Already Enough

It has already lived a whole life before this one -
held weight, weathered seasons, taken the nail and the pull of it.
The marks remain: grain opened wide, iron-streaked memory,
nothing hidden, nothing polished away.

And still, it stands - steady, useful, enough.

There is something Lenten in that.
Not adding, but letting be.
Not covering over, but seeing clearly what remains
after time, after use, after surrender.

A quiet kind of sacrifice -
to release the need to become anything else,
and trust that what is left
is already carrying its own strength,
its own story,
its own grace.