This remarkable person died last month. I somehow managed to not hear about her until AFTER she died, which still feels absurd to me, as her life’s work was questioning her faith while also living in it, finding space within her religion (Evangelical Christian turned Episcopalian) for the marginalized, but mostly — BECAUSE SHE DECIDED TO LIVE A WHOLE YEAR OF HER LIFE AS A BIBLICAL WOMAN AND WROTE A BOOK ABOUT IT, LIKE SHE SLEPT IN THE YARD WHEN SHE GOT HER PERIOD AND CALLED HER HUSBAND MASTER, to both honor biblical traditions but also dig into their ridiculousness. HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS PERSON? I have since ordered all she’s written, and plan to spend as much time as possible bathing my brain in it. So far, from what I’ve learned from her, this resonates with me the most: Living in faith is better than living in fear. But also, her death has given me a weird gift. She died at the age of 37, a few weeks shy of her 38th birthday, after complications from an infection. I’m turning 37 next week and I’ve been wearing this fact around like a big wet dress. I own 37 but don’t love that I’m becoming it with no kid or motherhood in sight. But reporters and writers  keep calling her YOUNG as they list her profound accomplishments, which makes me feel old but still young, still much to do, much to learn.  And learning Everything this dear person ever wrote and thought is next.