I have lived long,

and thought I’d ripen

into wisdom.

But the years only peel me back—

a little more raw,

a little more aware

of how little I know.

Each lesson unlearns the last.

Each certainty

crumbles into mercy.


I no longer know

how this Jesus thing works—

only that when I lose the way,

his footsteps find me.


And this, at last, I’ve learned:

I will never be seasoned—

only salted

by his nearness,

and turned again

to follow.