Knitting

Really, it't been a while since I've done this: writing.

My spirit has not been at peace since I've been at school, and I know why.

I went back home, this summer, to be renewed. To be drenched in my family's love and to be drowned into their open arms and hearts. But working with people never allows you to be saciated. I served and gave what I had regained, and every time showed up at home looking for more. I came back to school about a month ago, thinking I was saciated. But by the end of the first week, I was craving for solitude and for a love that no physical touch can provide.I was yearning for love and comfort that no words of encouragement, from friends, could supply.I needed solitude and God. I still do.

After speaking with some dear friends who help keep me accountable, and with some women I would see as a mentor per se, I realized that I needed to start spending more time with God. He is the only one who could provide me with love to love others. He was the only one that would give me peace and wisdom to go through my classes and jobs. But before I realized that He was who I needed, something interesting happened.

I knitted. Honestly, I never knitt. I tried to learn how to crochet some years ago, I failed. My fingers would tremble too much and I could never hold the yarn tight enough to make faster moves with the needle. However, a few nights ago with the help of someone else's yarn and needle I began to knitt. The intricate movement of the needle and against needle, looping thread with every swift turn of my wrist, caught my attention about a year ago. I tried creating a discipline out of knitting and instead came out with an extraordinary discipline to nap (every time I sat on my chair and began my needle work, I ended up falling asleep). I would not have thought that a year later I would've been knitting again; this time for a completely different purpose.

It cleared my mind.
Took me away from other people's problems.

Stitch,
Loop.

Stitch,
Loop.

Stitch... until I can't think about anything else but myself, and God.

Knitting brings me solitude and peace, even if it's at least for a little while.

Such a simple task, but so spiritually (not the religious kind) retributing.

So, tonight I knitted, took a shower, and continued writing this entry.

hanks Father, for Knitting.

Value

"I'm just not a Bethel girl" I used to say, at the beginning of my fall semester of freshman year.
I remember saying this to myself two days ago, but when I saw my almost empty room, I realized how hard I had been trying to deceive myself.
Honestlly, I still don't believe I fit the Bethel girl stereotype, but I also know that not every thought I have, regarding Bethel, is a negative one.
I could not see the meaning while the walls were full; full of pictures from my senior year in high school, full of drafts for my color theory class, full of birthday cards and other small mementos. When I took all those memories down and put them in storage boxes, I realized how meaningful my freshman year of college had been. Such meaning could not have come about if I had not attended Bethel.
It's hard to give meaning to things, and places, and people when we are too blind to see what they have done to us or for us. Value comes about when those things that we once ignored or underestimated are stripped away from us.

the price of coffee & the price of words, how much is a Gesture worth?

A cold morning. Crowds everywhere I look...
 People in large cities still walk to work despite the wintery weather conditions. 


I see shades, and warm beanies.
I see coats, and polished mocassins.
I see boots, and leather purses.
I see doors opening, and hot cups of Starbucks coffee.


I hear voices, Tall, decaf, latte, to go!, and I hear silence. 
Actually, not silence, but the sound of quivering lips. Two world separated by one revolving door.
The voices speak 'cause they demand warmth, a comfort which they can obtain through gray sheets of paper that merely hold an intrinsic value. Cold: he makes the lips perform the quivering dance. 


I had never stopped to think about the possibilities. I, too, was deafened by the noises from my ipod, and the ringtones from the phone, and the sound the train makes as it comes to a loud stop on the station above me. I was too deaf to hear the silence, to pay attention to the murmurs around me. Maybe it was because I moved to a smaller city; it is my fault for not visiting large cities more often. 


As I kept crossing streets and avenues, as I kept spotting more Starbucks stablishment, I began to notice a pattern. There was someone in need on every corner of the city. 

Someone in need, does not have to be someone in material need. Maybe they have a need to talk, rather a need to be heard.  At this idea unraveled in my head, my heart was squeezed. I try not to talk to God while I walk down the street (because I don't want to get run over by a car), but this time I couldn't help it.

God, what does it feel like to buy a stranger coffee? Will they feel offended? If I was in their place, how would I feel? Would I feel intruded? What would people think? How would they look at me? Would the stranger run away from me? Would we even be stranger to each other, anymore? What would be worth more, the cup of coffee, or the simple talk? Would they feel outraged by the care? Would I be outraged? Is that how we react when You intervene in our lives? Is outrage our response to Your care for us?


Throughout the rest of my day, I kept considering the possibility of asking someone if I could buy them a cup of coffee. I couldn't do it. I wanted to choose the right person, and I let my opportunities get away.

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Next morning. Colder Weather.
I still took the train back to downtown.

I ran errands all day long, went back to my favorite Italian place, Buca di Beppo, and got ready to go back to the house.

I was about to go up to the train station, then noticed that the train that had arrived about four minutes ago, was the one I was supposed to take. I still had time for coffee. There's a coffee shop in every corner, that's the best of large cities! I had passed next to that Starbucks before, 'cause it was located next to a Macy's,  to which I entered 'cause I was looking for a restroom, which I couldn't find! When I went into Macy's, I noticed an elderly man. He was toothless, and smoked a cigarette. I smiled at him, and rushed into the store in search of a restroom.

I went around the street corner a second time, this time in search of my coffee cup. The man was still standing there, in between the Starbucks's and the Macy's door. As I went in, the quivering lips changed into a voice: Can you buy me a cup of coffee? I stopped and turned, of course.


The woman walking in front of me, jerked and turned around to see what had just happened. It was hard to contain the laughter, while we were in there waiting for our coffe. Heads turned, bartenders turned reluctant to make coffee, but the man next to me just bowed his head, as his lips went back to their quivering routine.
A large black coffee with sugar, that's what he ordered.

There was nothing extraordinary about the event. There was no moment of self fulfillment. But there wasn't any strangeness between us either. I didn't even have to ask, because he spoke first; as if he was asking an old acquaintance for some coffee and sugar.

God, you are good. Good at surprising me, and answering my prayers in the most bizarre ways. Thank you.