I heard this song on my way home the other night. From the moment the first notes of the piano came through the car stereo, I knew it was an anthem for my life right now.
It’s called Worn, by Tenth Avenue North.
I’m worn. Worn out from overdoing, overloving, overlooking. Worn like an overused flannel shirt that is frayed and missing buttons and stained with dirt and paint, but is too familiar and comfortable to throw out.
Some days I wake up worn out. Those are the bad days.
Other times I go to sleep worn out from fitting in too many commitments and feeling guilty for breaking commitments to myself.
Used and discarded. Worn.
Yet, being worn doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Just a small shift in perspective changes “used” to “useful.”
Displayed with pride. Protective. Well-loved, like an old blue baby blanket that has survived decades of comforting service.
A badge of honor. Worn.
Redemption wins. Every time, without fail.