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Yarn, a Promise, and a Hope

Tossing my briefcase onto the passenger seat, I slid behind the steering wheel and slammed the car door. Foreboding, distant storm clouds matched my mood. I couldn’t change the events of the day, but I could take the long way home. I headed to the winding countryside road that would take me, not coincidently, past a nearby yarn shop. 

‘I’ll just admire and squeeze some yarn. I don’t need any.’

 Who was I kidding? When did I ever resist buying yarn I didn’t need?

As I drove, I thought about the day. In the history of workdays, this one had been exceptionally frustrating. I couldn’t convince my colleague I was right about the project we had been assigned to even though I had the most experience with the task.

 The clouds thickened, and the thunder rumbled closer. As I parked the car, rain pinged on the roof of the car. 

 “Rain can’t stop me,” I mumbled, dashing from the car to the yarn shop.

“Hi, welcome.”

I warmed at the storeowner’s greeting that was so different from my colleague’s parting words.

 “Looking for something in particular?” she asked.

“Not really. I was passing and thought I’d stop.” I laughed weakly, knowing I hadn’t just ‘passed by’ but had come 20 minutes out of my way. “Well, actually, I had a horrible workday,” I added. “I came to hug some yarn.”

“We have lots of huggables. Let me know if I can help. I’m Lisa.” She smiled and returned to stocking shelves.

I looked around anxiously, but the colors of the yarns, the textures of the shawls and hats on display calmed me. My heartbeat slowed, and my shoulders relaxed. Taking a deep breath, I smelled the familiar, faint sheepy-scent clinging to some of the yarn. The table in the center of the store was inviting, and ready for customers to take a class, have a pattern explained, or simply to sit and knit.

“Want to see some new speckled yarns?’

“Who says no to speckles?”

 Lisa chuckled and led me to a shelf near the table.

The speckles were red, and orange subtlety popping up on the eggshell tinted yarn. Pushing aside the outside strands revealed a sunny yellow nestled closely to the green of a newly sprouted spring plant, and nearby, a summer-sky blue. I glanced out the shop window. The rain mixed with hail and pelted the roof of the little shop. 

“No sky blue out there,” I mused. I stroked the next-to-skin-soft yarn against my cheek.

Pulling more layers apart I saw speckles of unwashed-denim blue and a pansy violet.  Any resolve to look and not buy dissolved. I grabbed a second skein.

“I’ll need something to make these colors pop,” I said.

Lisa pointed to a row of solid yarns behind me. I held the hanks next to the speckles, but although it’s my least favorite, the sun-yellow color caught my eye.

“Oh yes,” we said in unison.

As I paid for the yarn, we shared ideas of what I could make.

“That’s one of the most interesting things about yarn.” Lisa said, handing me my yarn-filled paper tote. “It’s all about potential before you begin the project. But that’s all it is, just potential. It’s the maker who brings it to its full beauty.”

A sunbeam shone through the window, pale at first, and then grew brighter.

“Well, that’s great timing,” I said, and left the store refreshed by the warmth of the shopkeeper, renewed by the textures and smells, and anticipating a new yarn project.

The sun was breaking through the rain clouds and warmed my back. I looked up. Arching across the horizon was a stunning display of color. Red, yellow, orange, sunny yellow, spring-plant green, summer-sky blue, unwashed-denim blue and pansy violet. The colors of the hanks, but even more beautiful.

 In many cultures the rainbow is a symbol of hope. The ancient Irish believed there was a pot of gold at the end of rainbows for adventurous sojourners. The Hebrew book of Genesis tells of a man named Noah and his family on a ship they had built. Flooding waters filled the earth, and after days and days of howling winds, surging waves, and perhaps heaving stomachs, Noah spotted a rainbow and knew his God would never destroy the world again with a flood.

This rainbow was mine, my promise of hope. I remembered what the shopkeeper had said about a skein of yarn holding all potential, but the hand of the maker bringing it to its full beauty. I thought about the work project that lay ahead of me. At that point, it was only potential, all potential, already tangled and knotted. My colleague, I had to admit, also brought wisdom and experience to the project and together, like yarn, patiently handled, loosely held, we could produce a work of great value.

My knotted mood dissolved, and as I drove home, seemingly followed by my rainbow, I thought more about the yarn, how much my colleague loved rainbows, and what a pretty hat it would make for her. It’s always a delightful surprise how hope changes everything. Noah found hope in a rainbow and so did I. My colleague and I, sojourning together, would produce a work of great value after all.

Full Disclosure: this story is based on true events.