faded

Like an old pair of jeans.

Like a memory that used to be so clear, but when you pull it out now to look at it, not all of the pieces fit together anymore.

Like the last time I was sure which direction I was headed. Now I can't even remember why I was going there. Or why I thought it was such a great idea in the first place.

The pain of past hurts is dulled significantly like those old jeans as they go through the wash. I am thankful for that element of memory - if things didn't drift away from us with time, I don't know how anyone would ever move forward. And we become more comfortable (or I guess that's the hope) with who we are because of what we've been through. Each wash, each trial makes us a little stronger, a little more resilient, a little more open to love.

Thank you, Lord, for washing me again.