“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?” ~ Matthew 5:13

I am still very much a novice at sourdough. Every week with a bowl of starter and flour feels like a humble lesson — a quiet mix of patience, timing, and learning from my own mistakes. Just today, I made a classic beginner’s error: I completely forgot the salt.

Looking into the bowl, everything seemed fine on the surface. But when I went to work with the dough, I could feel the truth. The structure just wasn’t there. Without salt to bind the gluten strands together, the dough was slack, sticky, and weak — filling the bowl, but a total mess on the inside.

Standing over the counter today, I saw so much of myself in that bowl.

I was once a complete pro at “faking fine.” I knew how to look completely put together on the outside, going through the motions to survive while feeling unstructured, exhausted, and fragile on the inside. I was trying to move fast and rise on my own strength, but I lacked the deep, quiet grounding needed to actually hold my shape when life got heavy.

Catching the mistake late today meant I couldn’t just throw dry salt onto the dough — it would have sat on the surface, harsh and abrasive. So, I dissolved it in a splash of warm water and worked it in right at the very end, just before shaping the loaf and tucking it into the fridge for a cold proof.

In scripture, water is such a gentle image of grace and renewal. When God reveals where my life is missing its core strength or truth, He doesn’t throw harsh demands at my fragile state. His truth comes dissolved in grace.

Working that water and salt in right before the final rest took extra stretching and folding. It felt messy, and honestly, I hope I kneaded it enough to incorporate it all. But as the dough rests in the cold tonight, I am reminded that the process doesn’t require me to be perfect. I am learning to stop resisting the salt, the messy kneading, and the need to pretend.

That gentle, persistent folding isn’t punishment — it is restoration. It is the steady hand of the Baker taking my unstructured places and slowly working strength back into every seam while I rest.

A Simple Prayer

Lord, thank You for seeing right past the fine surface I present to the world. When I feel like a messy, unstructured loaf on the inside, remind me that Your grace is enough. Forgive me for resisting the seasons of kneading and stretching. As I rest tonight, work Your peace and truth deep into my heart, and shape me into who You made me to be.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.