Tuesday

Strange days. Everyone is on edge. Thomas thinks we're all imagining things (sometimes I think so too). Peter is barking orders. No one has seen Judas, not that anyone's complaining. James and John are taking turns, wandering out into the city. Everyone is restless, but no one, except James and John, seem to want to leave the house.

It's strange, because despite all that I've seen with my eyes, touched with my hands, held, ever so briefly in my arms, despite all that, there is still so much fear. I know what I saw, what I felt, what I smelled, what I breathed in. And yet, the fear is so strong, so deeply rooted. I overheard one of them calling me "the mad-woman," which pissed me off, but at the same time, I understood the accusation. It was based not in anger or mean-spiritedness, but in disbelief. In the human inability to understand that what he said, what he did--the whole coming back from the dead--what do you call coming back from the dead? Whatever you call it, it seems impossible to believe it. "It's nothing but an idle tale" Peter said. And then he saw.

Before he left me, Jesus promised that he'd come and see me, see us again. I trust that. I just wish he'd hurry up and get here. Everyone seems so restless, and anxiety is taking hold of everyone.

So I'm making hummus and trying to fix my mind on the things he taught, the things he did, the sound of my name as is came flowing out of his mouth, like water in a desert. James is supposed to bring some fish and I'll bake some bread. We'll eat. We'll watch. We'll wait.