I often wear these jeans that have holes in the knees, peek-a-boo seams that show what’s underneath at the side, and the frayed center that I hope no one sees when I sit.  It helps me to remember how holy I am.  Wholly holy holey.  That’s a line in a hymn I used to sing in the Catholic choir as a youth.

Being human in this existence, there is only one way to be holy–to make friends with my holes, my defects, my default reactions, my shadow, my dark side.  There is no way to have only sunlight on this earth, every single day we turn our backs to the light.  But the light never goes anywhere and we are always safe.

I am after all, a material girl, made up of ashes from fallen stars and fashioned after some local god (who, of course, was very good looking!).  Maybe it is the spark inside me that makes these holes, that tests the seams–pushes all the seems–in my life.

And then again, there are just these comfortable old jeans that cling to me like a druid’s robe, gently patched, tenderly loved, and woven with the hands of the Dear One.