The word liturgy hadn't entered my vocabulary until last year. It wasn't until I read The Cloister Walk that I had any conscious understanding of rhythm as it pertained to faith. It never occurred to me that it might be important in ordering my faith, that liturgy might not only keep me on track but keep me in the company of others also following a certain rhythm. I like that idea.
I have always been a person who resisted rhythm and structure. But then I had a baby. I realized within the first month of Lily's life that we would have to keep some sort of structure in our lives or everything would fall apart. After a little trial and error, we found a routine that worked for us -- not so much a schedule, but a routine, a rhythm. Lily slept, ate, played, then slept again. That much I could count on.
The last week, I've been knitting a lot. As I've sat knitting, often listening to music or podcasts, I've thought a lot about the repetitive motion of knitting, the rhythm. Admittedly, it's quite tedious. Knit, purl, purl, repeat. Something about it, though, is fulfilling. Perhaps it's that I can see my progress day by day, much like reading a book. I know how far I've come. It's nothing like the other daily activities that seem to be in endless supply with no end in sight -- laundry, dishes, cleaning.
My afternoons and evenings have been reserved for knitting, usually until I'm so tired I can't see straight. Knowing that I have that time reserved to knit, to do something for myself, to create and unfold, is good for me. It may not be reading the Psalms or reciting the Apostle's Creed, but it's liturgy nonetheless. It's a rhythm I could get used to.