For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Psalm 139 v 13 (NIV)
I prefer crochet. It’s easier than knitting, if you’re left-handed, as the patterns don’t change, and it’s great for doing something with your hands that isn’t self-harm. I digress. The virtues of crochet are another topic. And anyway, God stipulates knitting…
The above is my least favourite Bible verse (or one of them). Not because I don’t agree that I was created by God, but because it was something like six weeks before I was born when I suffered anoxia, and I refuse to believe that God pre-ordained that as part of my creation. Works with it sure. But, if you like, He didn’t “make me this way”.
Scared Space last Tuesday. Quiet and reflection. The way that I can most readily connect with God. But in the quiet, all I can hear is anger. “You’re rubbish.” “You’re lazy.” “Why do you bother?”. And worse. I’ve been reassured before that that voice isn’t God.
So I move away physically to try to distance myself from it. Pick a scroll from the sand to pray over instead. And I get the above verse. Its words hurt more than ever this time, because thinking of my mother is painful. Thinking of my mother, as my mother, is agonizing. And I can’t let go of the emotion. Give it to God. Can’t hear Him there at all. It would all be okay again if I could. But I can’t.