the life-changing magic of clinging to joy

‘”What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done,
and there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there a thing of which it is said,
‘See, this is new.’?
It has been already
in the ages before us.”

(Ecclesiastes 1:9-10)

I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but the 1990s are back.

I know this is true, because I have been wearing my high waisted, wide leg pants I have hoarded away for twenty-five years all week and people are stopping me to tell me that they are FABULOUS.

Because they are.

Simultaneously, as my retro glory is unfolding, many of my friends have become vigilant sorters and sifters of all the things. Well, let me inform the world right now that I refuse to be hypnotized by this dark magic of tidying up. I’m too lazy to learn how to fold my shirts into tiny works of fabric origami, and I have been set free from the shame of saving things forever by my own past trauma.

Allow me to explain.

Once upon a time, in the early 2000s, I still had my most favorite high waist jeans and most favorite overalls tucked away on a shelf in my closet. I didn’t wear them any longer, but I kept them out of respect and honor for all they meant to me. They were like blue jean family to me. Those high-waisted jeans kept me sucked in and safe on many days back in 1995, when all my friends and I went to IHOP at 11pm for pancakes after our grueling days as college students. And the overalls? Please. We were like sisters. I wore my Ralph Lauren denim overalls, a GAP tank top, and my Steve Madden black stretchy slides to class every stinking day when I walked the hallowed ground at UCLA. It was my uniform.

Imagine my HORROR, then, when every celebrity stylist told me twenty years ago that I was an idiot for ever wearing mom jeans, and that overalls were for farmers alone.

Remember that tv show, What Not to Wear? Remember those lovely British women who came on Oprah and made women put on their mom jeans and then around so they could show the whole world how big the woman’s derrière looked in jeans with a waist that high? Shame-producers, every single one.

“Throw them away!” we were told. “They are evil! You’ll never wear this cut of jeans again!!”

Liars. They do not spark joy in me.

Hello, my name is Carrie Stephens, and I was shamed into throwing away my favorite 90s denim wardrobe pieces.

It’s time for the healing to begin.

Because now the stylists are telling us to rock the mom jeans again so every jean manufacturer can get us to buy another pair or eleven. As I put on my plaid flannel shirt, acid wash jeans, and Doc Martens, it does not smell like teen spirit. It smells like capitalism making a fool out of me.

I will never throw away another pair of pants again. The risk is too great. However even as I shed tears over the day I gave my overalls to Goodwill, I am experiencing a kind of redemption. Sure, I was a foolish, foolish woman and every day I have to wake up to face the consequences of my poor use of my free will that day. But I was a tiny bit rebellious back then and saved a few of my other favorite pieces, and I am spewing out fireworks of joy about them.

My hoarded away, non-denim favorite things have been resurrected.

My awesome long duster jacket that hasn’t been in style since I was engaged? Now a brilliant piece of wardrobe greatness. All the silver jewelry that’s been lying dormant in a box? Now fabulously trend-worthy. The vintage velvet blazer my step-grandmother gave me in 1996? Oh, it will stop you in your tracks and wonder where you can get one for yourself.

Dear fifteen-year-old, rocking your high waisted acid washed mom jeans, just know, I wore the exact same pants in high school. You may want to cling to them like a life raft for your soul in fifteen years.

Hey, fabulous college student, wearing that awesome denim trucker jacket, SAVE IT. You will wear it to your own child’s high school graduation one day. (Or pass it this way, because I tossed my Levi’s jacket from my glory days and I need a new one.)

And, dear new mom, rejoicing in the cuteness of that forgiving baby doll style dress, keep it in a safe place. Your daughter will wear it on her eighteenth birthday.

May the circle remain unbroken.

The fashion world will tell you all your old stuff isn’t coming back, but you and I know differently, don’t we?

What’s more magically joyous than the return of a prodigal fashion piece??

Nothing, that’s what. Pulling out a pair of twenty-five-year-old pants that elicit compliments from your most fashionable friends can answer all sorts of deep philosophical questions.

It proves that your past matters. It tells you that what once was good is still very good and that the blessings you cherish today will still be just as precious in the future. It tells us that new and young is not always better than aged and ancient. It promises us that the work we do today can still have value tomorrow. And it sheds a light on the hope we can hold onto that even though trends and styles come and go, joy will always be available to us.

Ecclesiastes 1:9-10 is right. There is nothing new under the sun. Because we don’t need new things to know that we are part of the ancient love from which God created all things, including us.

If you do decide to downsize, or if some circumstance forces you to let go of some things you once held dear, though, no worries. Even when all seems to be lost, God is clinging to you. His love has gathered you up and is holding you close to his heart because you alone spark a kind of joy in him that could light up the whole world. In fact, that’s exactly what he called you: the light of the world.

All the wide leg pants and overalls in the world can’t compare to that. There is no greater life raft to cling to in all the world than this truth: You are God’s beloved child and he will never discard you for something new or more popular.

What’s more life-changing than that?