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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Inviting God into Your Linen Closet

Dr. Wally had this to say about the healing power of the Savior.

I can remember my pre-Christian life well enough that I can relate to the woman’s wish not to have her life complicated any more than it already was. I remember thinking, “I have messed up my life astoundingly, under my own power. What if I let the Omnipotent into my life, and He magnifies that irrevocably?”

But He did not; over the past 34 years, we have worked together to clean out one linen closet after another, sometimes only one shelf at a time. Time is something He has plenty of, and Infinite patience. I keep finding more messy closets. He keeps showing up to help.



That is what my coffee table looked like at 8:40 yesterday morning. You may see it and think that no self-respecting Relief Society president would have a coffee table that looked like that. Yes, the clutter is a little unnerving, even to me, but all that stuff is love made manifest. The roving that Micki gave me.



The laceweight that Monica spun for me.



Miles and miles of pencil roving that Rebecca gave me.



The Bath and Body Works sampler that our Primary president gave me at my first ward council meeting in this ward, earlier this month.



The cone of Sugar & Creme that somebody [Grace, I think] gave me, which morphs into the occasional washcloth.



The magazines that my lawyer friends send home with me, which eventually get read and passed around or recycled.



My M-day rose, which has obviously seen better days.



Do you know what happens when you put things away? Well, the table looks like this, which while not the norm chez Ravelled is not intrinsically a bad thing.



And your knitting, thinking it is the end of the world as we know it, picks a fight with you. I got off track with my stitch count sometime during the last quarter of I Could Never Be Your Woman. I tinked that row at least three times. I spent a good two hours fixing that row. And when I went to bed last night, I went to bed with that row half-tinked and my eyes nearly crossed. It is finally, knock wood, knitted into submission. There are seven rows left until the purl-bump row.

Time for me to hop in the tub, scurry over to the chapel, and begin a day-long series of meetings. No nap for the weary, today!

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