Over the last three weeks, I’ve been working on dropping my shoulders, unclenching my fists, relaxing my jaw and breathing. As I’ve moved through letting go, fear, anger and beauty, I realized there’s another subject that leaves me tied in knots. And it was never meant to.
I thought faith was supposed to feel like that old perfectly worn in sweatshirt. The one you’ve worn so much it’s soft and tattered in the best way. It shows just enough wear to shout: “I’ve been around for awhile” but not so much that it’s filled with holes.
Wearing it everyday I thought it was working out perfectly, but then I looked down and saw the gaping holes that left me exposed and unsure.
Suddenly, my perfectly worn faith was no longer perfectly worn. It was just worn.
I had become so comfortable in my faith, so confident in all that it was, I never saw the complacency creeping in. I didn’t realize everyday of ordinary that I kept riding the coat-tails of yesterdays faith wore through until my faith was threadbare.
I don’t mean to suggest that I don’t have belief. I believe all the same things I always have. Faith, the part that ties belief to the heart, that’s where I’ve let things go, and now I’m not sure how to get it back.
I’d like to say that faith is velveteen, and the wear shows it’s been loved. If that’s the case, I’m not sure how to make it real. I don’t want to go through my life only to spot it occasionally and say, “Oh, yeah. I remember you.”
There’s a point when you recognize that the tattered, hole ridden, holy sweatshirt needs to be put away because things have changed. Then you need to grab a new sweatshirt and wear it in all of it’s awkward fuzziness. You need to break it in and break it down. Faith can’t stay the same if my heart doesn’t.
As foreign as it feels I’m putting that new sweatshirt on. I hate it some days. But I’m trying. And I’m breathing.
How is your faith wearing?
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