The colors layer like a bouquet of wildflowers. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, pink in a repetitive pattern, but wound up the pattern appears random. Tight in a ball with no spare end to come loose.

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Photo credit Alex Palmer on Unsplash.

I pick up the ball and examine closely. Turning round and round, the yarn strings complement each other in a palette of primary and secondary colors. Red next to green echoes of Christmas, yellow next to purple and I am reminded of Husky Pride. I realize the loose end is tightly tucked under a piece of blue yarn, unlikely to unravel. I look closely and pincer-grasp the end, unwinding slowly. Then faster and faster.

Stop. A tight knot in the middle. Wrapped up, even messier than before. I tease apart the knot slowly, but every pull of yarn makes an even bigger mess. Strings everywhere, trying to get at the center of the knot, the one that makes everything else free. The colors blend, indistinguishable from one another.

Messy, like my heart. Trying to unsnarl the wound-up yuck. The knot is not an efficient center to my body. It steals my energy and my focus. It needs cleaned up and examined. Unwrapping a knot takes time, and it seems once I’ve unraveled one, another takes its place. Realizing with each and every knot, how I can’t do this alone. I must be dependent on someone who can clean up the mess. I have to be okay with the mess. Yarn and tears strewn every-which-way. But He shows the end, the way to untangle. He shows the colors on which to pull and pass. He shows how to unravel the knot. He shows and doesn’t shame me for not being unraveled yet.