Lately, my oldest daughter has taken to wearing one of my beloved old hoodies. The elbows are bare, the cuffs frayed, and the color completely faded. I replaced it several years ago with something a little more presentable. The sweatshirt has seen my everyday goings on of bible study, picking up groceries, pulling weeds, and snowboarding. It has also seen long walks with friends as we did battle in prayer and held each other’s arms up in ministry. It has caught the tears of women that poured out their anger and hurt over hard marriages. And it has held me as I wrestled with God about my own insecurities of teaching a sex class and stepped into obedience. It is one of those sweatshirts.
I don’t know why she started wearing it. She borrowed it one day when she was cold and took it home with her. Just about every time she comes to visit she has it on. Even though I am a little embarrassed at how tattered and threadbare it looks, it warms my heart to see it on her.
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