The other day I got up and went through my usual morning routine.  When I got dressed, I put on my faith and it didn’t quite fit.  I looked in the mirror and tried to readjust.  I checked to make sure that I hadn’t inadvertently put it on backwards in my semi-sleepy stupor.  No.  I had it on correctly, it just didn’t fit anymore.

Strange; throughout my whole life my faith has always fit–no matter how short or tall or big or small I have been, it always fit just right.  But suddenly something was different.  Or was it suddenly?  Now that I think about it, it has seemed a little tight in some places for a while, and rather scratchy in other places.  Actually, I remember a couple of years ago thinking that my faith hung there awkwardly on my frame, but it had been such a steady staple of my wardrobe I just couldn’t admit that it didn’t really fit.  And I definitely wasn’t ready to Goodwill it, so I just accessorized and tried to make it work.

But now, standing in front of the mirror I see, this faith doesn’t fit the person I am today.  So I take it off to look it over.  I see the wear from years of vigorous use.  I see the places where the tailor has patched and reworked seams–letting out and taking in.  I see the parts where the fabric is worn thin and is threadbare.  Yes, this faith has served me well and I’m impressed it has lasted so long and withstood such use over the decades.

I’m preparing to schlep it off  to the tailor once again when I pause to wonder what it would be like to get a new faith altogether.  Maybe its time to start from scratch.  Maybe this time I will go to the tailor with empty hands to look over the bolts of fabric and the spools of thread.  Maybe I will allow new measurements to be taken, new patterns to be cut, new seams to be sewn.  I go to the same tailor of course, I always have; this one is the best one for this kind of job.