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When I was a child, I knew nothing of You.
Others spoke of You.
Old as time.
Inscrutable as infinity.
And I came to think of You as an antique.
Now that I am of a “certain age,”
I see us both as vintage.
It wasn’t until I’d lived a long time
that I came to what now seems
an obvious conclusion.
God doesn’t make mistakes.
You said it all with Your name.
I am that I am.
If I am Yours, I’ll ride the tide of years
and wear it all proudly:
grey hair, bi-focals, crow’s feet.
This is where the journey gets interesting.