Still Loved, Just As We Are

There's an old shirt hanging in my bedroom closet. It's faded and worn and not much to look at, I guess. But it's my favorite shirt, because it's soft and warm and familiar. It's the one I wear when I'm staying home and cozy and comfortable on cold winter days, and it's been part of my life for many years.

Time has taken its toll on it, of course. It's frayed at the seams and soft with age and use. Sometimes I look at it and think, I should really get rid of this, but instead every so often I pull out my sewing basket and sit down to mend it. I've darned the little holes that have appeared, re-sewn little rips, put a few stitches in the seams where the thread has worn away. Then I hang it back up in its place among my nicer "town" clothes.

Lately the cuffs have gotten more and more ragged, so finally last night I brought it downstairs again and took out my needle and thread. I folded the edges in and carefully re-hemmed them. As I did, I turned the old sleeves this way and that, thinking.

Why do I hold onto this? I could buy a new shirt so easily. But it wouldn't have any history, and to throw out this one shirt would feel like - well, a betrayal. We're old friends.

I'm not a hoarder, mind you; I don't hold onto every small thing. Our house is far too cluttered with stuff we keep trying to get rid of. But if I ever had to leave in a hurry, I know without a doubt I'd take it with me.

Old clothes, a scuffed leather wallet, an old coffee mug. What gives those old things their special power?

Maybe it's their history. They've been with us through so many changes: births and deaths, struggle and growth, work and rest. Maybe it's their uncomplaining service, doing their job over the years, playing their small part in our daily lives.

As I tied the last knot, I thought, I hope God sees me - and all of us - like that.

I hope God sees the good in me, after all these years. I hope God sees my worn seams and loves me anyway; smiles at my quirks and understands my failing strength. I think God keeps me safe and mends me and keeps me strong - and all of us, too.

After all, if I can love an old, ragged shirt, how much more does God love us, every one of us, with all our faults?

In these difficult, heartbreaking times, there still is hope. God still sits among us, patiently working, mending the world with loving hands.

May you all have a blessed Thanksgiving, and may you always know you are dearly loved, just the way you are.