When Faith Feels Like Your Old Levi’s 501s
They Don’t Fit, But You Refuse to Let Go
I still remember my beloved Levi’s 501 jeans from high school—circa 1989. Button-fly, stone-washed within an inch of their life, strategically frayed, and with just enough room to slip my Walkman in one back pocket and my wallet (containing a learner’s permit I flashed with unearned confidence) in the other. They were perfection. Comfortable. Stylish. Reliable.
But that was 1989. Those jeans probably belong in a museum or a landfill.
Funny thing is, my faith has had its Levi’s 501 moments, too.

When Faith Fit Like Your Favorite Jeans
For many of us, faith in our teen years fit like a brand-new pair of acid-washed denim—straightforward, snug in all the right places, uncomplicated by real life. But then life happened. Bills. Babies. Breakups. Betrayals. And suddenly, that adolescent faith doesn’t button up so easily.
Instead of being honest and adjusting, we try to cram ourselves back into it, ignoring the painful muffin-top of unanswered questions and the unsightly wedgie of outdated beliefs.
Why We Resist Letting Go
We were taught—sometimes explicitly, sometimes through whispered disapproval—that changing our faith is failure. It’s compromise. It’s becoming “worldly.” It’s like trading in those classic Levi’s for some sensible, reasonably priced stretch denim Dad jeans.
I am certain that my high school self would have mocked me mercilessly for even considering stretch denim. But my high school self also thought hair gel, pegged jeans, and a rotation of Swatch watches were peak sophistication. Maybe we shouldn’t let him make major theological decisions.
We do exactly that with faith. We lock it in time, anchoring it in adolescent certainty, refusing to acknowledge that real growth is not a crisis but a necessity. Keeping your faith frozen in time isn’t noble. It’s exhausting.
Faith That Grows With You
Think about Peter. The Peter from Luke 5 is fresh off the fishing boat, dropping everything to follow Jesus, full of zeal, full of certainty. Faith, for him, is clear-cut. God’s people are Israel. God works within those boundaries. That’s how it’s always been.
But fast forward to Acts 15, and that same Peter is standing before the Jerusalem Council, pleading for the inclusion of Gentiles as full participants in God’s kingdom. It’s hard to imagine Luke 5 Peter recognizing Acts 15 Peter.
And it wasn’t easy getting there. He didn’t just wake up one day with a more expansive theology. He wrestled. He clashed with Paul in Galatians, trying to navigate shifting expectations. He had a vision in Acts 10 that shattered his old categories, but even then, he hesitated. He took heat for his changing convictions, and after his speech at the Jerusalem Council, we never hear from him in Acts again. I wonder if he spent all his social and leadership capital by honestly admitting how much his faith had changed.
But looking at it now, I think it’s one of the most courageous and authentic expressions of his faith we ever see. Peter didn’t just stick with what was comfortable. He trusted God enough to let himself be unmade and remade by the Holy Spirit.
And that’s the whole point. Faith that never changes isn’t faith—it’s nostalgia or control.
You Were Made to Grow in Faith
Faith isn’t meant to be static. James Fowler, in his book Stages of Faith, describes faith development as a lifelong process—one that isn’t about abandoning belief but deepening it as we move through life’s complexities.
We don’t expect a child’s understanding of love, justice, or even themselves to stay the same forever. Why should faith be any different? In early stages, faith is about belonging and certainty—it gives us a sense of identity. As life happens, new experiences challenge old frameworks. Some people resist this, fearing they’re losing faith. But faith that refuses to grow eventually withers.
Maturing faith isn’t about clinging to control—it’s about trusting God enough to let our understanding stretch. The way we believed at 15 shouldn’t be the same as at 50, and if we’re lucky, our faith at 80 will be wiser, more spacious, and more at peace with mystery than we ever imagined.
To change is to be alive. And a faith that grows is a faith that can carry us through every season of life.
How to Lean into Growth This Lent
Lent is a perfect time to embrace small, intentional steps toward growing faith. If your old faith no longer fits, here are four simple, daily practices to stretch into something new:
- Start Your Day With a Question – Instead of rushing to “have the right answers,” begin each morning by asking one faith question that makes you uncomfortable. Write it down. Sit with it. See where it leads. Faith is more about trust than certainty.
- Read Something That Challenges You – Pick a book, a podcast, or even a biblical passage you’ve avoided. Let it push you beyond what’s familiar. Growth comes when we let ourselves wrestle.
- Pray in a New Way – If traditional prayers feel stale, try something different. Pray while walking. Pray by writing your thoughts to God. Pray with deep silence. Give yourself permission to approach God in a way that fits where you are now.
- Let Something Go – Lent is often about fasting from something tangible. But what if you fasted from a belief that no longer serves you? Maybe it’s an image of God that feels too small. Maybe it’s an idea about yourself that keeps you stuck. Name it. Lay it down. Trust that God can hold you as you grow into something new.
Your Faith Isn’t Stuck in 1989
Letting go of a faith that no longer fits isn’t betrayal—it’s growth. It means your relationship with God is alive, not stuck in spiritual adolescence. You’re not the person you were in 1989, thank God. Your faith shouldn’t be either.
So go ahead. Retire those Levi’s. Let your faith grow and move with you.
Besides, stretch denim is one of life’s greatest miracles. And isn’t faith supposed to be about miracles anyway?