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Fleeced and fleeced

Wow! Eight bucks. My first ‘polar fleece’. There it was hanging on an op shop rack – a lime green, three zipper, polar fleece. Bargain! And now I’m learning that it actually was, but not for me, but for the manufacturer who probably spent no more than fifty cents making it. I thought that ‘polar’ maybe meant that it was made from the fur of a polar bear or some arctic animal. But no…. ‘polar fleece’ is made from the plastic of recycled bottles.

What is it these days with names? First there’s almond milk, which is not milk but water strained through almonds. But who wants to buy a coffee made from the slimy sluice of seeds? And now I’m wearing a reconstructed bottle of 7Up that someone once drank out of! And I’m supposed to feel snug, as if I’m cuddling up to some polar bear! What next? A ‘cashmere’ jumper, but really made from recycled banknotes?

What a relief to know that the fleece that safely wraps my soul has eternal integrity and cannot be substituted by some cheap and worthless thread. For it is the fleece that comes from the Lamb, shorn from His wounded back, and perfectly cut for me (and for all who love His name). And able to bear the strictest scrutiny as to its composition, and able to hold its shape and warmth, and able to wear its label without the least clip or compromise. ‘Christ our Righteousness’.

DM 16th July 2022

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