missing

We call a T-shirt T-shirt, even when it is used as a rag to wash the car – it is still called T-shirt.

Maybe the old Radiohead concert T-shirt.

It’s always changing – the shape, the size, the color — but its name and meaning remain.

Soap and water pulse against the car, and the shirt lies on its back looking up as if to say “nothing has happened, I’m still the shirt.”

Except it’s not private property anymore.

T-shirt is both lost and still around, just in another form. And grieving for what is gone reveals more about me than it does about the shirt.

So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.

John 16:22

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