Why he chose Her.

At a beautiful San Francisco wedding, many of the guests were  wondering the same thing: why her?

And then, in the middle of the vows, something happened that answered the question instantly.

Come craft with me. I have a story to tell you.

Let’s Talk Lavender is a storytelling podcast for knitters, stitchers and creative crafters — a place for curious stories about ordinary objects, peculiar discoveries, people, nature, memory and the small things we might otherwise pass by.

The subject changes from week to week. You might find yourself thinking about a forgotten photograph; why birds sing; an eccentric neighbor; a peculiar custom; a much-loved sweater; or some tiny mystery hidden in something completely ordinary.

Bring your knitting, stitching or whatever you’re making, and come along for the story.

Stillness. Story. Self.

Instagram

Website

Transcript

Copy Transcript Copied

SPEAKER_00 0:13

Oh good, you're here. Let's talk lavender. So, what project are you busy with today? I am, as we speak, knitting up a swatch of uh in grey yarn and it's um it's flag stitch. I don't know if you're familiar with flag stitch. I've never done it before, actually. It's kind of geometric and textured and um it's uh repetitive and very simple, so I thought I'd try it out and see what it looks like. Um and maybe use it for the blanket that I want to make for him. Um it's eight rows repeated, so that's more my style when I want to sit and watch some shows and just do something repetitive or something that doesn't take too much concentration. Um yeah, so that's what I'm doing. And uh we'll see if it works out and hopefully it's a it's a good choice because I I've already bought all the yarn and he likes the colour, so yeah, my brother. Yeah, siblings. So uh few years ago I I knitted him a scarf, and he's kind of like a dude, he's not really the kind of person who wears scarves. It's a little too fussy for him, but I knitted him the scarf and his favorite color at the time, and gifted it to him, and he thanked me for it and never mentioned it again. So I honestly forgot about it, and and then a few months ago, I was talking to a friend and she mentioned that she'd seen him and he was wearing a blue scarf that she thought was kind of out of character. And when she complimented him on it, he said, Oh, well, you know, this was a this was a gift from my sister, and changed the subject, and she thought it was very sweet, and I thought, hmm, we do things for people, and when we don't see immediate response or direct response, we think we may not have had a very big impact on them, but often that's just not true. We just aren't witness to the appreciation of what we do for them. And sometimes we hear about it after the fact or second hand. Anyway, it was quite interesting. Oop! Just twisted a stitch here and then I thought about us crafters and knitters and stitches and how we approach the world and we see it as an imperfect place. And this led me to thinking how we as creators with our hands, how we produce things for others often, knowing they're going to be imperfect, but still hopeful that they're going to be good enough, and even hopeful that they'll be better than good enough. And I think we forget about the sense of hope that we have when we start a project. We're really hopeful it is really hopeful it's gonna turn out well, or we wouldn't continue. We would just give up or not even start in the first place. But we don't. We envision a grand end result and and we work towards it one stitch at a time, one brush stroke at a time. Such simple actions that we accumulate through repetition. And that got me to thinking how we can feel our contribution is understated, muted. It's not flashy and sparkly. It's personal and simple, usually. Even if it's a complicated sweater, in the end it's simple. It's not a massive, extraordinarily loud statement to the world. And sometimes I think we feel overshadowed by the louder, bigger, more in your face, shinier people, and we can feel demoralized by it. So settle in with your project, find your rhythm because I am going to tell you a fairy tale. A true fairy tale. So let's get into it. So I went to a wedding a few weeks ago. An old friend that I've known for a long time got married. It was a beautiful day. The ceremony took place in a tiny secluded little park on the top of a hill in San Francisco. It was surrounded by crumbling old stone walls, and the San Francisco Bay twinkled below in the spring afternoon when the light is bright and clear. Rows of folding white chairs were set up facing two large stone pedestals, topped with huge urns stuffed with old fashioned, floppy bloomed cream and peach roses that bobbed their heavy heads in the breeze. A beautifully postured string quartet played quietly on the one side. It was all so elegant and opulent. In a little gazebo I saw some old friends I haven't seen in many, many years. We chatted and caught up, everyone milling about, until we were summoned to be seated as the bridal party was arriving. Many people shrugged and asked whispered questions about the bride, curious. Most of us knew the groom. There was quite a collection of people there for him, family and friends from all over the world gathered in this secret spot, heads lentin and asked one another Do you know the bride? We don't really know her. I don't know much about her at all. Eyes glancing at the bride's party, small and inconspicuous. And then they arrived hand in hand. He looking as handsome as ever in a pale blue raw silk suit, an unexpectedly fussy arrangement in his buttonhole. She, in a slim cut, sweetheart necked cream silk sheath, floor length, her hair loosely curled on her shoulders, a single rose caught in her hair. He seemed flushed and emotional. She looked calm and serene. This is not how I knew him. God had blessed this man with brains and beauty from a young age. He was tall, lean, broad shouldered and athletic, with a thick shock of dark hair and piercing blue eyes. And of course, he had the obligatory chiseled chin and sensual smile. Women loved him. All women loved him. He was also very smart, got extremely well educated relatively easily, and at a young age had the means and the will to travel the world. This was a man who felt at ease navigating the subway systems in Tokyo, climbing the mountains in Nepal, choosing fine wine in France, and had literally ridden a powerful motorcycle right through the continent of South America. His digital nomad years, as he called it. Here he was, at just over forty years old, getting married for the very first time. To everyone that knew him's surprise. He had had a string of beautiful, extraordinarily beautiful, supremely accomplished and incredible women in his life. He called them pearls when he was quietly nostalgic. He treated them well, taken good care of them, worn them close to his skin, admired them, showed them off, and then put them back in a drawer where they were never seen again. He seemed to be always searching, searching for new experiences, searching for truth, searching for meaning searching. Looking to the world for answers more and more and more out there. Here was a man with a grocery list of accomplishments and experiences, and yet still searching. And here, in front of him on this wedding day, stood a relatively ordinary young woman, not intricately adorned, and by all accounts not impressively accomplished. Those that didn't know her wondered about her. And then the wedding ceremony began. Everything went according to plan, unfolding beautifully. And then an old lady, I think, the groom's grandmother or great aunt, sitting in the aisle in one of the white chairs three rows from the front, and using a walking stick, put her walking stick to the side next to her and leaned on it. And as she leaned, she miscalculated, and the stick gave way underneath her, and she toppled to the ground off her chair. This happened in the middle of the bride's beautiful moment, the vows, the crowning glory of her big, beautiful day. And as the old lady fell, everyone gasped and froze for an instant. But not the bride. And as the old lady fell, everyone gasped and froze for an instant. But not the bride. She dropped her hand from the groom, spun around, strode forward smoothly, and with visible compassion and gentleness lifted the old lady off the ground and placed her gently back on the chair. She seemed fine, and everybody murmured their approval. The bride rearranged her dress, stood in front of the groom, smiled, checked the old woman once more for reassurance, and continued. What happened next was that the atmosphere of the whole place changed. It was like an awakening, a collective dawning realization. This young woman's compassion and kindness and depth of character was called for in the moment, in her arguably most visible, grandest moment. And she answered that call with a big caring heart. In that moment forty people who didn't know her and really weren't sure of her became her allies. It was her golden moment, and she chose compassion. And instinctively everyone there then chose her. And in his vows the groom, choked with emotion, kept referring to her as his home finding his resting place. Finding his home, finally, finally finding his home. And everybody there understood. She wasn't the prettiest, she wasn't the smartest, she wasn't the most of anything. But she was kind and compassionate and steady and fearless. And everyone knew that in the face of disaster or in the face of tragedy, this young woman would stand steadfast and hold those up around her that needed her help that needed help. She would be strong when he was weak. She would support him when he was bending. And she would be his home. This is a small story, but it's a true one. You know in real life sometimes the best person the kindest person the strongest person the most compassionate person gets the grand prize. So let me know how your project is going and share your stories. Because when we sit quietly, we think about life, the people we love, the things we do. When we reflect on stories like this wedding, of course, it's not necessarily true that he was the grand prize in this story. But I think we already know that. That much I can promise you. Okay my swatch is done. Hmm. I think I like it. I think it's gonna work out. I think I'm gonna stick with the flag stitch and do the blanket in this design. Alright, love. We'll talk again, and in the meantime, carry on and talk soon.