This past week, I wore my light wash, flare jeans from Delia’s, the ones with people’s names all over them and the number 7236 on my right thigh. The Sharpie is fading quite a bit now, but the memories still remain embedded in the denim.
A friend from my wing asked me, “Are those like the Traveling Pants?”
“Not exactly,” I answered. Those pants traveled with me to Lima, Peru and back to the United States. The pants had their tales to tell, but they are all mine.
These “Traveling Pants” have only been mine. They hold my joy, pain, excitement, and stains. They remember my past better than I do at times. My memories, unfortunately, tend to fade faster than the Sharpie ink faded by wear and wash. It is always the memories I do not want to forget that fade first and fastest, and there is not much I can do to combat it.
When people ask me about my jeans, I think about the memories. I think about what I still remember. The Peruvian children who just wanted to be shown love. The ones who wanted a friend, a hand to hold.
I think about my friends from that trip. I think about the painful goodbyes in the Miami Airport. I remember the last hugs, the encouragement and contact I still have with many.
I think about my best friends. The four girls I know would do anything for me and will always love me. I think about the struggles we have endured. The cancer. The physical pain. The rejection. Whatever one of us suffered, the rest of us did as well.
The pants. For me, they hold memories. To others, they are just another pair of pants with writing on them.
I remember growing up reading The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series, then watching the movies. I cried and laughed. The girls reminded me of my best friends and I. I used to wish we had “magical pants” which would keep our friendship strong and alive. All along I forgot to realize that the friendship I had with my best friends had something better than special pants. We had God.
Today as we have gone our separate ways for college, we still have the most important thing which holds us together. Time and time again, God pulls us together only to strengthen our bond. Whenever something happens to one of us, we all end up saying how much of a God thing it is that we are still friends. Many of the obstacles we have endured could easily kill a friendship, especially one holding five people to each other. We are blessed.
I am blessed to have more than a pair of pants holding a friendship together.