Ugly Prayer Shawls Can Save the World

I am one of the worst knitters you will ever meet. I am appallingly slow, my stitches are enormous and always uneven, and if a pattern doesn't repeat so that I can memorize it, I probably won't get it done. All the same, some of my must humbling and encouraging moments have come from the recipients of my ugly creations giving me joyful hugs and reporting on how they use their shawls now. My little sister told me yesterday that her boyfriend, a law student across the country, swiped hers and now wraps it around himself to study in when he feels lonely. Roberta, a woman I barely knew through my mother when her sudden, long, and scary medical ordeal began, years later wraps me up in some of the best hugs I've ever had every time she sees me, and tells me about how her shawl makes the perfect pillow when she and her husband watch TV together.

I've made five prayer shawls so far, each of them different. I keep trying new methods and new stitch patterns in hopes of finding a way to make my finished project look more like a prayer shawl and less like a badly-constructed fishing net made of yarn. So far needles and Knifty Knitters alike have all produced the same result. I think that means it's me, not the supplies.

Every time I finish a prayer shawl, I fold it up as neatly one can fold a lopsided supposed-to-be-a-rectangle, and wonder to myself why on earth I do this. Who needs a shawl anymore? And even if they did, who would wear such ugly things, even around the house? But I prayed over every stitch, and I feel sort of obligated to complete the journey. I sigh to myself, and wrap them up, and vow to find some other little form of ministry for those in need.

And then I give the shawl to them, and sheepishly explain the concept of a prayer shawl. And sometimes their eyes well up a little, and sometimes they smile broadly, but always so far there has been a look of grateful, awed appreciation that I've never seen directed at me for any other reason. It makes me feel shy and hidey, but it also makes me feel warm and grateful to have found some way to help. I apologize for the lumps and the gaps and the occasional yarn end, and they always shake their head and smile. "It doesn't matter," they say, and mean it. "Thank you so much."

Modern life doesn't always leave room for time-consuming handcrafts like knitting and crochet. A person could easily go their entire life without ever knowing who made the things they use or wear. So it's not so much the prettiness of a prayer shawl that matters. It's that you made it for them, praying for them and thinking of them as you turned wild string into something warm and comforting. It's a tangible sign that someone cares about them. That's what matters. That's what makes it beautiful.

I'm the world's lousiest knitter, but my knitting has made a difference in more than one person's hardest moments. If you knit, crochet, or can follow directions, I hope you'll consider making a prayer shawl for someone who needs one. Sometimes being good at something isn't the point - what matters is that you do it.