To wear faithfulness

To wear faithfulness in front of others
was to go completely rogue.  
It wasn’t my style,
nor was it in vogue.

But in the midst of my closet of shame,
faithfulness and vulnerability
were calling my name.

They did not fit,
in my eyes they did not flatter.
But my taste in style
didn’t seem to matter.

It called me out,
it claimed my pride.
The chic I sought
inevitably turned tide.

What I saw on them
was not really fitting for me.
My body shape
was not meant to be
a thing for those clothes
it was for me
to be a place of humility.

A place to restore,
a place to be home.
No more wrestling,
no more to roam.

To claim independence
and tranquility,
I lay my pride,
and hurt to thee.

You name it as a thing of stone,
and tailor it to be your own.
A dress with pearls,
a sackcloth with ash.
In each light,
it’s can’t be matched.

For the clothing you design
never goes out of style.
Wrapped in love,
it does beguile.
It swoons the hardened heart to be
a soft and precious purity.

Mesmerized by its truth,
it honors, sanctifies, and moves,
us to a rich and sweet perfume.
It drapes across our bod in ways
that could not, should not, be imitated.

For this fine fabric
of vulnerability,
kindness, and modesty
in truth is strength
in its entirety.

Only made by
one in three,
a weaver great,
the trinity.

And while faithfulness
is not the rage,
indeed to wear it in any age,
is to be a trend setter,
an example be,
for others, for self,
for all authority.