I woke up when my sister crawled into bed with me and stole the covers for a minute before we rushed to get ready and out the door and through town.  She had a noon appointment and I went home alone, climbed the stairs, kicked off my boots and put old music on, loud.  It is October already and I had not welcomed it well, so I hung the wreath, swept the spiders and leaves from the sides of the house, put the candy dish out.  It is the sort of weather that demands open windows.  It is the sort of weather that feels like home when it catches you, gently pulls you into yourself, draws you tighter together somehow.

My mother came over for dinner and we planned the holiday at the table, figuring visitors and schedules and it made me want to put cookies in the oven and dance around.  I walked her out and when I locked the door and turned around I paused for a moment.  I am surrounded by people who make me want to tackle days with grace.  I am surrounded by giants of people and I have so much to learn from the way they walk, see, think.

Now I am sitting in a diner in my oldest clothes.  My hair is wild and curly and barely contained, my makeup is long gone; I am a mess.  And it is so fun, sitting here like this.  It is so fun to be full of mistakes, to not match, to look a fright.  I talked to a friend last night on the phone and he told me the best thing I have heard in a while.  Tasha, we're not here to get better.  We're here to get ready to be with Jesus.  Wow.  I asked him to say it again, slower.  I smiled so hard it hurt, and then I laughed.  Wow.  

In one of my classes, we were asked to write a response to Mary Magdalene as a case study.  A response that addressed the way the church remembers her.  The injustice of Christianity's portrayal of her because she was a woman.  When my professor walked us through it, when she told us about what had been done, I blinked slowly.  Shook my head.  I told her I did not understand what she meant.  I told her that I am jealous, wildly jealous of Mary, the woman who cried on Jesus.  Jealous because I have only cried to him.  I told her that I would have been grateful if I was her because He raised her above those men who didn't want to see her.  He saw her and praised her and that would have meant the world to me, if I was her.

He is forever raising people and I love Him for it.

I sat with Him last night and thumbed through my most worn pages, shared my heart,. But mostly I sat.  Last night I had a strong desire to be known and there is nothing like the feeling of His presence, nothing in the world.  It knocks me off my feet.  It settles me deep into myself and then lifts me out, making me newer somehow.  

The whole time, I had those words in my head.  I'm going to be with Him someday.  How wild is that?  I can't stop thinking about it.  Someday, I'm going to be with Him.  Big smile, huge.