked under the seat. I checked the
pockets of my other, lighter-weight, coat. I checked the pockets of coats I hadn’t
worn in over a year. No scarf.
I jumped in the car and headed back to D&W. I retraced
my steps. Looked all around in the parking lot. I checked their lost and found…
Why, yes, we do have plenty of scarves in this box…Well, no…none of them are
one-of-a-kind super-soft burnt-orange alpaca wool with a fun, diagonal design.
I like to think someone picked it up off the floor at
D&W and was so impressed with the craftsmanship and quality that they kept
it for themselves. Or maybe it was someone down-on-their-luck who was going to
be cold all winter long but found this scarf and was able to stay just a little
bit warmer. That’d be cool too. Maybe there’s a homeless person out there with
a one-of-a-kind scarf.
Except, it’s not one-of-a-kind. Not anymore. After I got
over my grief at losing my splendid creation, I went back to the yarn store and
found more of the same yarn. And I started again. And again it took me all winter
to finish. And again I didn’t get to wear the scarf until the snows started
falling again the next fall. And again it felt wonderfully soft and warm around
my neck as I wore it off to church for the first time. And this time, when I
took it off my neck, I tucked it nice and deep into my pocket. I haven’t lost
it since.
The other day at the opening of our Council meeting, we
reflected on the passage in Luke 10:1-12 where Jesus sends out the 72. He sends
them out in pairs to the surrounding towns telling them to heal the sick and proclaim
that the kingdom of God has come near. He includes instructions for both when things
go well and when they go badly. If the town is not receptive, Jesus tells them
to shake the dust of that town off their feet and move on. Go to the next town
and try again.
I once heard this text preached to a group of returning
citizens trying to put their lives back together, fresh out of jail. The preacher
applied Jesus’ lesson to life in general—sometimes things don’t go our way.
Sometimes life seems turned against us. Sometimes bad things happen through no
fault of our own. Sometimes we get ourselves into trouble. But when that
happens, shake the dust off your feet and move on. Start again. Next time might
be better—and if it’s not, shake the dust off again and start over again.
I put a lot of effort into my first scarf. A lot of time. It
ended up getting me nowhere. I ended up without a scarf. If anything, I ended
up in the hole because I was left with feelings of grief and some bitterness
for having lost something so precious to me. But I “shook the dust” of that bad
experience off my feet and tried again. And now I smile every time I reach in
the pockets of my dress coat.
There are times when the Christian life is like this. We put
a lot of effort or time or energy into some initiative, some program at church,
some outreach effort, some personal devotional strategy, some relationships we’re
nurturing—and then everything turns out for naught, or our efforts seem to get
us nowhere, or we feel worse off than when we started, or the person we’re
investing in moves away. Shake the dust off, says Jesus. Try again. There’s no
promise this is going to be easy. You might just need to start again from
scratch.
