Months have passed and I've gained a lot of new insight regarding my manuscript, Unheard Voices. As a result, I'm going to post these stories of biblical women in this blog. I'll go throuhg the 13 women as I have them sequenced in the manuscript.
Please let me know what you think of each one as she appears so that I have an opportunity to reply to you or modify the story.

We seldom think about biblical women as business women so I've begun with their stories.

The Midwives

The woman’s scream shattered the stillness of the night, and her husband ran toward the hovel where she was giving birth. Before he entered, two older men grabbed him, dragging him back to their seats by the open fire.

"Don’t worry, Nathan. This is normal. As soon as the baby is born, things will calm down. Dinah will be all right."

The young man bent over, holding his head in his hands. "Is it always like this?"

The second man answered, "After the third child, it seemed faster. My wife recovered more quickly too. It’s the first one that’s so hard."

Inside the mud daub home, oil lamps provided dim light. Dinah’s huge belly almost hid her face as she slouched against the wall. Dinah’s mother, aunts and older sisters sang songs to encourage the mother to push, beating a steady rhythm on a small drum. The rhythm intensified whenever the mother pushed, as if the drummer’s efforts could help her in some way.

The midwife felt the swollen belly and spoke to Dinah’s mother, Leah.

"I need help. Send someone for Shiprah⁰. Tell her that Puah needs her immediately."

"Is it bad?" Leah whispered.

"It could be if I don’t get help."

Leah scurried out the door to the men. Soon heavy footsteps could be heard as one of them ran to get Shiprah.

The flap that served as a door snapped open as Shiprah, another midwife, entered. She assessed the situation and noted Puah on her knees massaging the woman’s lower abdomen. "What do you want me to do?" Shiprah asked.

Puah directed her friend and colleague to get behind the woman and hold her up to put more pressure on her belly as she pushed. At this stage of the mother’s labor, words were superfluous. Shiprah supported the mother’s back into a half-sitting position. Puah massaged her with each contraction. Dinah was nearing exhaustion. Finally, with a loud scream and one great push, the baby’s head appeared with the cord wrapped around its neck. Puah eased her fingers under the cord as she caught the baby. Its face had a bluish tinge. Puah struggled to remove the cord, then holding the baby by its feet, turned it upside down and massaged its back. A lusty cry filled the room and Dinah reached for her son.

The sun was rising when Leah dashed outside to share the news with the men, who erupted with loud singing and rhythmic foot stomping. Soon, neighbors joined in the celebration.

Work was not yet finished for the midwives. Shiprah cleaned and wrapped the newborn as Puah worked with the mother and watched for the afterbirth. Suddenly the celebrations stopped. Not a sound was to be heard. Leah went outside to see what had happened and was faced with one of Pharaoh’s soldiers.

"Where are the midwives?" He demanded.

Leah’s voice quavered, "They’re inside attending to my daughter."

"As soon as they’re finished, I must take them to the royal court. I’ll wait."

Shiprah and Puah exchanged glances, but were too occupied to think about what awaited them. With the last bowl of water, they washed their face and hands before meeting the soldier outside.

He paused to look them over. The wrap Puah wore tied at her waist to protect her clothes was bloody. Shiprah’s head scarf was knocked askew.

"Follow me."

He marched them out of the Hebrew encampment and through the streets of the city to the royal compound. At the gate, two royal guards escorted them to Pharaoh. They were the last to arrive and stood behind the other Hebrew midwives. Breathless from the fast walk and exhausted from their night’s work, Shiprah and Puah were slow to take in their surroundings.

A horn sounded. The midwives huddled closer together as Amenhotep II entered the room from a door at the far end of the hall. He mounted the dias and arranged his gold embroidered robes into a dazzling display before taking his seat. The ebony throne, decorated with gold leaf and inlaid gemstones, was the only furniture in the vast room. He examined the women before him as they tried to sneak looks at him. His headdress included an ornate cloth that fell to his shoulders and a slender gold crown of a cobra poised to attack. The heavy kohl on Pharaoh’s eyes gave them a snake-like, hooded appearance.

Bare-chested and stone-faced, Pharaoh’s guards each wore a royal blue headdress with a bronze crown that signified their status. With a short sword in their belts and carrying iron spears, the men flanked a group of a dozen Hebrew women, easily recognized by the poor quality of their homespun clothes. The only distinctive feature that they all shared was the style of their head covering, tied in a way that indicated their profession as midwives. The guards prodded them to approach the Pharaoh.

"I order you to kill male Hebrew babies when they are born. Only female babies are allowed to survive. Do you understand?" His voice gradually increased in volume until his question was shouted at them.

None dared speak before the Pharaoh, but all nodded that they understood. The captain of the guards looked to each of his men to verify that all of the women had gestured appropriately. Pharaoh watched the captain’s exchange with his men and ended the audience with a hand gesture to sweep them away. The guards marched the women out of the throne room and across the compound. At the gate, a contingent of regular soldiers accompanied the women to the entrance of the Hebrew encampment.

Shiprah and Puah, a distinctive pair as the tallest and shortest of the midwives, walked together. Puah’s slenderness gave her face sharply defined angles. Tiny Shiprah walked with a rolling gait, having worked on the Nile boats as a slave to an Egyptian family for a year. Her face was uncharacteristically blank; under normal conditions, she would have made a witty quip, triggering laughter. Shiprah grabbed hold of Puah’s hand as they walked, but neither woman spoke until after the guards left them and they were walking along the well-known paths of the Hebrew encampment. Then, Shiprah pulled Puah in the direction of the Nile River. At this late hour of the morning, shadows hadn’t begun to form; only fisherman readying their nets and boats for the afternoon’s sailing remained, selling the day’s catch. They were too busy to pay any attention to the women. Aside from the jokes they called back and forth, the only other sound was the screech of water birds trying to find an easy meal in the detritus thrown back into the water.

Shiprah released her colleague’s hand and turned to face her. "Well?"

Puah looked into her colleagues eyes and shook her head. "It’s unthinkable." A steely look of determination darkened her eyes. "I learned to bring life into the world, not to extinguish it—ever."

Shiprah looked across the river without seeing the wavelets coming to shore or the sails, bleached a brilliant, white in the noon day sun. "I needed a chance for us to talk about this. I feel the same way you do, but how do we proceed? He has spies everywhere and will find out if we’re not following his orders."

"Can we tell him that Hebrew women differ from Egyptian ladies because they give birth faster and have their babies before we get there?" asked Puah.

"I guess it’s good enough, until we come up with another idea." Shiprah heaved a deep sigh as they turned back toward their homes.

Weeks passed without any further summons to the royal court. Rumors circulated in the camp about the Pharaoh’s order to kill newborn boys. Whether women sent for a midwife at all depended on the rapport that they had with her. Some of the midwives lost their clients, but others remained busy. Shiprah noticed that many of her clients waited longer before calling for her to attend them and as a consequence there were many more complications during labor and delivery. Shiprah and Puah often worked together on these calls when the circumstances were too dire to worry about Pharaoh.

In the hours just before dawn, Pharaoh’s soldier came to the hovel where Shiprah and Puah had worked together through the night to help a mother give birth. As they stepped outside, the soldier intercepted them to escort them immediately to the royal palace. Weary and disheveled, they only had a quick wash before leaving the client’s house. They found it hard to keep up and straggled behind the other midwives who grumbled about the order to leave what they were doing at Pharaoh’s whim.

"His order is absurd," said a midwife walking in front of Puah.

"Since word of it spread through the camp, women have tried to avoid calling me. One woman and her newborn died before I arrived. The family was too afraid. I can’t believe that women actually believe that we might try to do what Pharaoh wants."

They turned the corner and all conversation stopped as they approached the entrance to the royal compound.

The throne room was still intimidating, but the impact was lost on the two exhausted women. Shiprah and Puah stood in the back. To avoid blocking others’ view of events, Puah always stood toward the back. Her unusual height often drew attention and today was no exception. Amenhotep II scanned the group until he spied Puah.

He pointed. "You and your partner come to the front where I can see you. I understand you just left a Hebrew woman. Tell me about your night."

Puah saw Shiprah sway and grabbed her arm before responding. "We had a very difficult night, Pharaoh. The woman had been in labor several hours before she called for us."

His voice boomed in the chamber. "Was is a boy or girl?"

"A girl," Puah said.

"Tell me what’s going on. Boy babies are still being born. Your group has not followed my orders. Why?" His eyes bored into Puah’s.

She looked at the Pharaoh as her reply echoed. "Rumors about your order have spread through our camp. Many women have stopped calling us and those that do usually have serious complications like last night. It’s amazing that the baby survived."

Pharaoh tugged on his bearded chin. "My order to you stands that you must kill boy babies." He leaned toward and advisor standing next to him. The acoustics of the room were so good that a few words carried to the women’s ears. "...too many Hebrew men." He looked at the head guard and said, "Get them out of here."

When the soldiers left them, the midwives crowded around Puah and Shiprah. Many of them hugged the two and some expressed thanks for how they had stood up to Pharaoh and for Puah’s answers.

The unofficial leader of the midwives said, "Many of us would never have been able to stand there under his glare, but you both appeared so calm. Thank you for speaking up; you spoke for all of us and we appreciate it."

Since Shiprah’s home was closest to the camp’s entrance, she took Puah with her. They collapsed on the bedding and slept a few hours. Shiprah’s mother brought them food when they woke.

Puah looked around. "Thank you for letting me rest here. I was so tired after last night."

Shiprah said, "We were both exhausted. The audience with Pharaoh took the last bit of strength we had and you had to do all of the talking."

"I remember answering Pharaoh’s questions—blurting out the truth. I can’t understand why the other midwives thought what we did was so special." Puah sat cross-legged, leaning forward to cup her chin in her hand.

"I overheard the royal guard tell Pharaoh that we had arrived. He used such submissive language that it took some time to state his business. Perhaps the women reacted because you answered Pharaoh directly, as an equal, without any deferential language."

Puah shrugged. "I think they would have reacted the same way we did, if Pharoah had questioned them."

Shiprah refilled their cups from the water jug. "Pharaoh’s orders to kill baby boys was preposterous. As if that weren’t enough, he tells us how to do it. I couldn’t imagine one of us throwing a baby into the Nile or smothering it at birth."

Puah drank deeply before responding. "We had no choice but to hear him, whether we follow his advice is up to each one of us."

"I wonder what he’ll try to do next to shrink the size of our community? Did you catch the end of his remark to his advisor about too many Hebrew men?" Shiprah’s voice was distorted as she rearranged her cushions.

"Who knows what Amenhotep II will try next. He underestimates Hebrew women. Have you heard about Jochebed? She wove a water-tight basket and lid adding a layer of pitch to caulk the seams. After her son was born, she set him adrift in the Nile and sent her ten-year-old daughter, Miriam to keep watch." Puah’s eyes had a determined look.

"That’s the baby that Pharaoh’s daughter found?" Shiprah asked.

"Yes. Miriam arranged it with the princess so that Jochebed ended up being paid to care for her own son in the royal compound. One day Pharaoh may regret his efforts to kill Hebrew babies."

As time passed, midwives were called for deliveries only when problems developed and as a consequence there were more mother and infant deaths. None of the midwives followed Pharaoh’s order.

In general, living conditions in the Hebrew camp deteriorated. The demand to make more bricks for Pharaoh’s projects increased the men’s workload while the food provided to the camp decreased. Since meals were served to the men first, the women and children suffered greatly from the lack of food.

Forty years passed this way, but eventually Pharaoh stopped trying to restrict the births of Hebrew babies and turned to other means of making life difficult for the Hebrews. He increased the required daily output for person whether they worked in the quarry or made bricks while reducing the amount of food allocated for the camp.

Through the years, stories about the two brave midwives had grown. Young midwives still came to Puah for advice about problems they encountered in their work. The discussions always ended with a request to hear firsthand the story about how Puah and Shiprah spoke up to Pharaoh. Of the two midwives who had spoken up to Pharaoh only Puah was still living. Shiprah had died soon after the birth of her first granddaughter.

One day, when Puah had just finished feeding her grandson, she heard laughter and singing somewhere outside. She pulled back the leather flap that served as a door and stepped into the path. At the far end of the lane, Miriam was waving her head scarf and leading a group of people as they danced and sang. Words were hard to make out, but the melody was of a song of praise to God.

As they drew closer, Shiprah’s daughter’s voice rose above the others.

"Puah, come with us. Celebrate." She grabbed Puah’s hand and pulled her into the crowd.

Puah joined in the singing and when there was a pause, asked, "What happened?"

"Remember Moses - the baby in the basket raised in Pharaoh’s household?"

"Sure, he’s Miriam’s brother."

Shiprah’s daughter hugged Puah and said, "He is organizing us to leave Egypt! How wonderful it will be to leave this place."

The women danced around Puah and hailed her and Shiprah’s bravery for being the first Hebrews to speak out to Pharaoh.

Moses had fled Egypt as a young man and returned to claim his identity as a Hebrew in recent years. Many times he confronted Pharaoh over the conditions in the Hebrew camp and demanded freedom for the slaves, and each time, Pharaoh would grant permission for them to leave and then renege on his promise. Plagues and disasters followed each broken promise. The tenth time, Pharaoh finally had had enough and kept his word.

Now brief celebrations followed in the camp as people hurried to gather their few belongings and prepare to leave.

Out of respect for Shiprah’s and Puah’s courage before Pharaoh, Moses himself allocated positions of honor at the head of the entourage for both of their families. Their reputations lived on whenever people talked about the efforts of Pharaoh to eliminate the Hebrews. In the annals of midwifery, these were the first two women held up as models of the profession.

Seated on a donkey, Puah scanned the massive line of Hebrews marching out of Egypt. She shaded her eyes with her hands, but could not find the end of the line. Turning around in her padded saddle, she looked forward to see Moses leading them. A satisfied smile brightened her face as she said to herself, "No one will have to listen to Pharaoh ever again."

A Parable

The small village was a generic place like many others around the world. There were no distinguishing features of the land or people, nothing to draw tourists, but it was home to an assorted group blending at least three cultural heritages and languages.
For months, maybe years, the village council had been debating what to do with the town square, or plaza, as some called it. Originally the village center had been used to hold livestock, with homes built in a haphazard fashion around it, and there were fields and pastures beyond the enclosure made by the houses. Over the passing decades, the homes were converted to shops, bars and restaurants. The center field became a playground for the kids and picnic area for special events. The shops drew people from outlying areas and the men discussed the issues of the day seated on the benches outside. Eventually, stores and eateries were established along the main road into the village and fewer people came to the central square. Patches of grass, weeds and bare earth made the old village center unattractive and unappealing.
The village fathers debated the problem. Some wanted to invite a major department store to build in the square. Others wanted to create a formal park and band-shell for concerts. The debates waxed and waned without resolution. No one felt strongly enough to push his idea through the stagnated council meetings.
One morning, the shopkeepers entered the square and discovered a huge box-like contraption in the plaza. It filled the open area and was at least as tall as the highest two-story building, maybe taller. The shop owners’ and clerks’ indignant voices filled the air, silencing the birds. One man set off in a huff to see the mayor about the monstrosity.
Mayor Dayly had just finished reading the newspaper and drinking the last drop of his second cup of coffee when Arthur Rodriguez entered his office. Without any preamble or minimal greeting, Rodriguez asked, "Who decided to put a box in the plaza? Damned fool idea. It’s ugly. You can’t see across the field."
The mayor scrutinized Rodriguez for any sign of a prank, then answered, "What do you mean? Nobody’s done anything to the plaza."
"Well then, you better come see for yourself."

Rodriguez turned around and left. Mayor Dayly sat behind his desk, perplexed. What in the world was the man talking about? Had he lost his senses?

By the time Mayor Dayly got to the plaza, it had filled with people examining the huge structure, walking all around it and calmly talking about its origin and purpose. As soon as they saw the mayor the crowd turned their attention to him in anticipation of some announcement. He cleared his throat. "Folks, I’m just as surprised as you are. I had no idea someone was going to do this. I’ll get back to you when I know about it." An indication of the level of mystification was that no one asked a question or made a rude remark about his ability.

The box itself was unusual, not only in size, but construction. There was no entrance or windows and no seam where sections might have been joined. It was as smooth as polished granite and highly reflective so that a color was hard to discern. The surface, when touched, gave no feeling of warmth or coolness, but seemed the same temperature as the air. However, there was a soothing sensation when it was stroked. As the mayor walked the perimeter, he unconsciously trailed his hand along its side. The people followed him and mimicked his gesture.
Every member of the contentious village council examined the structure and came away calmer than when they’d first heard about the box. When they met, not a single person raised his or her voice and none offered a course of action in its regard.
As the days and weeks passed, individuals developed their own relationship with the box. Children liked to play near it. Teenagers made no effort to cover it with graffiti, which probably wouldn’t have adhered anyway. People began leaving small tributes next to the box, bouquets of flowers, a polished stone, a whittled twig and other items. The unobtrusive offerings each had a story. A young woman anxious for children left flowers from her garden as she muttered her wish for a baby. A man suffering from cancer treatment sprinkled tobacco along one edge as he spoke about his hope to see his son graduate from high school. The box drew people to it in a respectful way and they left it, not with their problems solved, but with a sense of ease that somehow all would be well.
News of the box traveled slowly because the villagers were hesitant to speak about something that they couldn’t explain but which comforted them in an indescribable way. Nevertheless, others were drawn to the plaza to see this strange box.
The village boasted three churches (two Protestant, and a Catholic), a Jewish group, an Islamic cluster of faithful, along with assorted Buddhist, Hindu and those who followed other faith-ways. The clergy of the institutional groups met monthly to discuss common concerns. When the box first arrived, they were puzzled, but had no particular problem with its presence. By the third month, however, the Catholic priest was worried.
Father Thom scanned the faces of his colleagues before speaking. "Since the arrival of the box, there’s been a dramatic drop in the number of people coming to confession and fewer attending mass. I’m sure it’s due to the box because I happened to overhear two parishioners talking about its comforting presence in the village."
At first no one spoke, then they all talked at once. Rabbi Jacobs said, "Our group was never very large, but now I’m lucky if three come to Sabbath observances."
"I agree," Rev. Smith said. "Now that you mention it, my congregation has about thirty people attending most Sundays, but lately there have been only twenty. And, fewer have been coming to scheduled counseling sessions. I checked my calendar and noticed that the shift came after the arrival of the box."
They had no solution for the drop off in participation in religious activities, but agreed to continue to monitor attendance.
　
Six months later, people had begun talking about the box with reverent tones. Those who had shunned some people in the community for their unorthodox religious practices began asking for their insights. No one left their church or faith community, but disparaging conversations about other beliefs subsided.
Sheryl, the woman who wanted children, became pregnant and Horace’s cancer went into remission. Each of them went to the box with tokens of gratitude. While they didn’t talk about the changes in their status, family and friends made a connection with Sheryl’s pregnancy and the arrival of the box. Horace’s friends associated his improvement with the presence in the plaza. News of the possibly healing powers of the box spread and those living further away made an effort to come to the village square.
Much to the surprise of Mayor Dayly, no matter how many people left offerings at the box, they never piled up to become an eyesore. He had worried about incurring additional expenses as a result of the change. Although nothing had piled up in an unsightly way, it bothered him so he decided to spend the night in the plaza and see if one of the shopkeepers was cleaning the area around the box. He casually strolled the perimeter of the plaza all night and saw no one, but in the morning the gifts around the bottom of the box seemed less, ready for the offerings of the day.
Mitchell decided that the box would be the best place for him to propose to his girlfriend. So, he waited for a night with a full moon and brought Jessica to the plaza. The box was stunning with the full moon's light glowing through it and on each side. Instead of one full moon, it seemed like there were eight or ten lighting the square with a soft glow. Mitchell almost forgot why he brought Jessica, but not quite. He knelt next to the box to ask her to marry him and looked up at Jessica speechless as he saw her she stood bathed in the moonlight that revealed her startling beauty. After she said yes and he slipped the ring on her finger, he stood up and took her in his arms. He felt as if another set of arms caressed them as they kissed.
Although word of the box and special events related to it had spread throughout the region, the plaza hadn’t become a major tourist attraction as some on the town council had hoped and others feared. The box related to each person in her or his deepest heart so that people shared information about it with more thoughtful words.
No one knew who first coined the phrase, the God box, but it fit so well that nearly everyone used the term. It didn’t change the way people frequented the square, but reflected more accurately their sense of awe.
At the monthly clergy meeting seven months after the appearance of the box, Father Thom could hardly wait for the opening prayer to conclude. "People are calling that thing in the plaza, the God box! It’s a sin! They seem to worship that thing. We have to do something about it."
The others nodded, but no one suggested any course of action. Finally Rev. Smith said, "There are some things about this situation that I don’t like at all, like the extreme drop in church attendance and lack of participation in other church functions. But, I was talking to the chief of police, who’s a member of my congregation, and Manuel said that crimes have come to a standstill. Since the arrival of the box, there have been no murders, no rapes, robberies have dropped to single digits and drunken-disorderly conduct has stopped." He paused and shook his head. "I don’t like the worshipful attitude that everyone has about it, but things have changed for the good since that box arrived."
Pastor Whilmsy tilted his head to the side, a habitual pose prior to saying anything. "I can agree with both of you, but I’m worried about my quarterly reports to the central office for our church. Not only has attendance dropped, but giving has plummeted. I don’t know how to explain this phenomenon to the superintendent when he calls to find out what’s going on."
"It’s hard to know what to do. On the one hand there’s so much good that’s happening. But the truth is that our religious services are suffering and if it goes on too much longer, we all may be out of work." The last remark was meant as a joke, but Rabbi Jacob realized it was closer to the truth for Pastor Whilmsy.
"So what do we do?" Still indignant, Father Thom looked intently at each one.
"It came on its own schedule. I have to believe that it will leave that way too." Rev. Smith’s voice was flat with resignation. "Until then, we muddle along as best we can."
Six weeks later, Mayor Dayly walked into the plaza and sensed tension in the atmosphere. He looked around to figure out what was different and noticed that the plaza looked normal again. There was no box! He stood glued to the ground. The shopkeepers straggled into the square and had the same reaction. Finally, someone blurted out, "Where is it? Who moved it? We need to put it right back where it belongs."
News that the box was missing spread faster than wildfire, drawing groups to the square to see for themselves that it was gone. Speculation about what happened flowed like heavy snow melt in spring, but no one knew the answer. One of the kids went to the outline of tributes and gifts left behind when the box disappeared. He bent down and started sorting through it to pick up old soda cans and empty plastic bags.
"Who put that trash there? We showed respect for the God box." The woman ran across with a black trash bag and shoved the trash into it as fast as the boy he picked it up.
Disappointment, like a heavy blanket, settled on those gathered. By ones and twos people returned to their daily schedule. Toward the end of the day three men had been arrested for fighting and that night, there was a three-car accident from drunken driving. After nearly a year of peace and cordial relationships in the county, the social fabric was beginning to fray. There were signs of friction in the patched quilt of ethnic groups and languages. It was as if the box had never been there.

Mayor Dayly called a special meeting of the village council. He waited until everyone had a cup of coffee doctored to their preference with milk and sugar and was comfortable in their regular seat at the table. "Before the box arrived, we were discussing what to do with the village square. While it was here, there were all kinds of positive spin-offs for the shopkeepers and community in general. It’s time for us to choose a plan and develop the square."

　
Art Rodriguez cleared his throat. "I’d like to see it paved with bricks and a gazebo in the south corner. We could hold events in the plaza. Artists could have booths to sell their merchandise or we could have performances there."

"That sounds nice. It’s the best proposal yet," Sheryl Watson said softly as she rocked her infant daughter.

Manuel Mondragon nodded. "It would be good to have a place for social events. With regular use, it would deter some of the drug activity that has returned to the plaza after the shops close."

"I speak for myself, but I think the members of the clergy in town would support this effort. Maybe some of the people in our congregations would donate time and supplies to make it less costly for the village," Rev. Josiah Smith said.

By the end of the special meeting, everyone was in agreement to move forward with the plaza improvement. On May first of the following year, there was a village celebration for the opening of the new plaza. Much of the work and some supplies had been donated. Flowers hung from baskets at each corner and spotlights mounted on the corners of the shops provided light into the evening. Local music groups took turns entertaining the crowd that swelled with families from outlying areas who came for the day.

With the schedule of social events for the plaza and the fact that many of them, including teenagers, helped construct it, the town folk developed pride in keeping it looking good. At least one couple got engaged in the gazebo. Families brought their children for picnics on the weekends and in the evenings many returned for the music and dancing.

On occasion, someone would mention the box, but no one lamented its disappearance. Its presence had led to a new rapport in the community and a spirit of cooperation. Crime statistics rose again, but never to the level they were prior to the arrival of the box. Tensions between the cultural groups waxed and waned, but something had changed to mute the ferocity that had been so common in past grievances. It was not an idyllic village, but things had changed in a good way.

Mayor Dayly was just finishing the paper and his second cup of coffee when Arthur Rodriguez entered his office. The mayor looked up and raised his eyebrows, anticipating a complaint, but Rodriguez took the visitor’s seat across form the mayor’s desk.

His eyes locked on the mayor’s with a steady gaze. "What do you think about all that’s happened here the past three or four years?"

"Art, that’s a pretty general question. Can you narrow it down?" The mayor would never have called him Art before, but they’d worked so closely on the issue of the box and developing the plaza, that a relationship, almost friendship, had formed between them.

"Frank, I’ve been thinking about the box and all that’s happened since. Is there some kind of moral in it or lesson for us?"

"I’ve struggled to find something to hold on to after that event. I couldn’t come up with anything. It was totally unexpected and no one knew anything about it. Its presence broke down some invisible barriers and changed the regard we had for each other. All I can say is that it was a good thing to have happen to us."

"Yeah, I’ve had similar thoughts. I want to have some kind of moral that I could pass on to my kids as they grow up, but I couldn’t come up with one." Baffled, Art shook his head.

Frank’s eyes softened and he smiled. "It didn’t do anything. But so much good came out of its being here. Don’t get me wrong, the plaza looks nice now, but once in a while, I miss the box."

Where did the goddess go?

I was disturbed as I worked through the archeological tomes about goddess worship in the ancient and archaic times because I thought that the divine feminine had be lost. Then, I began reading Rabbi Rami Shaprio's newest book, The Divine Feminine in Biblical Wisdom Literature and a friend suggested that I read The Dove in the Stone by Alice O. Howell. By whatever name you choose to call her Sophia, the Mother Goddess, Wisdom, the Divine Feminine, she is here now an available to everyone. The search for her must be done with intention and, for those who give up easily, it may take several attempts.

The manuscript I've been working on is nearly complete and lacks only some polishing. The struggles and questions I've worked through during its preparation have given me a new strength and confidence that was lacking before. The working title for this effort is Unheard Voices. I hope that I will be able to announce its release in the next year or two.

New Project

For as long as I can remember, I've rebelled against the way women have been treated in the Bible and especially the way they've been presented in church activities whether Sunday School classes or sermons. I've noticed that most books tend to give these women the same negative treatment. This situation provoked me to study more about the women and tell their stories as they might have talked about their own lives.
For several years, between writing projects or as they came to mind, I began writing about the women using Bible verses to ground the story and moving forward with the woman's perspective. What began as a haphazard collection of tales has become a full manuscript in preparation for publication with a working title, UNHEARD VOICES.
As I wrote, I became curious about the times in which these women lived which led me to archeological works revealing the rich cultures that existed in archaic times. What a delight to learn that prior to the biblical legends, cultures revered the Divine Feminine. Woman tended to be the leaders, but often ruled together with men. Reading about these times showed me that biblical stories began during a period of tension between matriarchal rule versus patriarchal leadership. People living far north of the fertile crescent invaded the goddess worshipping people of the south bringing male dominated systems of rule and religion.
It seems to me that humankind is moving in a new direction in which women and men both can be leaders in fulfillment of the first creation story that made humans, female and male as equal partners.

Starting again

Months have past since my last post. Here's what happened:

For almost a year I was deeply invested in marketing activities for the books that I had published. I used an author services group to improve my outreach. This effort was costly in time, personal effort and money. The events in Santa Fe and Albuquerque seemed so promising. I embraced each opportunity with enthusiasm, but every event was a disappointment with minimal attendance. The few books I sold didn't begin to cover my expenses of driving to the venue and my meal. Undaunted, I decided to try another approach focussing on the parallels between my writing and current events in Arab countries. No one came for the conversation series. This was the final blow.

I became discouraged to the point that I decided not to write anymore. During these months of my absence, I put away all of my writing materials: books, research and magazines. I waited to see what, if anything would happen. Much to my surprise, people began complimenting me on my writing and asking about future books. I even sold a couple books. Then, someone familiar with my current writing project told me how anxious she was to get the book because she felt that it was needed. No one knows how much all of these reinforcing and supportive comments have meant to me. It was enough to prick my interest in writing again.

A couple days ago, I saw the completed book for my current project in my dreams. It came to me without any other dream storyline---just the sight of the completed book.

It's time to start again with new insights and new energy for research. Perhpas I'll post a story from my project in this blog to learn your reaction.

Stay tuned.

It's spring! One way to tell that spring about to arrive is the sight of hot air balloons in the distance as I walk our dogs in the morning. The bulbs have made it through another winter season. At the sight of flowering shrubs and trees, I feel the sides of my mouth curve upward.

This season holds a promise of new beginnings and I feel myself stretching in new directions. I've just finished reading The Meaning of Mary Magdalene by Cynthia Bourgeault. Her work prompts a lot of questions and the main one is, What if the early church authorities got it wrong? What if there's a different way of understanding the lives of Mary and Jesus? Bourgeault supports her ideas with research and biblical quotations. There were so many Mary's that some of them may have been the same person. Why is Mary Magdalene is such a confusing person in the way she is protrayed in the Gospels? Maybe the writers didn't want her to have the close relationship with Jesus and maybe they wanted to mute her leadership role with the apostles.

New beginnings. It will take me some time to figure out how this book will affect my life and my belief system. At the moment, I just want to cheer for Mary Magdalene and enjoy spring.

Amazing Connection

Hello again. Spring is just beginning with crocuses in full bloom near the pond. Buds on the trees are getting fuller and in several more weeks there will be blossoms like those in this photo of our flowering crabapple tree a year or so ago.

Have you ever had an amazing encounter with another person that blew your socks off? It happened to me last week when I was doing a series of author events in Albuquerque. At Bookworks, I was promoting my most recent book, UNPREDICTABLE CROSSING. As people gathered for the presentation a gentleman in the back of the seating area responded to a comment that I made about the independence movement in Mozambique. It turns out that his father, a white Portuguese, had been very active in trying to wrest control of the province away from Portugal. He'd been so active that he was forced to flee Mozambique with his family when the man speaking to me was 14 years old. I learned so much from him in our brief conversation, that I longed to know more.
What an amazing experience! I can hardly believe that someone who lived in Lourenzo Marques, now Maputo, turned up at one of my events. He gave me a much broader awareness of other people who were trying to make changes that I suddenly realized how limited my perspective was. For a moment, my reality and thinking was pulled back to Mozambique in a profound way.

The previous events and other plans in Albuquerque had been unfolding in ways that disheartened me so hearing this man talk buoyed me up for the rest of the week. It still lifts me up to another level as I prepare for an event next Sunday.

Just when you think you know how plans will proceed, life delivers a little jolt to make you pay attention. This one was pleasant and had a longer effect to make me think more deeply about what I say when I'm in front of people and to besure that I allow them to contribute to the discussion.

There have been many learned people who've written about awareness and the importance of now. Decades ago, Paul Tillich wrote The Eternal Now. More recently, Eckart Tolle has written The Power of Now. Other authors focus on the importance of 'being present' or maintaining 'awareness' as we live each day. This encounter made me realize that I had not been fully engaged in the moment. I am so grateful to this gentleman for many reasons and one of them is the reminder that I was not paying attention. How awful it would have been to miss his conversation. I hope that I stay aware of the eternal now as I live each day so that I don't miss any of the good parts.