Thoughts
The Carnival
Sally was always a curious, fun loving, girl who people enjoyed being around. She was nice, compassionate, caring and generally humorous. Mainly she was funny as a means of easing the tensions of others. Being an empath, she could feel the emotions of others and she never liked the stressful and negative emotions, so humor was her weapon of choice in combat.
One day, Sally heard about this thing called a “carnival” and supposedly it was an amazing place where things were wonderful, beautiful, joyful, peaceful, and so much more than human words could describe. She had always heard of this carnival but had never actually seen it first hand until the day she walked through the gates.
On that day, Sally went to the carnival and found a big ticket booth out front with a sign that said, “$20 is the cost of admission.” She didn’t have $20 and she would never have $20. You see, Sally was born with a condition that made it impossible for her to ever earn $20 in order to get into the carnival.
She sat outside of the carnival when the strange man approached her. He said to her, “Sally, do you want to go into the carnival?”. She responded, “Yes, I so desperately want to enjoy the wonderful things the carnival has to offer, but I can’t afford the cost to get in.” The man chuckled and said, “No worries Sally. I’ve already paid the cost for you to go into the carnival. All you have to do is accept it and enter into the carnival.” “Are you serious?,” Sally exclaimed. “Yes, I am,” said the man. “I think you are an amazing person and I care about you. Now go enjoy the carnival.”
Sally jumped up and wrapped her arms around the man, thanked him profusely, and ran over to the gate, explained the situation, and gleefully entered into the carnival to enjoy all of its majesties. Once inside, Sally had never seen such wonders. Life was completely different inside the carnival. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was that was different but she felt a sense of peace, joy, and love like never before. She met some very friendly people who were so nice and accepting of Sally for who she was. They too had met the man outside the gate and he too had paid for them to enter into the carnival.
As Sally walked up and down the aisles of the carnival enjoying all the beauty and wonder, she came across some people who sort of took her by surprise. They didn’t appear to accept Sally like the man outside the carnival and they believed that only people like them should be allowed in the carnival. They asked Sally to see her receipt of payment to get in the carnival, but she didn’t have one. All she had was the words about the man outside the gate, and the fact that she was in the carnival and had experienced the amazing things the carnival was. They said she couldn’t have entered the carnival legitimately because she didn’t have anything to show for her payment of entrance.
Sally began to question if she had really made it into the carnival or if she was still sitting outside dreaming it all up in her own mind. She told the people of the man outside the gate who paid her way, but they said, she had to have proof he paid her way. She should’ve received a receipt stating the way was paid. “You have to pay to get in,” they screamed. “No one can enter without paying. Where is your proof of payment?” Sally didn’t have proof so she made her way to the gate and began to leave when the man appeared.
“Sally, why are you leaving the carnival?”
“Well, I can’t stay because I didn’t pay the price for it.”
“Nonsense, I paid the price of admission for you,” he said as he smiled.
“Those people inside said that the cost of getting in was $20 and that everyone had to pay it. No one gets in for nothing. They said I wasn’t really in the carnival because the cost to get in was not removed and was still required. They also said since I didn’t have proof, I was just kidding myself that I was really in the carnival.”
“Oh Sally, I’m so sorry. Let me explain it to you.” The man sat down next to Sally, put his arm around her, and began to speak. “When the carnival was created, only those who could pay the price were allowed in. Of course there wasn’t anyone in this place that could afford the price of admission. It would’ve taken them a thousand years, and power beyond their ability, to earn the cost of admission. Since we loved the people of this place so much, we decided that I would pay the price for those who would accept it and enter into the carnival.”
“The cost of admission didn’t go away. It’s still there, I just paid it for you. You are not responsible for paying that cost in order to enter the carnival. Those people inside the carnival that you encountered are confused. They are right in the fact that the admission price didn’t just disappear because I paid the price. I didn’t abolish it, but I fulfilled it. Due to my love for you and everyone else, I paid the cost so that you can be with me inside the carnival and we can enjoy it together.”
“Ohhhhhh!,” Sally gasped. “I totally understand what you’re saying. Can I go tell everyone I know about this carnival and how you paid the price for them to enjoy it as well?”
“You absolutely can. In fact, I want you to show everyone what it’s like to be in that carnival so we can all enjoy the carnival, because I love them as much as I love you and want to be with them like I will be with you.”
Sally, excited and giddy, wrapped her arms around the man, hugged him tightly, and then ran off to tell everyone the good news. She was so sincere, and joyful about her experiences in the carnival. Some people didn’t listen and believe her. Some people told her they had heard of this carnival but knew they couldn’t afford it. Some people told her they had been to the carnival and had received the free admission, but then left because they agreed with the others who said they needed a receipt and since they didn’t have proof, they were just deceived. However, some people accepted her invitation and went to the carnival. Sally spent the rest of eternity living in the carnival enjoying love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, and self-control. She still encountered the naysayers, but she knew in her heart what really happened and she lived life to the fullest, walking hand in hand, with the man who paid her admission.
A Love Worth Fighting For
More than a year ago, I lost my marriage because I had lied for so many years about who I was, even if unintentionally. I really thought that I could save it, and I believed that it was completely worth fighting for. While I still believe that marriage is worth fighting for, and my marriage was one that I fought hard for, I am now a firm believer that my marriage was better off being retired.
Talking with a friend, she asked me what value I got out of my dating relationships since my marriage. When my marriage ended, I thought that I would never find someone who would love me as I am, much less someone worth fighting for. However, it turns out that I have learned quite a bit, and did get some specific value out of my dating relationships since my marriage.
Lena (name changed for privacy) was the first person that I met after my marriage ended. Lena was drawn to me, as I was drawn to her. Neither of us could figure out why we were drawn to the other but we were and our friendship took off quickly. The friendship went from getting to know someone to feeling like you knew them forever. We both confessed our desire for so much more, but unfortunately there was too much distance between us, and neither of us would ever have the opportunity to be near the other, so we resigned to the position that we could only be friends but never lovers.
At this point, I became content knowing that it would be a while before I ever dated again. That’s when Carey entered my life. Carey was unlike any other woman I had ever known. We had so much in common and we were so compatible in so many ways. We dated for about four and a half months before circumstances beyond my control ended our relationship. Once again I was enduring pain similar to my divorce. I never thought I would experience that pain so soon.
So when my friend asked me what value I got out of my last two relationships, I was immediately brought to these two memories. Lena gave me hope that I could be loved for who I am and that everything was going to be okay. Carey gave me a love worth fighting for.
Needless to say, if I ever decide to get married again, it will only be to a person who shows me a love worth fighting for.
Thailand: A Diverse Epiphany
She was standing at the end of the food counter gathering food from the serving dish onto her plate. She was wearing a pretty yellow dress with lace along the top of it. Her beautiful blonde hair laid down beyond her shoulders, and her face was lightly dotted with freckles that contrasted with the lightness of her skin.
She walked towards me, and when she arrived where I was standing, in front of the chef making omelets, she asked me, “Is he cooking your food?” Her smooth, feminine, British accent was a nice sound to my ears. I told her yes, that he was making my ham and cheese omelette. Turns out she had ordered the same thing before me and he was actually cooking her breakfast. Once she received it she said, “Nice talking to you. Enjoy your breakfast.” She walked away and headed to her table to sit down and eat her food.
I continued around the breakfast line, looking for various items of food that I was interested in trying. At the end of a long row of tables sat a young Finnish girl who was tall, with long brown hair, and glasses. She reminded me much of the bookworm that was always sitting alone in the school cafeteria, the kind that nobody seemed interested in associating with. She was very quiet and solemn. She sat tall, but you would not know it by her hunched over shoulders. She quietly ate her breakfast and then quickly left to go back to her hotel room.
I went back to my table and sat down where my friend was eating her breakfast. I noticed two young women come into the breakfast area and proceed to where the coffee was. They were having issues with the coffee machine and were interacting with a waiter who was helping them get what they needed. They began to walk around the breakfast area viewing all the different types of food available to them. Both women were dressed very conspicuously. Each of them was wearing a very short skirt with very tight tops. One of them actually had a full one piece dress. The one wearing the shortest skirt seemed out of place but I could not put my finger on it. Her hair was slightly ratty and her figure was very slim and straight like a board. The more I observed these two women, the more I was able to put my finger on what I was unsure of earlier. In the end, the lack of food on one of their plate settings tipped me off as to who she was and why she was sitting there.
The beautiful french girl on the other side of the room did not stand out to anybody else. She was conversing with her interpreter and every time she interacted with a staff member of the hotel, her interpreter was there by her side. She was dressed very nicely and would be what I would call a classy lady. Her long dark hair was done very nicely and seemed to be styled properly. She did not appear to wear too much makeup but enough for her to accent her feminine features.
There I sat, eating my breakfast, in my denim capris, gold studded, dark gray top, and white sandals. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and I was not wearing any makeup. In fact, I was probably two days late for a shave. As I set there consuming my breakfast, a thought crossed my mind and I began to ponder the attributes of all these people, including myself.
Five different people. 5 different walks of life. Ages that ranged from older teenager all the way up to middle age and perhaps beyond. At least three continents of culture represented in that moment. The one common factor that brought them all together was a medical anomaly that caused their brains to be wired one way while their bodies formed a different way. In one moment I felt connected to every single one of those people, and in the next moment I realized that the rest of the world was absolutely wrong.
I have heard people say that it is a mental condition. I have heard people call others like me, delusional. Some have even gone as far as to say it is simply the result of a sexual fetish, molestation, or an addiction to pornography. I cannot speak for the 4 other people and their experiences in their lives, but I can speak for me and I know that none of those things are true. I was never a victim of any form of molestation. I had 2 parents who I lived with and who loved me unconditionally. I was never abandoned or smothered by my mother or my father, and I now know I was never addicted to pornography.
While I do not know why I was chosen, it was so wonderful to see this condition affect others across cultures, people groups, and continents. To know that I was not alone in my journey, and the very anomalies that make me who I am, are also in other people all across the world. My God is a diverse creator. He knows when we all wake up and when we lie down. He knows the number of hairs on every single one of our heads, and he commands the new ones that grow back or disappear when hormones are changed. My God has given the knowledge to the surgeons that help us to remodel our bodies so that they may match our minds, and allow us a more consistent and better quality of life. He controls the cells that regenerate to help me heal the best that I can.
Like Jesus said to Pilate, nothing happens without my Father’s permission, and I am thankful that He has blessed me in this place, in this time. Of all the places in the world, and of all the time in human history, I am here, now. To God be the glory of this diversity.
Thailand: An Introspective Journey
If this journey has taught me anything, it has taught me to continually think about everything I say and everything I do. Being bedridden, and not being able to move a lot, or even wanting to move a lot, means I’m not doing a whole lot worth talking about, and I have a lot of time to think about all the decisions I’ve made in my life, even the decisions that have brought me to where I am today.
I have a lot of friends on Facebook who are transmen and transwomen, and I am constantly seeing their experiences, their questions, and their comments to the world around us. One of the trends that I see is people posting their before and after pictures. It is interesting to watch how others react to where a person used to be and where they are now.
When I see the pictures of the transmen, I am floored by the ones who did not previously identify as butch. It is unique to see a beautiful, blonde haired, buxom woman in the before picture and to see a scruffy, handsome, buff man in the after picture. It is hard for me to relate because I think, why would such a beautiful woman not want to be a beautiful woman. The reality is that person sees themselves as a man as much as I see myself as a woman.
The introspection comes when I begin to think about my own life and where I was in the past. I try not to let myself dwell on the thoughts that maybe if I would have been healthier, or had a better body, or presented myself as a better male, then I could have survived, in that place, as that person. I have to ignore those thoughts because I have had those thoughts for decades. I even field tested them for decades, trying to be the better man, trying to be a great husband, trying to be a wonderful father, and trying to be a great role model, in church, in work, to my family, and my friends. It never worked. I was constantly depressed. I was constantly filled with anxiety. I was a terrible husband. I was a less than admirable father. Even my work and my interactions with my friends suffered because of it. Until I transitioned, I never had a really close best friend who was in my life, except for one who lived 800 miles away.
Today, over two years after discovering this thing called gender dysphoria, I have a bunch of really close friends who I hang out with on a regular basis, and communicate with freely and openly. I wake up every morning with a smile on my face, knowing that today I get to live in this world completely authentically, and I am now capable of seeing the things I can offer to the world. I have a new and profound understanding of compassion and love because of my experiences. the reality is, I am a better person because of the decisions I have made that have brought me to the place that I am.
As I peruse my Facebook feed, I begin to feel sorry for the people who lash out against same sex marriage, who lash out against Caitlyn Jenner receiving an ESPY Award, who lash out in the name of their faith, a faith that claims the same name as mine, but looks nothing like anything I’ve seen or known before. I feel sorry for them because they lack compassion in that moment. I feel sorry for them because they think what they give is love, but it is not love. I see them call people like myself, deceived, but I believe the irony is lost on them. I believe my experiences have given me the opportunity to see the world through the eyes of Jesus. It’s something that I had asked for, for years. Sometimes I think that is a curse more than a blessing.
Lord willing, I will have 40+ more years on this planet before I head back home. In that time, I’m sure I will always be reminded of how I wished I could have done more. I am glad for the reminders of the past, they help me understand that I am on a journey, that I must look forward and continue moving on. I do not worry too much about the future, for today is hard enough to deal with. If anything, I know this. Many may think that I have done something wrong, something bad, something sinful, or that I am delusional. I pray that they will find the authenticity to live their lives for who they are, without ridiculing others, so they too can wake up every morning with a smile on their face.
Levels of Acceptance
I am still sitting in awe of the weekend I had, the people I got to see, and finally being free to be me, with said people, for the first time.
Saturday, my high school graduation class celebrated 20 years since we graduated. It was a wonderful event at a local venue owned by one of our classmates. Our student council president helped organize the event and it went off without any problems.
As wonderful as the event was orchestrated and performed, that is not what got to me the most. What got to me was watching people interact with me for the first time as my true self. It was something that was truly amazing because I really wasn’t sure what to expect. For all I knew, I could’ve ended up dead in an alley.
Lucky for me, that wasn’t the case. In fact, just the opposite was true. I was embraced with loving arms from people who know me from Facebook, people who had interacted with me in the last year, and people who haven’t seen me in 10 or even 20 years.
All of this got me thinking about the different levels of acceptance I have experienced during the last 2 years of my life. I have been completely rejected and called names like crazy, disturbed, demon-possessed, delusional, and more. I’ve been ignored as people move on, silently refusing to even talk to me anymore. I’ve been told that I’m wrong, but I’m free to live my own life. I’ve been tolerated as I move through transition, and I’ve been embraced, loved on, and told just how beautiful I am.
Ironically, I’ve seen so much more of the latter level than I expected and I would say less than 20% of all the other levels. That, in and of itself, is mind boggling to me. The kicker of all of it is that the very ones who have rejected me are the ones who are commanded to love on me.
So at my 20 year class reunion, I was hugged, told how beautiful I am, how happy people are for me, how they are proud of me for being myself, and how they wished me good luck as I reach out for the new milestone I am embarking on right now. I was authentic. I was me. I also found out that I actually know how to dance and I really do enjoy doing it. Perhaps it’s time for some real dance lessons…lol.
Here’s to another 20 years of living authentically with new found friendships, with old friends, in a new stage of life.
Carpe Diem.
Depression is Deafening
Wow! I haven’t been here in months.
Not the writing, that has been a while. What I’m referring to is the deafening depression. I haven’t experienced this level of depression in months and when your brain works normally, you forget about the darkness, you just remember that it was bad and you didn’t like it.
Why the depression? Well I had to go off my hormone therapy in preparation for surgery. Not having the proper hormones in my system is causing all the issues within my brain. My brain is a diesel engine and it’s been running on unleaded gas for most of my life, and that caused all forms of depression and anxiety to appear.
Because my brain is structured like the average female, it requires estrogen to function properly. Having a mismatched reproductive system means my body doesn’t produce the estrogen needed, but instead testosterone that has damaging effects on my brain and my health (ask any good mechanic what happens if you run a diesel engine on unleaded gas for too long).
My surgery, that is scheduled for July 3, will fix 1/2 of the equation as the doctors will remove the largest source of testosterone from my body and that will mean taking less meds and never having to deal with part of this issue again. That will be a glorious day where the talents that God has given people, will be used to bring me one step closer to healing completion. Praise be to His name.
As for the depression, I have to push through it. I can do this. It’s only for another 10 days and then I’ll have a new found freedom that I am looking for. The thought of waking up 1 more day, struggling to get out of bed, to face the day, is exhausting. 10 more days seems like forever. Forever is unfathomable and I stand in awe and say a solemn prayer for those who continue to walk that road, whether they have to out of obligation, reasons beyond their control, or just plain fear created by the ignorance of others. Praise the Lord that I know what my issues are, and there are medical doctors who He has given skills to diagnose and treat my issue so I don’t have to face too many more days like today.
I don’t wish this darkness on anyone. I do wish they could understand what we go through. It’s not about picking yourself up and just moving on with life. Imagine standing in front of a 1,000 lb. weight, ready to pick it up, and struggling to even budge it, much less pick it up. That’s dealing with depression. Everything you want to accomplish is wrapped in that weight. Every thought, every next move, every next breath, is wrapped up in that weight, and you can’t move it.
I’m pretty sure I’m not accurately describing depression. It manifests in so many ways in different people’s lives. Know this, it sucks, it’s hard, and it’s not something anyone should ever have to experience. Period. So glad my stay here is limited. Praise be to Jesus.
You Are Valuable
Sitting in church and the pastor continues the sermon series on our place in the church. It was very powerful…for someone like me.
The first bullet point was – “I am a VALUABLE part of the church”
If you don’t know my background, then this may seem like a no-brainer, but for me, this was a very powerful statement and the scripture that backed it up really helped enforce what I’ve known all along, but that others have been hesitant to grasp on to.
See, I was kicked out of my last church. I had given 6 years of service and was an integral part of the team and leadership. I was valuable to them…until I was no longer like them. I was easily tossed aside and someone else filled my role simply because they didn’t understand my medical condition, and to them, it was an abomination.
Sitting in church, listening to the pastor talk about being a valuable part of the church helped solidify something that I’ve had to work on, on my own (with the Spirit’s leading of course). For more than a year, I lived under the guise that I was only valuable as long as I kept the status quo. I was only valuable as long as I lived a life that others deemed sanctified, no matter what God was calling me to.
Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who empowers them all in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. (1 Cor 12:4-7 ESV)
Not everyone is the same or will have the same callings, gifting, journeys, or activities. I’ve a very special calling on my life simply because of who I am, who I was made to be. Very few women can claim to be born with male genetic material and sprout life with another woman. I am blessed in this way. Not every person can speak to those who the church has cast out, in the name of misinterpreted sin, and offer a word of life to breathe new blood into their veins. I am blessed in this way. I am valuable to the body because I’m willing to go and love on those the church won’t (the back 40 as my friend Monica likes to call it).
You are Christ’s body—that’s who you are! You must never forget this. Only as you accept your part of that body does your “part” mean anything. (1 Cor 12:27 MSG)
I love the way that verse is worded. It brings forth the spirit of the words in that verse. There are a lot of people who think all the body parts should be the same, and if they aren’t, are only worthy to be cast aside as if they are not legit. What’s worse is doing it in the name of sin and calling the person “wayward”. But people’s words and thoughts don’t change the absolute truth. The truth is that you are valuable to the church, just as you are. Jesus didn’t die for us so we would have a blueprint for how to clean ourselves up. No. He died and rose again, defeating death, so that we could come as we are and be used by Him in the way He made us, for the purpose set forth before the beginning of time.
Selah.
These Bags I Will Always Carry
I didn’t ask for these bags, but I will carry them for the rest of my life.
I didn’t ask to be designated male at birth. I didn’t ask to be given the body of a male and the brain structure of a female. I didn’t ask for a boy name, or boy clothes, or boy toys, or any of that. It was all just shoved onto me as I was forced to move down the conveyor belt of life.
Most of the bags I am getting rid of. Some of them will never go away, as if they are grafted on to me forever in this life. I’m not mad at anyone for giving them to me. They were doing what they thought was right. I’m slightly disturbed that we as a society are barely coming around to finding solutions that fit everyone in, even if not everyone likes them.
Having to tell your child’s doctor that you are her biological father (even though their 5 senses detect a woman), because you don’t fit neatly into their boxes of mother (she has one of those), step-mother (nope, not daughter by marriage), or any other type of woman related to this child, is humiliating at best. It’s one of those bags that you pick up along the way and never can put down again. Why can’t I just be her “other” mother, and leave it at that? A mother. A woman, a female, who has a child that she loves and is legally responsible for.
I can hear the “mean” people in my head now. You ARE her father, get over it. You’re a man, not a woman. You’ll never be a real woman. They’re not mean because they speak untruths. Some of the things they say are true. They’re mean because they have no tact when they open their mouths and they refuse to learn the world isn’t as black and white as they would like. They are just some of the people trying to pile your bags back on you.
One day, medical science will figure out how to properly splice the genes together to create a viable embryo from two men or two women. When that day comes, society will have to once again be put face to face with it’s labels and be forced to reconsider them, or fight to the last breath to make people conform to the labels. My only hope is that society recognizes that labels are created by people, people are not created for labels.
My First Mother’s Day
I sat there in awe with tears streaming down my face.
No, I didn’t hurt myself and I’m not sad. In fact, I’m extremely happy and feel so loved, like I’ve never felt love before.
Yesterday was my first Mother’s Day. Now you’re probably thinking one of two things. Either I’m a new parent, or I’m crazy. Well neither is true. However, this celebration is different because it actually means something.
I’ve been celebrated as a parent in the past, but as a father. In fact, I’ve had 12 Father’s Day celebrations where I was the guest of honor. However, they didn’t mean much to me. I mean, it was nice to be celebrated, but the reality is it didn’t resonate with me. I didn’t feel like a father. I didn’t know what it meant to be a father. Sure I knew what it meant, superficially, because of what others told me and what society tells us, but I never felt anything, felt it inside in my heart.
Yesterday, it was just a little different.
Yesterday was my first Mother’s Day. Even though my children were with their birth mother and celebrating her, it was okay, because I know she did the hard work of pushing them out while all I did was stand next to her and bark numbers at her so she could focus on the number of short breaths she needed to take in between pushes. She deserved to have them on this day of joy and I have no problem with that.
The real issue that hit me like a ton of bricks was the unexpected flood of beautiful words that hit my Facebook page. My mother wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day. My dad and his girlfriend wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day. My aunt (not legally my aunt anymore) even wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day. All the love and support washed over me like a tsunami of emotions as I sat there reading the words and then breaking out in a barrage of tears. Happy tears.
For once, a day set aside to intentionally celebrate one of our parents, Mother’s Day, meant something to me as a parent. This is my new normal. This must be what all mothers feel when their children and family and friends celebrate them as a person who was gifted with little lives to speak into, breathe into, invest into.
It meant so much more to me because it was so much more on so many more levels. I was cherished as a parent. I was cherished as a mother. But most importantly, I was seen, recognized, and cherished as a woman.
Shedding Shadows 