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 Yesterday, cleaning out his closet, my husband purged his cowboy boots. Owning them for over twenty-six years, they were the last thing left from our dating years. I used to think he looked hot in those boots. Now look at them. I can’t even get them to stand up on their own. Believe me, I tried.

I felt a little grief in getting rid of them. Prompting me to take pictures before placing them in the black garbage bag destined for the thrift store. My husband thought it was a little silly. To me, it’s like an era is over. A last chance token of our youth, laden with knock-down-drag-out fights, selfishness and stupid mistakes. All wrapped up in this thing we called young love. 

We’re not so young anymore.

We tend to cling to the past in this fashion. Like finding two boxes of pinecones in our Christmas decorations. We might need them. Or never forgetting the pain people have caused us, holding a decade worth of grudges. I’m never getting hurt again.

We hold onto the past like an old pair of shoes because it feels familiar. Comfortable even. But many times they hold us back from finding joy in something new and better. What of our past, is Jesus calling us to let go of, so we can stand tall in the future?

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