I shed another skin, casting off all that is tired, and become more myself than ever before. Though my life is one, I morph from one to another, molting what has passed while treasuring what remains true.
You knitted me together in my mother’s womb. Now, You and I, together, create the story. As we work the needles back and forth, I add in a whispered praise, for I can see that the rough surfaces were there so that I could finally discard what refused to detach.
Amidst the rubbing, I felt as if You had rejected my pleas and pushed my experiences aside. You did neither.
Now, dead skins lie piled up as waste, but ah, Your Spirit broods. Though they remain stored in history’s bin, they will provide nourishment, in time. Former roles no longer have the need to explain or defend. Instead, they are contented compost, part of life’s cycle.
What lies in wait, eventually offers sustenance. Your Spirit redeems everything, giving rise to what is dead, making all things new. My brooded-over skins replenish the soil where sheep graze and serve to provide the yarn for someone else’s story. I know because, thankfully, I’ve found wool from sheep of an earlier time.
I go back and pick up memories like dropped stitches, creating new patterns. I spin the wool of sheep that grazed on Love’s rich dirt while thanking God that someone before I, slipped out of an old skin and replenished the soil.