I've been called many things: apostle, whore, lover, preacher, mad-woman, sister, follower, wife. Fact or fiction, myth or reality--judge for yourself. All that really matters is that that I once loved a healer and a teacher, God and man, a crucified and resurrected peace-maker and rabble rouser. This is my story.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Monday

I'm tired. And I know I'm not the one who was up on a cross and died and rose again (and no, I haven't even begun to try to wrap my mind around all of that). But I'm tired. And happy. But tired. Walking to the cross, behind him, watching the horrors of that day, sitting with his mother as she wept, as I wept, as we all wept. And then yesterday, at the garden--the strange joy of finding him there.

And I am so happy--so full of joy--that he is back. "Don't cling to me," he said. He still has work to do. And I get that. Please don't think to harshly on me that I want him to stay. That I want to cling. This is the most bizarre week ever.

So me? Today? Happy, confused and tired. Joyfully waiting. (And going to try and sleep soon).

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