The year my father died, I was taught how to knit. Sitting next to me on my red couch, my daughter Rachel talked me through my first scarf, a long, wobbly shimmer of blue that I still wear just to commemorate that evening.

I’d like to say I’ve come a long way with my knitting since then, but I’m really still a novice. The good news is my numerous scarves, worn by nearly everyone I know, have improved tremendously. I’ve graduated to prayer shawls and even delved into the realm of hats. But when it comes right down to it, I don’t have much to show for my hours of knitting and the dollars I’ve spent on yarn and needles.

It seems I’m more a process knitter than a project knitter, as the most important thing to me is the pleasure of clicking the needles and feeling the yarn flow through my fingers. The process offers me a reason to rest, and just the thought of it calms my frazzled soul.

The time-honored craft has also offered me the fringe benefit of having yet another reason to spend more time with my daughters. Any family gathering is an excuse to whip out our yarn and needles. Full of dinner and rich dessert, we often settle in a circle with our latest projects while the men amuse the little ones, trying to keep them from getting tangled in a ball of yarn.

These are happy, hilarious times.

However, as much as we all love our guys and dolls, our “sit ‘n knit” sessions are at their best when they’re out of the picture. With everyone’s busy schedules, we have to work hard to make this happen – but it’s well worth the effort. When I announce it’s time for a knitting circle, the girls arrive at my house early and stay late, knowing their children are snug in their beds and the men-folk are watching “24” or playing computer games.

I typically have a fire in the hearth, hot cocoa on the stove and cookies that sometimes stay on the plate because our hands are too busy to eat them. Our knitting mentor, Rachel, sits curled on the sofa working on her latest project at breakneck speed while dishing out advice. She pauses to show Katie how to decrease; she comes to Shannon’s rescue when she drops a stitch; she offers to teach me to knit socks at a later date.

There are sweet, comfortable silences where the only sound is the softly spoken language of the needles. There are salty words and laughter as we share stories, make mistakes, stand up to stretch, then sit back down for “just a few more rows.”

Time spent in this way is one of the most beautiful things I know and gives special meaning to the phrase “close-knit.”

The last time we were together, I knitted and purled my way through an indigo prayer shawl for Stephanie, my one daughter who hasn’t taken up knitting. Yet. We shall see.

I remember a time when I wasn’t interested in learning the craft either, but Rachel’s insistence to share her talent came at an opportune time. She seemed to know I needed this one thing. Knitting filled the hours it took to usher my dad through his last days. It saved me then and enriches me now, bringing me tranquility and generosity of spirit. With every stitch, I savor Rachel’s patient, intuitive instruction. I think of my father and the time I had to sit with him, just knitting. Every stitch the needles make holds a thankful prayer for the gifts they have given me.