Torn Jeans
I have a favorite pair of jeans. They are comfortable, the fit well, and when I wear them...well, I feel "comfortable", and I feel pretty good about myself. I think I look good in them, and I feel like I can do just about anything when I'm wearing them. And I do. I do just about everything in them. I work in the yard, I putter around the house, I've worn them hunting. Seriously, they are my favorite pair of jeans, and I think I look great in them.
There is another person in our household, who shall remain nameless at this point in time, who strongly suggests that perhaps this particular pair of jeans should not be worn in the presence of a discerning and potentially discriminating public. This other as-yet-unnamed member of the household points out that the side-seam has a tear in it, the back pocket has a hole in it, and there is another hole (barely noticeable, in my opinion) that is to the side of the back pocket. It has been brought to my attention that the spot on my right knee where I might have (not admitting) possibly knelt in what might have been deer blood while field-dressing a harvest has never completely been eradicated from the sight of even the most casual of observers. Said unnamed household member has mentioned, completely in passing, that I have several other similar garments in my wardrobe that I could wear that are in much better condition, and might not bring consternation to my spousal unit and shock/dismay to the general populace.
This other household members loves me dearly, and wants people to see me in the best light possible. She (oops!) doesn't want me to be embarrassed, nor be looked down on by others.
But...when I wear this particular pair of jeans, I FEEL GOOD. I LIKE how I feel, I like how I think I look. This pair of jeans is more "me" than just about anything else I ever wear. Seriously, we're talking James Brown, "I Got You" feelin' good type of feeling.
Yesterday, I had the day off. Well, sort of. Technically, it was my day off, but I had to go into work for a leadership meeting. Since I wasn't scheduled to "work", I didn't have to wear the standard uniform. I could show up in jeans for the meeting, then leave. As I was getting dressed, I had my favorite jeans in my hands. I almost put them on. Then I remembered I had to go into work, even if only for a little while. And I was sad. I wasn't going to be able to wear my favorite jeans, because, admittedly, they most likely are (as my wife puts it) "not fit for public consumption". So I had to put on a pair of "nicer" jeans. And I just didn't quite feel like "me".
Silly, isn't it? I mean, I feel great when I wear "my" jeans. I see myself as a complete, whole person, with great skills and abilities. I feel strong, confident, invincible, centered, calm, content, wise, unafraid...that's how I see myself when I'm wearing that pair of jeans.
But the rest of the world? They see an overweight, slightly balding, middle-aged guy wearing a beat-up, torn, stained pair of jeans. They see the holes, they see the years, they see the stains and abuses those jeans have gone through. They don't see me as I see me.
And it struck me this morning. God sees me like I see myself when I'm wearing those jeans. He sees me as a blessed heir of the Kingdom. He sees me through the lens of the shed blood of Christ. He sees me as clean, complete, confident, and holy. He doesn't see the stains any longer, because I have been forgiven. I have been made whole. I have been washed clean and mended so there are no more stains, no more tears, no more rips in the fabric.
This world may still see me as damaged goods. The world may still see the scars, the rips, the stains that make up the history of my life. But God does not. When I wear my favorite jeans, God only sees me as His precious child, robed in white. And He sees me like that ALL of the time.
Today, I choose not to believe the lies of this world. I choose to accept the grace, mercy and love of my heavenly Father. Today, I'm wearing my "holy" jeans.
My two cents worth today.
There is another person in our household, who shall remain nameless at this point in time, who strongly suggests that perhaps this particular pair of jeans should not be worn in the presence of a discerning and potentially discriminating public. This other as-yet-unnamed member of the household points out that the side-seam has a tear in it, the back pocket has a hole in it, and there is another hole (barely noticeable, in my opinion) that is to the side of the back pocket. It has been brought to my attention that the spot on my right knee where I might have (not admitting) possibly knelt in what might have been deer blood while field-dressing a harvest has never completely been eradicated from the sight of even the most casual of observers. Said unnamed household member has mentioned, completely in passing, that I have several other similar garments in my wardrobe that I could wear that are in much better condition, and might not bring consternation to my spousal unit and shock/dismay to the general populace.
This other household members loves me dearly, and wants people to see me in the best light possible. She (oops!) doesn't want me to be embarrassed, nor be looked down on by others.
But...when I wear this particular pair of jeans, I FEEL GOOD. I LIKE how I feel, I like how I think I look. This pair of jeans is more "me" than just about anything else I ever wear. Seriously, we're talking James Brown, "I Got You" feelin' good type of feeling.
Yesterday, I had the day off. Well, sort of. Technically, it was my day off, but I had to go into work for a leadership meeting. Since I wasn't scheduled to "work", I didn't have to wear the standard uniform. I could show up in jeans for the meeting, then leave. As I was getting dressed, I had my favorite jeans in my hands. I almost put them on. Then I remembered I had to go into work, even if only for a little while. And I was sad. I wasn't going to be able to wear my favorite jeans, because, admittedly, they most likely are (as my wife puts it) "not fit for public consumption". So I had to put on a pair of "nicer" jeans. And I just didn't quite feel like "me".
Silly, isn't it? I mean, I feel great when I wear "my" jeans. I see myself as a complete, whole person, with great skills and abilities. I feel strong, confident, invincible, centered, calm, content, wise, unafraid...that's how I see myself when I'm wearing that pair of jeans.
But the rest of the world? They see an overweight, slightly balding, middle-aged guy wearing a beat-up, torn, stained pair of jeans. They see the holes, they see the years, they see the stains and abuses those jeans have gone through. They don't see me as I see me.
And it struck me this morning. God sees me like I see myself when I'm wearing those jeans. He sees me as a blessed heir of the Kingdom. He sees me through the lens of the shed blood of Christ. He sees me as clean, complete, confident, and holy. He doesn't see the stains any longer, because I have been forgiven. I have been made whole. I have been washed clean and mended so there are no more stains, no more tears, no more rips in the fabric.
This world may still see me as damaged goods. The world may still see the scars, the rips, the stains that make up the history of my life. But God does not. When I wear my favorite jeans, God only sees me as His precious child, robed in white. And He sees me like that ALL of the time.
Today, I choose not to believe the lies of this world. I choose to accept the grace, mercy and love of my heavenly Father. Today, I'm wearing my "holy" jeans.
My two cents worth today.
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