The beast, a knot, and a stain

I find it endlessly interesting how places and things physical connect us.

The other day I was looking at our car (affectionately known as 'the beast'), and remembered the woman who'd sold it to us. She was from Canada, and had married a man from our country here knowing fully he was already married to another.

Her view of marriage dirtied by her own father's loose commitment to her mother... "at least I know who else he's sleeping with" she'd said with a sigh. She died a couple of years ago, in childbirth, at a hospital in a neighboring country.
So often, I look at our car and think of her. I think of how much I wanted her to know how important and special she was, that she didn't have to settle for second best. God wanted wildly wonderful things for her. I think of how special she was to Him.

I'm teaching my daughter to knit. I watch her awkward fingers turning and bending trying to make sense of the complicated knots and loops. I remember when my Aunt Dee taught me how to knit, her abundant encouragement and ouuings assuring me that what looked to the untrained as a knotty mess was actually a work of master craftsmanship, though I'm pretty sure it more closely resembled a blob of navy blue pasta. A few years ago she gave me an awesome knitting book from the 70's. It sits on my bedstand and I look at it from time to time, not for knitty inspiration, but to be reminded of her.

There is an oil stain on the back of the sweatshirt I'm wearing (essential for the frigid 60's here). I look at it and am reminded of a time when hubby and I were wild and not sleep deprived. We were celebrating our one year wedding anniversary by renting bikes and biking around an island off South Korea. My sweatshirt had gotten caught in the gears and who left their fingerprint of oil. Now, if I put in my ear plugs and close my eyes I can picture us there, sitting at a roadside park facing nothing but the blue ocean, black lava rocks, the green leaves and our fledgling marriage.

I'm grateful for these reminders of connection, reminders of where I've been, how I've arrived and how I've left. How often the evil one seeks to whisper You're all alone, empty. I'm not ignored by Him, He loves me and is so proud of me, and He is so amazing that He can even use a small oil stain to remind me that He's always been there and always will be.