There’s a magic moment in knitting when the yarn stops being yarn and you can see for the first time the object it’s becoming. That’s the moment it becomes real. Until then, it’s loops. Then, suddenly, it’s a sock.
This was the most complicated project I’d ever begun, so I was relieved when it not only took form but turned out to be absolutely luscious. The pattern is just a dream. It’s stretchy and squishy and it feels nice and it looks nice. I just wanted to keep knitting it.
And it occurred to me: these socks won’t be seen. They’re wool. I’ll wear them beneath pants and boots. What’s the point of beautiful socks?
That was Ash Wednesday. The reading for that day said:
But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
and that’s the point. There are beautiful things we do within our souls, and which God does within our souls, and no one sees them because they’re done in secret. But the beauty is still there. The mercy, the prayer, the hope, the charity, the generosity.
I said to God, “Have mercy on the world. We make beautiful things sometimes.”
I finished the toes of the sock with four feet left of yarn.
And here’s my final beautiful sock: