Into the Fire

Take the metaphors of tempered steel,
the many words written about Divine hammering,
and trials by fire that temper the soul
into a blade finally ready for its perfect stroke--
Take them away.
I am pot metal.
I am seasoning.

I am salted in tears and spiced in life's blessings.
I am constantly in use.
The good that comes through me comes through with the flavor
of each experience seared into me,
and the good that comes through me becomes part of me,
as does the pain.
I am seasoning.

Do not be too quick to clean me, claim me,
polish me bright. Do not be so quick to shine me up
in my own eyes, or the eyes of my Maker.
Do not imagine that scraping away what I have done
is the way to make me beautiful.
I am pot metal. I will end
Blackened, battered, and beloved, but now
I am seasoning.