I was thinking today that I am the woman who rained her tears on Jesus' feet, wiping them away with her own hair. I am that desperate, scared, ashamed woman. 

     Sometimes I am that woman who spoke to the messias himself at the well, understanding in spite of my naïveté and ignorance; I am the rejected one that he chose. 

     Sometimes I am the prophetess who kneels, waiting, in the temple for my savior, knowing in my heart that he will show up and do big things.

     Sometimes I am the woman in the crowd, only crying out for help on the inside, too ashamed to reveal myself to anyone, even my Lord. 

     Sometimes I am the woman who opens her heart and her home warmly to love those who are struggling. Sometimes I am uncomplaining, like Mark's mother; other times, I feel unappreciated or overburdened, like Martha. 

     Sometimes I sit at the feet of my savior and lean on his every word. 

     Sometimes I try to whisk my Lord away to the places I think he should be, not understanding his close love for those I do not consider my family or friends.

     I am all the women in the Bible; their stories graft an allegory of my life. I'll bet I'm the men, too. :T (haha)