My father took me to dinner and an art show tonight.  My mother took me to brunch this morning. They're intentional about knowing me and it means everything.

My right eye has been crying all day.  And my left eye is completely dry.  I don't know how these things happen, but nothing about my body shocks me any more.  In fact, it felt fitting and normal.  Completely normal.  Why shouldn't one half of my face mourn while the other half looks on.  

I am me, afterall.  And this is life.

Last night I held the smallest human that I have ever touched.  I was so nervous.  And then he cuddled against my chest and I would have fought for eternity to stay there in that spot with his perfect little head below mine and his tiny body curled into me.  I am hardly ever very near another person and it was the closest I have been to a life in a long, long while.  

Relief.  I do have a maternal drive.  It roared to life last night.  

He was just lovely and perfect and small.  And his promise is great.

This week I met with one of my undergrad professors for lunch and then sat in on his class over 1 Samuel.  And he read the chapter of Saul's battle that he does all wrong.  The one where he is fighting people as numerous as the sands and his own men only number 6oo.  The battle where the Israelites are so frightened that they hide in the holes of the ground.  

And then there's Jonathan.  Crazy, bold Jonathan who says to his armor bearer, come let us go over to the other side.  And after his armor bearer says that he is with him heart and soul, they march over to the enemy and walk right out into the opening, shouting, doing anything but hiding.  Crazy, bold.

And after they are laughed at, they climb with their hands and feet up the hill and with Jonathan in front and the armor bearer behind they proceed to kill all twenty of the fools.  Just like that.  While the rest of the Israelites are shaking in the ground, Jonathan lives.

That is the stuff that stories are made of.  I was talking to a good friend last night about relationships and families and he told me that he wasn't ready yet, he was still figuring out how to be a man.  And then maybe after that, then he'd be dateable.

I think I may have growled at him.  I did tell him to shut up.  And his look of surprise only made it worse.  I told him that I was tired to death of excuses and tired to death of people looking inside themselves for the answers.  

I looked at him and repeated his word, worthy.  Worthy?  Worthy.  Jesus is worthy.  I have no patience for excuses these days, none.  I would like to say to some crazy Jonathan, I am with you, heart and soul.  Let's go climb the hills and fight the battles and let's be fearless together.  I would like to live together for Him.

And anyways.  I think it is probably easy to feel what it is to be a man when there is a woman near by.  At least, it works that way for me.  I am never more aware that I am a woman than when I am next to a man who realizes that he is, indeed, a man.  Contrast is a brilliant mirror.