I’ve just learned how to knit socks. Lest you be misled, socks aren’t easy to knit. It took me nearly five years of dedicated knitting just to get my stitches even enough to attempt my own socks. But when Grandma was visiting for Christmas, I asked her to teach me, preferring the guidance of a seasoned knitter when venturing into this new, complicated skill set. She patiently showed me the technique used for the heel flap, to make it strong enough to resist wearing, and encouraged me as I learned to turn the heel.
After working diligently for several hours, I had produced my first sock. It’s far from economically savvy to go about footwear this way, but when I wear a pair of socks Grandma knit just for me, I feel warm and loved, knowing now, firsthand, how long she labored over something so seemingly insignificant.
In Psalm 139, the psalmist praises God for knitting him together in his mother’s womb. While I know this to be poetry, not necessarily descriptive of God’s creative process, I also know that it is incredibly powerful for me to think about creation in this way. God could have just poofed me into existence. But this psalm makes me think that He didn’t. Rather, He labored carefully, knitting together all of the bits that make me who I am, meticulously working up each of my parts.
In a world where I often feel insignificant, when I often think that God has much bigger things to be concerned about, it’s immensely comforting to think of God knitting each of my cells, my fingernails, my freckles. It brings me to praise Him, along with the psalmist, that I am, indeed, fearfully and wonderfully made.