The Book of Longings

by Sue Monk Kidd

I saw the difference then—her father had traded her for peace. My father had traded me for greed.

He’d brought me here to the place of our beginnings, but only later would I think of the snake biting its tail, how the beginning becomes the end that becomes the beginning.

When I tell you all shall be well, I don’t mean that life won’t bring you tragedy. Life will be life. I only mean you will be well in spite of it. All shall be well, no matter what.”

I am she who exists in all fears and in trembling boldness

“Your goodness will not be forgotten,” I told him. “Not a single act of your love will be squandered. You’ve brought God’s kingdom as you hoped—you’ve planted it in our hearts.” He smiled, and I saw my face in the dark gold suns of his eyes. “Little Thunder,” he said. I cupped my hands about his face. I said, “How I love you.”

Glancing behind me, I saw that the few who’d remained to walk with him were women. Where were these disciples of his? The fishermen? The men? Were we women the only ones with hearts large enough to hold such anguish?

The happiness of home-going was in me, too, but it was lodged beside my sorrow. This was the land of my husband and my daughter. Their bones would always be here. Every step away from them was a pain in my heart.

And it comes to me that the echoes of my own life will likely die away in that way thunder does. But this life, what a shining thing—it is enough.

“I am Ana. I was the wife of Jesus of Nazareth. I am a voice.”