We’re a long way from gender equality.  Since I go back a long way, I can assure you that we are closer than we were even forty years ago.  That is when I first got divorced.  I was in for some surprises!  First off, by mutual agreement, I stayed in our home with our teenaged children.   We had lived there for nearly 20 years with the same telephone number all that time.  Understandably, I wanted to keep the number the same.  BUT, when I notified the phone company that I wanted to keep that number but change the name on the account to mine instead of my former husband’s, I was informed that I could only do that with his consent.  OK, I didn’t much like that but I could live with it so I called him and asked him to give them his consent and he did.  Later, I found that while the account was changed to my name, paid for by me, he was still sent a duplicate statement and thus knew all the numbers I had called. It wasn’t that I had Robert Redford’s number and called him whenever I wished!  The calls on that statement were pretty mundane.  Still, I didn’t see that my ex-husband had any right to them.   

There has to be a better way to celebrate special occasions than simply buying things. What would life be like if, instead, we chose to share our own gifts with others? Have you ever tried to make a list of all the gifts you have? It can be a powerful experience. Yes, we may have material gifts but we also have creative talents and abilities, education and strong bodies, expertise and time. Sharing our own unique gifts will bring joy to both the giver and the receiver. It requires thoughtfulness.

Very often mentoring happens in a corporate setting where a new employee gets mentored by a seasoned one. In this situation mentoring is about showing this new person “the ropes”. It tends to be tactically driven. I also think about mentoring in a service manner. Like an adult mentoring a child, still in a formal way, as part of a commitment to an organization or school. This mentoring is less tactical but still takes place for a finite period of time then the mentor gets back to their normal life. The mentoring is something that is done, like grocery shopping or going to the gym.

I would like to believe that I am one of those people who can be friends with anyone. I am social, outgoing and generally non-judgmental. Yet, there have been several instances in my life where I have met someone either face-to-face or over the phone and instantly disliked them. This is a statement that I am not proud to make, yet in the spirit of honesty, it is true. Chances are the other person probably felt the same about me. That is how connections work, sometimes there is a spark and sometimes there is not. This person might have even caused me such frustration that I had sworn to avoid contact with them at all costs in the future or they might have just “rubbed me the wrong way” for no reason at all.

Doug and I are just a few days away from our eighth anniversary.  It was a right place at the right time situation that surprised us both.  At 35 and 45 we were growing weary of the dating game and were accepting being single.  Of course we didn’t know this about each other at the time.  There was nothing in our backgrounds that would make anyone think that we were destined to meet.  In fact, it would have been very unlikely at any other place and time in our lives.

One of my most unexpected relationships came with a man named Manuel. Let me set the scene.  I grew up on what amounted to a small farm in the middle of town.  Dad had two acres that he cultivated, over an acre in orchard, a good sized vineyard, a donkey he ploughed with.  He raised rabbits, chickens, some years pigs or turkeys and he had a cow and calf.  His full time job was manager of the city utilities.  The “farm” was his evening and weekend work done because he loved it.  As he aged, and herniated a disc, he needed help with this so he hired a laborer named Manuel.  Manuel had a wife and 12 children.  

Church was not my plan last Sunday, for various reasons. But then I got out of bed and went. I crept in the back with my girls, late and uncertain. It had been a few months since I had been there. True, I am recovering from surgery, but also it just takes—well, effort to get small children to church.

The guest preacher was from Alabama. I smiled as I listened to him talk, wondering how he kept all those marbles in his mouth. The sermon was beautiful and funny. I was drawn in from my back-row seat. The girls were unbelievably quiet. He told stories of his walks across 34 states, raising money to buy kids shoes. He told of being delirious while sitting thirsty beside a bog in Louisiana, yearning for fresh water. Then he read to us from the prophet Ezekiel, about flowing water, a theme in my own life. No wonder I got out of bed.

After the sermon, my daughters and I walked forward to take communion with the others. At the last moment, my eight-year-old changed her mind and went back to her seat. That’s okay, I thought. But I was sad. She pulls away from spiritual things often. In my heart I said a short prayer: “God, reach her another way.” As I walked back to my seat, I was surprised to see Alabama preacher in the back talking to my daughter, on her level, about her interests. She beamed. This might be my record for instant answered prayer.

After service we collected our coloring books and tissues. I thanked Alabama preacher for walking for shoes. And I thanked him for talking to my little girl like she was a real person. He introduced me to his wife, who I immediately liked. She showed me her fancy black shoes painted pink on the bottom in honor of her sister going through treatment for breast cancer. Yes, I told her, I am part of that group now.

My daughter and I decided on impulse that we will pick up Alabama preacher today after his walk in Colorado Springs. Normally he hitchhikes back to his vehicle—by choice. But his wife says it’s nice for him to have a break and a planned ride. My daughter is working on a picture for his refrigerator. She’s a good artist. He’ll like it.

As I sit here writing, my phone rings. It’s Alabama preacher’s phone calling me back by accident. I hear his walking. I hear the silent pace. I hear my heart saying I have been forever changed by this man. Flowing water. Communion.

Image Illustrated by: Megan Evans, Glass Work courtesey of Jennifer S. Levine

Glassblowing is and always has been a male dominated world. I thought this was something special to the U.S. before traveling abroad as a glassblower for the first time. As a fulltime artist traveling overseas, the ocean felt a little brighter below the plane and the horizon a little broader from the windows. I was headed to Murano, Italy. I was elated! A boat ride of fifteen minutes from Venice’s main island, Murano has been an established glassblowing community since the late 13th century. It grew as a leading glass producer in Europe by the Renaissance,

                 The Kingdom of Tonga

Sexuality is a driving force in human behavior; it is a source of identity, security and dignity. It can also become the ultimate weapon.

My college graduation present from my parents was a trip to visit my brother, a Peace Corps Volunteer in Tonga. They had hoped it would help me have time to heal after the loss of my other brother the previous November. The quest soon became a healing journey into womanhood... but, there were some growing pains, things I could have never imagined I would have to face. Things that NO woman should ever have to face. It became a fight to claim my fledgling adult identity.

Sexuality has been and will be part of our nature forever.  We begin our lives as sexually aware creatures.   Just ask any mother who has watched her two year old child’s body exploration and body play in the bathtub, or her five year old playing doctor.  We end our lives as sexual creatures.  Some of the stamina and vitality may be gone in later years but the desire, awareness and self interest is not.  

A huge incision is where my right breast used to be. Six weeks ago, the word cancer was given to me. Now I look in the mirror puzzled. Things change so fast.

Illustrated by: Megan Evans

When did you first recognize yourself as a sexual being?  For most of us our identity as a girl or boy developed at a very young age.  We wore different clothing, used different public restrooms, and were given different kinds of toys to play with.  Our interest in our own bodies and those of others usually develops early in our lives, too.  Our sexuality is at the core of our identity.  Yet it is shaped and often maligned by the family and culture in which we live.

Illustrated by: Megan Evans

Most people I talk to tend to get very uncomfortable at the notion of conflict and appreciation is not part of their conflict vocabulary. We live in a culture of road rage and reality TV. Do any of us really understand what healthy conflict looks like?

What I can tell you about healthy conflict is that for most of my life I did not practice it.  Situations that were hurtful, that I didn’t like or that I thought were wrong would usually elicit quiet but cutting sarcasm from me or else no response at all.  Even situations that made me quite angry, that were very hurtful to me and that I knew would repeat themselves and thus should be dealt with, were most often ignored.