when Jesus died [crossing worlds}

i.

I am the Daughter of Eve behind the tree, fingers curled against the bark of the tree. I am huddled with my sister, and we are watching.

I am the daughter of Jerusalem pressed low against the Earth, fingers curling against the Israeli dirt. I am wailing with my sisters, and we are watching.

{this year, I am pouring out my Good Friday tears at Emily Miller's blog. the death of the Most High has been something so tender for me this year, something that has drawn me deep. I really hope you will join me  for the rest of this post at Emily's place, and share your heart with me there. join me in the spaces between the trees. two worlds, same story. same promise}