Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

When a Haircut Is a Kick in the Sack

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I stood in the kitchen with my husband putting groceries away. My oldest child and I had just arrived home from a trip to town for some food essentials, plus a trip to the Barber Shop.

“I wasn’t prepared for that,” he whispered, while pointing into the other room. “It was like a kick in the sack.”

He looked down, at a loss for words, but none were needed for me. I knew exactly how he felt. I had felt the same emotions watching the first haircut nine months ago, and again today, as the barber took the hair down to the scalp, the shortest it had ever been. It was grief, plain and simple, yet not simple enough for others to understand what I mean.

I see the news stories, read the articles, gape at the vitriol on social media. I can’t say I understand the current political environment, but I do see it. And it frightens me. The commentary often centers on the parents of a transgender teen. Like, how dare they abuse their child in that way?! I can say this wasn’t my idea, nor my husband’s. It wasn’t society, the leftist’s agenda, or even TikTok to blame. It just happened. My beautiful, confident daughter started puberty and hated what her body was becoming. She didn’t know why. But she did know that death seemed better than existing in a body that she didn’t feel was her own. Fast-forward through months of therapy following suicidal ideation and self-harm, and you come to this place where you shop for clothes in the boy’s section for the first time. Something so simple, a request granted that brings that first smile in six months or more. Strange.

I guess people only see the end result, not the agony that brought you there. They see the proud, yet hesitant announcement, but don’t see the tears shed behind closed doors.

I love being a girl mom. My husband is amazing at being outnumbered, so gentle, loving, and strong. I love the pink, frilly dresses, and learning how to french braid all that long, blond hair. I can remember three Christmases ago begging my oldest to please wear the matching dresses I had picked out for photos, “for your mom, please.” Now, no dresses remain in the closet for him. Him. The child I now call son.

Fathers dream of walking their daughter down the aisle. Mothers dream of their daughter having children, so they might share that bond of parenthood that childbirth brings. My husband and I are grieving those things. We’re close to the year mark of when Chloe asked to be called Noah, but for us, it’s still like it’s yesterday that we laughed at little feet clopping around in pink, plastic heels. We no longer say the non-preferred name or pronoun, but we do still have ton of brick, kick to the sack moments. Those moments where, to no decision of our own, we have packed away the dreams for our daughter, replacing them with hopes for our son. It’s a surreal feeling, a loss of sorts. We chose to lose our daughter in gender, rather than to lose her all together physically. We cried for our daughter who wanted to die, and now we laugh with our son who made the brave decision to live.

To live in a world that hates him! I think that’s what worries us the most. I shared with him last night the recent stories and posts I had seen about Dylan Mulvaney and Bud Light backlash.

I said, “I hesitated telling you because I want to protect you from a cruel world that hates you, but I also knew that for your awareness and safety, we have to talk about these things. You have to be careful. There are people out there who will hurt you.”

And I didn’t just mean emotionally.

What parent allows their child to make a decision that could get them killed?

What child makes a monumental choice to become the most hated, most judged, most incorrectly labeled (eg, pedophile) people group of all times?!

We got hens recently. My husband was going to pick one up, and in her scurrying, frantic fear, that ole hen put her head through the fence hole and tried to break her own neck! That’s what I think of when I consider the past year (more than) of our life. Our child was frantic, confused, and fearful. Our baby would have rather died than live an identity that didn’t feel authentic to him. My husband had to gently calm that chicken, and we had to gently love our firstborn, whether he went by his birth name or not, whether he ever wore a dress again, whether he got haircuts at the barber that were severely masculine. That didn’t mean they weren’t still a kick in the sack.

I reckon folks forget that part. They’re so focused on blaming the parents for bad parenting, that they neglect the emotional toll that led to this place. They’re so busy making something a battle to fight, where one doesn’t exist, that they miss the war raging in the minds of suicidal, transgender kids. They forget that whether a boy wears a dress, or a girl gets a shaved head, that inside them that beautiful soul is the same. That is one thing that keeps us steady in the sea of the uncertainty and worry that is being a parent of a transgender child.

There are questions you ask yourself. Like, will they one day decide to be the assigned gender at birth again? But for now, the answer doesn’t matter. What matters is how we love them now. We love them through those inner thoughts of “my daughter is gone,” and we love them through all the kicks in the sack. I love him as I look at old photos, seeing a daughter that used to be. I love him because even though my daughter is gone, my son is here. He is happy, healthy, and smiling. For now, that is enough.

What Do I Have to Be Thankful For?!

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I baste the bird, liquid butter with bits of garlic poured out over the bulging breasts of our Thanksgiving turkey. My eyes burn as I go about the task, gritty from lack of sleep after sitting in the psych hold of the local ER all night, but more so still on fire after so many torrents of tears spent. Rivers of tears over driving to the hospital with my child, but leaving without them.

Thanksgiving, a time to reflect on the gifts we have been given. Opting to celebrate the holiday early since I’d spend the actual day at work, I had planned to put the turkey in the oven at 2am. But it turns out that at 2am I was tossing and turning in a rigid recliner pulled alongside my son’s stretcher, wrapping a blanket tighter around my ears to cushion the sound of nurses’ laughter or the cursing screams from the head-banging, combative neighbor next door.

How many times have I cried to the Lord, “am I doing the right thing? Give me wisdom!”

I slide the buttery bird back in its heated cave. We have to eat, right?! The planned dinner, with side dishes still sitting at the ready in the refrigerator, prepped the preceding night, before I knew what lay ahead. What were we actually celebrating, anyway?!

In the lone room of the child and adolescent inpatient wing, sitting in an abnormally large, yet childlike chair, I wept into my wrinkled sweatshirt while they searched my baby in another room for hidden objects that could cause self harm. I cried out to my inner thoughts, “please tell me I’m doing the right thing!”

Today could have started very differently, it occurred then to me. I wasn’t simply thinking about an appetizing spread ready on the dining room table by noon. I was thinking of trying to wake my son to eat, but instead of being greeted by his sleepy grumbles, being confronted with his cold, blue flesh. That is how today could have started.

Instead… instead, the Holy Spirit had prompted him to come to me.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, after sitting criss-cross, apple sauce on the bathroom floor, “but I’m afraid it will make you sad.”

“You can tell me anything!”

Thankfully, he did.

What a week it’s been. Last week brought frightening messages while I worked, of feeling disconnected and unreal, a stranger in another’s body. Walking out in the cold rain just to feel something, anything.

Two nights ago brought self-harm, six horizontal cuts on his left, inner calf, driven to “scratch a nagging itch” that refused to abate until the damage was done.

I’ve always considered us blessed that Noah feels so comfortable coming to us about everything, but even I was surprised by the extremely detailed plan of suicide he had concocted, and shared with me in the bright lights of our bathroom last night. He had planned on waiting until we were all asleep, ensuring we would be none the wiser until finding his body this morning.

I pull the browning bird out at determined intervals, coating its skin with flavorful moisture. What do I have to be thankful for?! As I prepare a meal of Thanksgiving, sans my firstborn present. He is not here, but he will be.

He is not at the table today, but he will be for all the tomorrows. My baby is alive, and after facing the plan to end Thanksgivings forever, and Christmases to boot, he decided to stay. To reach out for a lifeline, to feel better, to cling to that thread of hope that must still be there somewhere. I have a lot to be thankful for.

It didn’t feel that way as I left him at the hospital. He cried, “don’t leave me,” and I probably would not have had the staff not ushered me away. Gosh, y’all, this is hard. It’s hard to spend a year trying to pull your baby out of darkness, and finally realizing you cannot do it alone. It’s hard trying to do your best, to make the right decisions, to follow the advice of the many mental healthcare professionals invested in your child’s future, yet still feeling like a piece of your innermost being is lost in a dark forest of sadness and dismay. Can I leave breadcrumbs to bring him back? Is there a way back to the happy child I remember? Can I feel peace amidst so much turmoil? Maybe that’s the real breadcrumbs in the stuffing we will eat. Peace knowing that we are not alone.

In fact, that is the last thing I whispered to Noah before I had to leave, “you are not alone.”

Love the Sinner, Not the Sin? My Journey with Homosexuality.

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I recently received a comment on my most recent blog post, where I had detailed the experience of my transgender son. I must say, the comment was written so kindly and compassionately, which I truly appreciated. In fact, it reminded me of something I might have written five years ago; I’ve always been the loving kind. I realized I wanted to respond the best I could to this comment, but that I also had a lot to unpack to answer it thoroughly. Hence, I’ve decided to write about my journey as a Jesus-loving, charismatic, Evangelical Christian, who has come to support and affirm the LGBTQ community.

I could regurgitate things I’ve read from other authors who support the LGBTQ community, but that would not be genuine nor authentic. In fact, it would be no better than the people who reject LGBTQ, by spouting off the things they’ve learned, been taught, or read throughout the years. Instead I want to tell you my personal journey, my thoughts, and how I went from one place to another over time. I will share links to articles or sermons I’ve found helpful, but overall this is simply me putting my heart out there for you. Please try not to trample it too harshly, and provide me some grace as I try and explain.

Love the sinner, not the sin. This is a phrase I’ve always heard, and one I used to ascribe to as totally credible. But now, I’m not so sure how that works. I cannot seem to reconcile how you love someone completely and unconditionally, yet simultaneously tell them that their feelings, desires, and sense of self are wrong, and an abomination to their Father who loves them.

I think I first really started questioning the topic of homosexuality from a Christian point of view around three years ago. I can recall watching Grey’s Anatomy with my husband, and two men were kissing. He exclaimed, “ughh. Gross.”

I replied, “I don’t think you should say that sort of thing. If the children are in the room, especially. We don’t want the kids associating gay people with the idea of disgusting.”

He was convicted, and very quickly agreed with me it was wrong. I never heard him say anything like that going forward. See, we both knew that all human beings are created by God, and worthy of being ascribed as such. To label, name call, or use derogatory terms to an individual is not ascribing worth to them as a beloved child of God. Listen, my husband is a great guy, but looking back, I think responses like those were built into his character over time due to environmental factors. If you exist in an environment where homosexuality is seen as wrong, against God, and abnormal, it’s hard not to have bias. I’ll just say this… I believe my husband and I have both grown drastically in the past few years, and in a positive direction.

But back to my questioning. Noticing the negative behavior of others towards LGBTQ ran parallel to my soul searching for how exactly a Christian was to respond. I definitely loved the “sinner,” but I wasn’t sure how I could love someone and say, “what you’re doing is wrong. It is not of God. The way you feel is an abomination.”

Because, if the sexual and romantic attraction gay people felt wasn’t from God, then where did it come from? The devil? How did you go about explaining to someone their innermost desires were demonic? The whole thing just didn’t coincide for me. I couldn’t wrap my head around how the Jesus I was so close in relationship with would want such a large percentage of people feeling helpless, hopeless, and worthless.

First, I believe gay people are born that way. You can speak with them and discover their same-sex attraction came in childhood, and it’s a falsehood that some sort of abuse or trauma has always occurred to bring about these feelings. I have spent many hours reading peer-reviewed, scientific research from accredited sources that document the numerous hormonal functions occurring in utero that develop gender identity and sexual attraction. The body is far too complex to place it into the neat little boxes we did before anatomical and physiological knowledge advanced to the current degree. But even if you don’t want to read and learn about the processes at play in the womb to determine sexual orientation, a simple thought occurred to me. Why would anyone choose to be the target of judgment, hatred, bigotry, and violence? As a child growing up in a Christian home especially, why would said child make a decision that ostracized them from friends, family, and the faith they enjoy? They don’t.

So, let’s keep going. Let’s say a child discovers at a young age they have same-sex attraction. Let’s say they are raised in a Christian home, and they are raised and taught that same-sex attraction is a big, no-no sin. Where does this child go from here? How do they proceed going forward?

Many will keep their sexual orientation a secret, for fear of losing relationships. Many become depressed, anxious, suicidal, and actively self-harm. This was my child at the beginning of 2022.

My trans son had been raised that homosexuality was wrong. We have always tried to be very loving. Remember, love the sinner, right? Well, when my child was entering puberty and began to ask questions, we’d answer. When my child asked his dad about gay people, he said, “they’re wrong, but we love them anyway.” Or when asking about transgender people and their salvation, my husband answered, “I think they can go to heaven as believers, but their heavenly body will be the one God originally made it to be.” Again, as parents you answer your children’s questions the best way you know how, based on what you were taught, and often how you were raised. This year, my husband and I have been humbled enough to realize we don’t know all the answers, but we do know how to proceed with the love of Jesus as our plumbline .

But more to the point of my questioning, that began years before it hit my home personally, my concern was how you can raise healthy, emotionally intact humans if you are insisting their feelings of sexual orientation or gender identity are something to be ashamed of, something to hide, or something to strive to change? How do you love someone well, but simultaneously tell them that who they are at the core of their being is despicable? Again, it didn’t gel. It didn’t feel right in my spirit. And it certainly didn’t seem like behavior I would see in Jesus.

A few years ago I first read an article by Sarah Bessey, which I’ll link to here. It’s lengthy, but then again, so is my post here. This is simply too complex of an issue to shortchange, but if you’re in a place of questioning like I was, it’s a good place to start. Reading it didn’t flip a switch in my brain. I suppose like the article suggests, my penny was still in the air.

What I did know was that the mismatch between saying you love someone, and showing it through your actions, was enough of a difference that I couldn’t speak on the subject. I just didn’t know. My whole life, to be told something is bad, but then to experience such turmoil over how I could react to someone like Christ would, in light of it.

So, to catch-up where we’re at… I believed on a scientific level that same-sex attraction and gender identity were complex issues not just related to environmental factors, but also genetic and hormonal ones in utero. I had determined people were born that way. Secondly, I couldn’t understand how it was possible to tell someone born gay or transgender, “yeah, I get you can’t help it, but if you wanna get to heaven, you either gotta change, or deny yourself the very things I take for granted. Like, falling in love, getting married, and raising a family.” Forced celibacy or conversion therapy (which fyi, has proven more harmful than effective).

What about the Bible? God’s word! Well, let’s go there. First, I will link to an article/video sermon by a smart guy named Matthew Vines who is Christian and gay. He spent years studying scripture and breaking it down to write this book, titled God and the Gay Christian.

But forgetting one man’s interpretation, if you will, I would like to suggest that for many people who are against LGBTQ, they are basing this off a handful of scriptures they’ve been told about, and not necessarily basing it on their knowledge of the Bible in its entirety. When you can read the Bible from front to back, ruminating over scripture, allowing the Holy Spirit to speak to you in spirit and truth, and running your every action, thought, and decision through the filter of Christ-likeness, you might find you learn a lot of things. In fact, it changes your heart. I’m not suggesting that since I’ve done this that I know everything. I don’t! I mentioned earlier that my husband and I have admitted we don’t know all the answers. But we do have a beautiful, fundamental, dependent relationship with Jesus that steers everything we do. We allow Jesus to guide our future (where we live), our finances, our family, and most importantly to take our fear and anxieties.

Another important part of Biblical study is to understand the historical context in which many things were written. I absolutely believe the Bible is the living word of God. I also believe the books were written by men (that were definitely inspired by God), but also limited by their finite nature and societal norms. For example, Paul and Timothy have instruction for us about women not speaking in church, or slaves obeying their masters. Slavery has been abolished, and women’s rights have increased since this text was written. To be a scholar and study the word, you must understand context of situations and societal norms when they were written. This is why I don’t have to go live outside my house when I’m on my menstral cycle, or why I’m allowed to work while my husband stays at home with the children. It’s why people aren’t being stoned in the street still when they have an affair. We cannot cherry-pick one verse and use it as God’s command if we’re going to ignore other verses. We do not have the authority to pick which verses are most important based on our political stance. In fact, I believe Jesus told us the greatest command from the Father, and if you don’t know it, shoot me a message. But I’ll tell you, it’s what drives this blog.

So, yes, I place so much value in the word of God. It drives my life! I believe that Jesus loves us. I am supportive and affirming of the LGBTQ community. It’s my belief in Jesus and the word of God that has brought me to this place. This wasn’t happenstance, hasty, or without hours and hours of prayers, asking for God’s wisdom. This has been an evolution (or rather, love-induced growth) of my faith over the past few years, and it isn’t just about the LGBTQ community. The character and love of Jesus has changed my opinion on minorities, immigrants, and the marginalized. The least of these. The one out of the 99. Jesus spoke of justice, but not to defend the religious. He spoke of inviting those outside the gates to the wedding feast, and in a world that seems to be focusing on us versus them, it’s totally anti-kingdom to do otherwise. Following Christ isn’t a club membership, where we pick and choose who can come inside based on what they wear, who they love, or where they were born. It’s an open invitation, and God never asked us to be the bouncers at the door.

When you read the Bible as the beautiful love story it is intended to be, you’ll see how the law first came in the Old Testament to help us rid ourselves of sin and death. But no one, absolutely no one could keep it. Jesus came with a New Covenant. He came not just to save the people of Israel, but the Gentiles as well. When the apostles first suggested it wasn’t necessary to circumcise, people lost their gourds. When John said it was okay to eat meat from pigs, people scoffed. When Jesus refused to throw stones at an adulteress, or insisted on restoring the cut ear of the guard who came to arrest Him, His followers were shocked. God is good at bringing us back to Him, and that doesn’t always look like we think it should. But He said that He came to save all mankind, so who are we to cause people pain and in the process push them from His table?

Above anything, I want my children to know Jesus, and to understand the freedom from fear and death they have through Him. I couldn’t imagine how I could tell my child, Jesus loves you unconditionally, except you need to not be gay or transgender, because then you’ll probably burn in hell, I think. Like, wouldn’t that be conditional love?! Isn’t that how we humans end up loving? “I love this man, but if he doesn’t pick up his dirty socks or wash more dishes, I’m done.” We have to stop loving “sinners” like humans love, and start loving all mankind (as we’re all sinners) as Jesus loves. Without stipulation.

My husband said to me the other night, “I don’t know if what I’m doing is right, but I do know that when I stand before the Lord, if I’m wrong, my decisions were made in love. I just don’t see God holding that against me.”

What a wonderful thought. The Lord doesn’t tell us to decipher every sin possible, arrange them in order of importance, and then be the Gatekeepers of being good. But He does tell us to love our neighbor as ourself. If I have missed the mark on some verses, but I’ve loved completely, I don’t believe He will cast me away for trying.

This is My Son

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I recently shared a picture of my twelve year old on social media. I’ve always been so proud of all my children, in all their uniqueness and particular strengths, and this post was no different. My pre-teen has emerged as a very talented crafter and seamstress/tailor, and I wanted to share the latest creation. But as I looked back at the post, I realized I wasn’t being genuine. I deleted the photo because I realized I was purposely avoiding using the pronouns and the name my child had chosen. Until I could proudly share my child, I didn’t want to share at all. So, I deleted the post.

Don’t throw your pearls to swine. This is the words of Jesus, and it’s one reason I had not openly discussed my child. I knew that those who don’t know or see our hearts would judge, and judge us harshly, but there comes also a time to stand proudly for what you know God is doing, to dispel long-held traditions of men, and to elevate the love of God above all things.

My last blog post spoke honestly about the struggles through depression and anxiety my eldest child has experienced this year. If you missed it, I’ll include a link here. I basically eluded to the fact that my child was questioning who they were, but that most importantly, my husband and I knew only to love them through it.

A common saying among Christians at large is, “God doesn’t make mistakes.” As a general statement, yes, I would agree, but it misses the fact that we currently exist in a broken world. In this brokenness we see sickness and death. We hold tight to an eternity where these things will be no more, but until then we cling to our faith in a Savior who carries us through the complexities of a broken world.

When a child is born with their intestines on the outside of their body, do we say, “God doesn’t make mistakes?” No. Instead we fix the problem that occurred in utero. Why did this anomaly occur?! Because this world is broken. But God has given us the ability to right some of the wrongs, but more importantly, His Holy Spirit to guide and carry us through the rest.

As my child began to question their gender identity, as a wise woman of God, I prayed and I learned. I devoured articles (the scholarly, peer-reviewed ones, rather than YouTube “experts”) about the complexities of development in the womb. As a woman of science and faith, I could understand that while God knew my child as He formed them in the womb, we also existed in a plane of earth where mismatches happened as it all knit together. The development of sexual organs was only a small piece of the greater puzzle of hormones developing in utero to cause a sense of one’s being and self. The important part to me was, my loving child’s spirit was the same one God placed in my womb; secondary was the mismatch that happened as the human body developed.

After that, I began to seek the Lord about how I should respond now. My child who loved Jesus and us didn’t love themself. They didn’t love themself because they felt as if their body had betrayed them. On the outside my child was developing breasts and curvy hips, but on the inside he felt quite different. I will never be able to explain to you how it feels to watch your child fall into a pit of despair, feeling like they are abnormal, a mistake, and broken. But God doesn’t make mistakes. And we had to come to that realization as a family.

My child had stopped smiling, and it broke my heart to pieces. Yet I watched the glow return bit by bit as he opened his heart to us about who he felt himself to be in spirit. A boy. I watched the glint of his sweet spirit return as I took him to get a boy haircut, and even more as I replaced his female wardrobe with male clothing. I still hold dearly in my heart the first night I looked down at my feet, at my child wearing his first outfit bought from the boys’ section, and seeing his genuine smile that had been absent for so long. Up until that moment I had still been questioning if I was doing this parenting thing right, but as I saw that smile I thought had been lost forever, I knew in my heart, “you’re doing the right thing.”

I don’t expect most of you to understand, and that’s ok. You cannot begin to fathom the heartfelt, hard conversations my husband and I have had alone together. You will never understand the cries and laments I have spoken to The Father. You aren’t here. You cannot know my son’s beautiful heart, and how I watched it almost disappear, yet through God’s grace and wisdom given to us in how to parent him, we’ve been gifted to see him emerge stronger and more resilient. Authentically himself.

I don’t expect you to understand, but if you’re a part of our lives, I do expect your love and support. If my precious son is met with anything but that, I will cut you out for his sake. Just being honest. We have had so many conversations about this, me and him. After all, who would choose to embrace a lifestyle that would make them the target of judgment, hate, ridicule, or even violence? No one. But this is who he is. God doesn’t make mistakes, and I’m so glad He chose us to be the parents of this boy. We were made for this, and to give him the support and love he needs to survive, and also thrive.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was certain it was a son. Ben and I decided to call him Noah, and this is the name my child has now chosen. I think a common misconception in Christian circles is the influence of the world, The Left, or whatever you want to call it. We, as Christians, are taught to protect our children from this. In the past, Ben and I wouldn’t let the girls watch cartoons with same-sex partnerships, and we didn’t allow the girls on social media. We homeschooled, and ran in our Christian circles. But if your kid gets on a computer and questions things like, “why do I not feel like a girl” or “why do I want to die,” they will find the answers to why they feel so abnormal. I think they need to find the answers in these cases, and I’m grateful God gave us the wisdom to allow Noah to discover this for himself. We are seeing a therapist, a psychiatrist, an endocrinologist, and a whole slew of providers understanding of how my son was formed in the outward body of a female, but filled with the hormones inside his body that make him identify as male.

The psychiatrist told me last week, “I am honestly amazed at how well you and your husband are handling this. Noah will be years ahead of his trans peers emotionally because of your love and support.”

She went on to explain the emotionally and mentally broken adults she saw who had not received the love they needed from their family. It made me feel good to know I was loving my baby through the hardest experience imaginable, and that he would not have to go through such a difficult thing alone. He had our love.

This won’t be a surprise to some of you, and to those I trust to love us unconditionally, I’ve already shared it. But I realized that I’m a big-loving momma, and to love my baby the best, I have to be honest and genuine. Noah has also been wanting to come out to everyone. Can you imagine having to hide who you are for fear of ridicule?! We agreed that I could write this post letting you know, this is my son, Noah. He is exceptional, bright, and quirky. He’s autistic (which is common in gender identity children), and his heart is beautiful. I’ve seen the ugly-hearted things people on social media say about the transgender community, but know that your ignorance will not break him. His heart is strong, and his family is a barrier of God’s love around him. It is your choice whether to be a part of that love we share. Regardless, I am proud to say, this is my son. This is Noah. The same he has always been. Just a little different.

Please Be My Strength

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I was driving down a picturesque stretch of scenic road, by myself, listening to music. The sun was shining, vast green pastureland stretched out to either side, and in the distance large mountains looked down upon me. The words from the car radio caught my attention.

“Please be my strength.”

I lifted my right hand into the air; a charismatic Christian, worship regular, signaling my agreement and reaching for my Jesus. Then it struck me. He wasn’t somewhere up above, beyond my extended hand. He was here. In my car. I looked over at the seemingly empty passenger seat, and I imagined my Savior riding shotgun (even though He always has the wheel). I stretched out my hand into the side seat, rather than the air, and I closed my hand around His, our fingers intertwining.

Please be my strength.

I can categorically and emphatically say that the past year of my life, basically 2022 in its entirety, has been the most difficult of my life. Harder than bootcamp, tougher than an unexpected divorce in my late twenties, and even more stressful than being an ICU nurse in the height of a pandemic.

I’ll stop here to warn you. If you don’t know me personally, understand and be aware that I’m going to share very personal things. If you think you will possibly read my outpouring with judgement, perhaps you should just stop right here. This post has been on my mind for a few weeks, but it’s been difficult for me to share my inner turmoil with not only trolls hiding behind anonymous computer screens, but also, and sadly for the most part, because of the people close to me who judge me the harshest. Maybe you should stop reading here.

You can always think you will know how to react to a situation, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know little to nothing. As a young woman who only dreamed of children, I imagined how I would parent. Then I actually had children, and it all went out the window. Most of it, anyway. I got the epidural instead of a natural childbirth, and I co-slept rather than letting my baby cry it out in their crib. I never had the time for every night bedtime stories, and I’ve yet to start a single college fund. Sigh.

The enormity of what I don’t know about parenting, or life in general for that matter, crashed upon my head shortly after Christmas. My oldest, natural born child, my eleven year old started to change overnight. She gave her fidgets away, and she decided she hated the color pink. She started spending more time in her room, and stopped swimming in our pool, or even going outside to play with the neighborhood children. I had seen her height increase dramatically, her hips begin to take shape, while her waist thinned. Along came the budding breasts and hair in places they shouldn’t be for an eleven year old, in my humble, late-bloomer opinion. So, I blamed it all on hormones.

Sure enough, she started the dreaded red wave of womanhood shortly thereafter, and I thought, “maybe this will be a sweet release to the angst she has been feeling.” But that was only the beginning of the tsunami that was heading our way.

In the middle of pre-teen distress, our family, like most of yours, I’m sure, was experiencing a changing economy. It was getting harder to keep the pantry full for a family of five on a single income. I couldn’t help people like I had gotten used to doing, barely having enough extra to financially float my own family. I had taken a job away from bedside nursing to rest my Nightingale wings, but we decided as a family, I could get more bang for my buck by going back to the trenches. At the time, the best paying job was three hours away. No problem. It would only be for a short, three months, to get us back on our feet.

We all hated it! There is a big difference between coming home from your twelve hour shift to your family, and coming home to an empty, one bedroom tiny house. And while the quiet was blissful the first week, it quickly lost its shimmer. The driving back and forth on my off days was exhausting, and then there was the little issue of life upending hundreds of miles away.

We prayed and sought the Lord over the decision of that job, and despite the difficulty, I do believe it was God’s will for me to be alone in that little cabin. See, He was working on me too. I’m a fixer. That’s what I do. At work, and at home. But what do you do when you can’t fix it? I look back now understanding that the little rental house I stayed in three days a week, it was my green pasture. The place I had to lay in while I gave my lambs to the shepherd. If I would have been there, I know I’d have been trying to yield my rod and staff all over everything, forgetting where my strength came from.

Remember the pre-teen angst? Well, it was more than that. I knew it. There was new anxiety. I’m talking about hyperventilating, arms breaking out in hives, absolute panic in crowds, anxiety. Where did it come from?! Why was my formerly, social butterfly unable to walk in Aldi without having to stop and deep breathe?!

There was depression. Real depression. Sadness so deep that it was like a thick fog, and I could barely see my baby through the darkness of it. I recognized the mood. It was one I knew too well, on a personal level, but also a familial one.

This part of our journey was probably the most frustrating for me. When I reached out to trusted people I loved about my baby, I wasn’t met with the support I expected. I actually felt quite the opposite. It seems my child’s battle with anxiety and depression was simply a spiritual attack that I had the power to stop. All it took was some laying on hands. And don’t forget, the doorway to my daughter for Satan to harm her was my own doing. I was/must be allowing things into our home that opened the spiritual realm for my child to be attacked.

I love Jesus. I believe in forces of darkness and principalities of evil. I believe in prayer, I believe in deliverance, and I believe in healing. Truly. I also believe in science, a God-given knowledge of how our bodies work, sometimes against us, and how God gave mankind the tools both spiritually and physically to combat these issues. I was a suicide attempt survivor. I had a grandfather kill himself, and a mother who tried to end her life many times from my childhood up into my early thirties. That kind of family history will have you well versed on generational curses, but also heredity and chemical imbalances in the brain.

Had I not prayed countless hours every day for my child?! Had my husband and I not laid hands on our child, sought healing, but also wisdom for what (if anything) in our environment and home was causing a problem?! Of course we had. I had not stopped praying and crying daily in the shower for months. I thought of my own battle with anxiety and depression, and how I spent years trying to pray harder, read my Bible more, and call out the forces of darkness bringing me down. It was not until I sat in the bathtub on Christmas Eve, wishing I could go to sleep and never wake up, that I sought the help of a doctor. It shook me that a blessed woman, with an amazing husband and adored children would want to die on the happiest day of the year. It shook me to think that I had waited so long, and I vowed to do everything I could for my baby.

Against the advice of well-meaning guidance, I took my child to a therapist. Every week, out of pocket, since most insurances don’t consider mental health a needed health benefit, but that’s a topic for a whole other blog.

I’ll stop here to apologize, as this is getting longer than I anticipated, but I did tell you I haven’t shared in a while. So, let’s get to the message.

I get a message, at work, just before it was time to give report to the oncoming shift, and it was a message that rocked my world. I have been blessed with a relationship with my child where she tells me everything. So, it was killing her to keep her pain a secret, and that day she told me she had been hurting herself. She sent photos of cuts she had made into her arm. She asked me not to be mad! Mad?! I just wanted to hold her!

I drove 40 minutes to my little house, after my 3rd twelve hour shift, packed a quick bag and drove the three hours home. I cried to my sister on the phone (hands-free), while driving through a tropical storm, and later thanked God I didn’t mess up my car when I hit that median. The downpour had been so torrential, and the night so dark, but I had to get home.

I cried incredulous tears to my sister. Why was this happening to my baby?! Didn’t this sort of thing only happen to foster kids in a bad situation, or abused kids, or kids with bad relationships with their parents?! My child had not experienced any kind of trauma. I knew this to be true. Why was this happening?

As a side-note, I’ll add here, that I have since learned how common self harm is in teens. My child has even shared with me other girls, from good, “Christian,” happy homes, who have admitted to her they cut also. They had not told their mother, so I guess I had that going for me. Hey, you hang on to any little thing you can in these situations.

This wasn’t the end. More conversations revealed more issues. Suicidal ideation. We hid sharp objects, called doctors, had emergency sessions with the therapist. It had been spiraling to this out of control moment, but it wouldn’t stop spinning. It kept going.

There were bright moments. Her neurologist believing her puberty had changed how her seizure medicine affected her, causing the suicidal ideation and self harm. Us getting off the medicine, her brain scan being free of seizure activity (making a new medicine unnecessary), and the emergence out of that darkness that tried to take her. But still, there was more. I could see it.

When you are raised in an Evangelical Christian environment, you’re taught how to handle certain situations. You’re taught about sin, but there is also major focus on particular sins that are especially heinous. The ones that we stand on a firm foundation to fight for. Other sins can be pushed to the side. I mean, they’re still “bad,” but not worth making a social media post about. My husband and I are both divorced previously, but I cannot recall anyone telling me how disappointed God was in my actions not to reconcile with my ex. You think you know how to handle certain situations, that you have it all figured out, but then it gets personal, and that puts a wrench in everything.

One of my daughter’s disappointments in herself was that she didn’t feel like she belonged. She didn’t feel normal. All her friends and cousins spoke about dating and boys, but she wasn’t interested. “This is normal,” we said. “You’re just a kid.”

But to her it was more. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t interested at the present; the thought of ever being a woman romantically or sexually attracted to a man seemed inconceivable to her. It seemed off. It seemed “not her.” We had entered a period of her trying to understand why she felt so different, and honestly, this place of questioning and sharing is what brought my baby out of her dark place. I’d like to think my loving counsel was a help, and I’m sure the therapy and psychiatrist were a benefit, but I believe in my heart that her honest questions and seeking of her true self brought about the emergence.

In Christian circles you are taught how to approach the subject of LGBTQ. You “love the sinner but hate the sin!” But there’s a problem that surfaces when this happens to someone you love more than yourself.

You start to wonder, “how can I love them best? How can I say I love you in one breath, but tell them what they feel in their heart, mind, and soul is wrong, in the next breath? How can I show the love of Jesus best? How can I respond to this situation without crushing the spirit of this child I would literally die for?”

Tough questions. A tough year. In the end, you love the only way you know how. All in. In the middle, you question everything you’ve ever been told. You read scripture, study, pray, have long talks with your spouse, and come to a place of acceptance, of unconditional love for your child, no matter their gender identity or sexual preference.

I remember a conversation with my husband where we agreed we did not have all the answers. We didn’t know what was right or wrong. I’m gonna tell you… you can imagine you know how to handle issues, but after you’ve discovered your child is so confused and hurting that they would rather die, you start to rethink things. Everything turns upside down, inside out, and pouring from the seams. You question what’s of eternal significance. Is it being right about what is a sin and what is not? Or is it leaving some things to God and admitting your own failings instead? Is it focusing on the spirit nature of us all, regardless of slave, free, man, or woman, and understanding we are all one in Him? Yeah, we didn’t want to mess things up, but we knew our Father held it all in His hands. We knew our job was to love our child, to show them the heart of Jesus, and to leave what we didn’t understand to Him. I was back in that green pasture. And I am there still.

He is my strength. He is love. His love strengthens me, and His love pours out of me. That is good enough for me. To see your child on the edge of a cliff, and then watch them emerge bright, confident, and happy being themselves, is priceless. How could I not support that? I am so proud of my baby. Now and forever.

The Lord Loves Chicken

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The Lord loves chicken, but more than that, He loves people. I was reminded once again how religion stifles that love and how we, as the church, can point out the sawdust in someone’s eye better than anyone. A recent story emerged in the media, and like the good, obedient children we are, we slurped up what the angry masses were serving.

How dare Chick-fil-A back down from their Godly principles and give in to the masses for the sake of money?!

If you missed the hoopla on social media, it seems the popular chicken chain stopped supporting Christian charities. Specifically, it had ceased support of two particular charities with a history of opposing same-sex marriages. So sayeth the media. Articles erupted detailing how the restaurant would no longer be donating to charities that stood in opposition to the LGBTQ community, and we all know how our favorite fast food joint had received flack in the recent past from the Left due to their support of “anti-gay charities.” Had Chick-fil-A finally caved?! Well, that seemed to be the religious sect’s stance. Even politicians came out of the woodwork with their opinions.

Never mind that people are dying of hunger or children as young as eight are being sex trafficked. Let’s focus our energy on fast food politics.

Personally, I first heard this announcement on a news channel in my patient’s hospital room over the weekend. Such an important news story, it seemed. When will we open our eyes to the division the media promotes?

My first thought (as a Southern, Christian Woman who loves Jesus), “oh, I get it. They want to show love without bias. Makes sense.”

Like, I never even thought, oh my gosh. I can’t believe they’re backing down from their convictions! The world is going to Hell in a hand basket!

No, I didn’t see this as a backing down move. I just saw it as a sign of love. I’m reminded of another unpopular opinion I hold as a Southern woman. As a Mississippi native, I am in favor of replacing the state flag of Mississippi. Forever it’s been the Confederate flag, and the majority of my peers from our state desire to hold on to it for reasons of “standing true to their Southern Heritage.” And while I’m all for pride in heritage, moreover I’m all for loving people. If something I “stand for” hurts a large group of people (such as the African American community) then I will lay down my pride in favor of love. Is that so crazy?!

But this post isn’t about flags, rather it’s about our innate ability to become offended about anything. It turns out it wasn’t even like the media made it sound. Chick-fil-A didn’t suddenly withdraw their financial support to appease protestors, but rather restructured their giving when the contractual obligation came due to renew. I mean, I’ve given to Christian radio stations in the past, but as God led me to different areas of giving, I’ve rerouted my funds to say the homeless and shelters for those who have been sex trafficked. Does that mean I no longer stand for Christian music? Of course not.

But even if it was a thing (and not just a media fabrication to cause division among the church), what would be so wrong with a Christian influencer within the community, such as Chick-fil-A deciding it wanted to remove itself from a controversy that made it appear judgmental and uncaring.

You might remember a story from around 2,000 years ago. It seems that this radical lover was causing quite a stir for his association with prostitutes and thieves. You might recall reading about it.

Matthew 9:10-13 (NIV)

10 While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and sinners came and ate with him and his disciples. 11 When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

12 On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. 13 But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’[a] For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

This was my first thought when I heard the story about Chick-fil-A. I didn’t assume they had laid down their guns out of fear or for monetary gain, but rather to break bread (and chicken nuggets, if you will) with everyone who would come to the table. Once there, you can’t help but notice the friendly staff, the faithful favor of God in the business, or that amazing sauce. After all, it’s at the table where Jesus gave of Himself to those around Him, and we as Christians will never be able to pass along His love if we’re making restrictions for the dining hall.

Jesus said, “come to me, all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).

What He didn’t say was, ‘come to me, everybody, but only if you’ve read my laws and are abiding by them completely! Then we can talk.’

If that were the case, I don’t think any of us could come over for dinner. Just saying. You invite folks over; God will take care of the rest.

Listen, I’m all about the Bible. I’m all for calling a sin a sin, and I’m all about standing firm in my convictions. The problem that occurs is we get so caught up in “the law” and pointing out wrong from right that we neglect the awesomeness of grace. We forget that we’re all sinners, unworthy of the gift we’ve been given, but thankfully saved by His great grace. Yet instead of paying forward that mercy that was given us, we pull out the judge’s gavel.

Do y’all remember that parable Jesus told about the master who forgave the huge debt his worker owed him? If not, allow me to summarize. This dude’s debt was totally forgiven, wiped clean and let go. Awesome, right? Well, this same fella comes across a worker of his own who owes him some change, and instead of passing along the grace he was given, he demands repayment. So when the big boss finds out, he locks up the first fella for not forgiving as he was forgiven.

Do you see where this is going?

It’s all good to stand for what you believe, but if you throw stones to do it, what does that say about you? If you can’t open up your table to the folks who are the most hungry, what kind of servant are you?

Don’t let the enemy succeed in separating the children of God. Don’t fall into the trap of the religious Pharisees. Don’t condemn a man with sawdust in his eyes; you’re missing the plank in your own.

The Lord loves chicken, I’m certain He does, but more-so I know for a fact that He loves people. If what we’re doing doesn’t reflect that, then maybe it’s time to change the recipe.

Here’s Your Sign

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I saw this sign outside of a public bathroom in the downtown Orlando area recently, and while I’m sure it’s commonplace in metro areas, it’s actually the first time I had seen this particular pictogram in person. I wasn’t the only one; my nine year old daughter also inquired of its meaning.

“What’s that mean, mom?” She asked, pointing to the half-dress, half-slack clad person.

I measured my words carefully and answered, “there are some people who may not be sure if they’re a girl or a boy. That’s a private bathroom just for them.”

And that was the end of it, for her anyway. I, on the other hand, have thought back on it a time or two. I felt like God was prompting me to speak on this sign, but I was hesitant. See, I have a lot of friends, from many different backgrounds, from all over the world, with varying beliefs, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt a friend. I believe in speaking truth, but I also believe in not causing pain.

But still, the nudge continued. So I asked myself, “is it possible for a Bible-believing follower of God to talk about the trans community without judgement, but in truth, with love, and in a way that conveys the Father Heart of God?”

Let me try.

Y’all, our world is changing, and it’s changing quickly, right before our eyes. Parents who try to shield their young children from homosexuality will find that difficult if they turn on their television at all, take their kids out in public, or even enroll them in school. You see, what was once taboo is now commonplace, and what might have been hidden merely twenty years ago, is now celebrated. The world is changing, and I think it’s possible to keep up with that without burying yourself in a time capsule underground.

I don’t claim to know everything. I can’t find my keys sometimes, much less the concrete answer to all of life’s dilemmas, but I do know where I go to try and figure it out. I go to God’s Word. There’s a whole lot in there, y’all, and it’s easy to pick out one scripture for our use at the moment without drawing from the truth of others. It’s like our Bible has become a Google search engine, and we enter in a single word, like one word is what makes a person who they are, and we aim that scripture at the issue. For example, you can easily find what the Bible says in regards to homosexuality, but you can utilize that verse without also carrying the commands like found in Corinthians to “do everything in love.” We can ignore the ones we don’t want to hear, like the one that says if you get divorced and remarry you’re guilty of adultery. Well, here I stand an adulterous woman.

When I looked at the depiction of half a woman and half a man, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel righteous indignation as a Christian woman. Instead I felt sad. I felt sad for a human heart that wasn’t sure who to be. I felt sad that it has to be that way. I believe in the Bible where it says God knew us in our Mother’s womb, and that He knew us before we were even formed. In that belief I don’t think God would create specific physical parts but then place a different spirit within that same body. I just don’t. But then (I’m a nurse, after all) I’m reminded of babies that are born with both male and female sex organs. I’m reminded of babies born with deformities of all kinds. Would a loving God do that?!

No.

I think that’s the sin part. This world is far different from the one He created in the Garden of Eden. When sin entered the world, it changed everything. We brought on ourselves sickness, deformity, and sadness. Along came wickedness and people who hurt others. Mothers who don’t care if they neglect their children or harm them physically. Fathers who aren’t really fathers at all. Not like God intended them to be anyway. Fathers who wound their children physically, mentally emotionally, and who raise young men to continue their vicious, poisonous cycle. Sin brought us children who don’t know who they are, adults who can’t decide who they want to be, and people who change who they are hoping that becoming someone else will bring them love.

Love. That is what we are all lacking. When I can’t figure out how to approach a situation, even after reading God’s Word for guidance, I stick to love. The greatest command.

Love makes me cherish the young man who feels better dressing like a young woman. I certainly know that’s how God sees them. He isn’t standing on a cloud up high glaring in anger, posed to throw a lightening rod and holler, “I made you a boy!”

God sees the things we cannot see. God sees the heart of us all. He sees where we hurt, where we feel broken, and where we feel empty. After all, we are all cracked, vacant vessels eager for His love. Those of us (like myself) who have suffered with sexual immorality or alcoholism know all too well how feeling that need for something (love) can make us fill our vessel with whatever we can to feel better. Some fill it with food, becoming morbidly obese. Some fill it with drugs, ruining the lives of everyone close to us. Some will run through numerous relationships and marriages searching to cure the ache. Some will push people away, surrounding themselves with cats, and denying the need for human interaction at all. How about the wealthy man who builds his life on his pursuit of more? Is it not an idol in his life that actually breaks the Ten Commandments?

Here’s a thought. What if the divorced woman (me) is no different that the pedophile? Oh gosh, that can’t be right. What if the transsexual is no different than the girl who gets pregnant out of wedlock, the habitual liar, or the pastor’s wife who gossips at the lady’s meeting about so-and-so who’s not there?! Gulp.

“But Jesus said, ‘go, and sin no more,'” we say.

If only we could. It’s a sin issue, and this world is full of it. We are a broken people just struggling to feel like we’re worth something. The liar lies to make themselves sound better. The man leaves his wife to try and make himself feel happy again. The effeminate young man seeks a partner who will make him feel adored. We ink our skin (three tattoos here), we get plastic surgery (yep, guilty), and we dye our hair (got me again). We put on what makes us feel beautiful, maybe for the first time ever.

I’m not saying this is a sin, or this isn’t a sin; I’m saying it’s all sin. This world is chocked full of it. From the moment we get out of bed until we breathe our last breath, we’ll battle it. Every single person on this planet. It’s not just a sin issue, though. It’s an issue of lack. From the moment sin separated us from God we became lacking, and we’ve spent the last forever trying to make ourselves not feel that way. Thankfully, it’s not just sin that changed everything. Jesus came along, and He changed everything too! He’s that bridge to close the gap, and the best way to usher in His presence is to follow His greatest command He gave us. Love.

I don’t want the first reaction people perceive of me as a Christian to be one where I start highlighting sin in their life. I want them to see the Father Heart of God, and then He can lead them to His truth. That’s what He did with me. It’s what He does with me still! People will never be filled of their empty places by throwing them a Book of the Law, but they will be filled by the Holy Spirit’s wondrous love. And as you fall deeper in love with the Father, the desire to follow His laws come.

Even then, we will not find our complete and total wholeness until Jesus comes back. We can get closer (I’m living proof), but we won’t find all that we lack until Heaven. It’s a sin issue, and we are a busted, broken bunch. Every one. Sin makes God angry. You bet your bottom it does, but He never decides to not love us, give up on us, or turn His back on us because of our sin. He loves His children, all His children, even the children who don’t love Him back. I think sometimes as Christians we think Jesus only died for those who accept His sacrifice, but in reality He died for all, or in His words, even the ones “who knew not” what they were doing.

The forgiveness of sin is for Jesus to give, not the church. He gives out the pardon, and we better be glad, because 9 out of 10 of us have sinned twenty times today and don’t even realize it. I’m thinking that when we see sin around us we shouldn’t be eager to point it out in pride, or turn our nose in disgust, but rather we should have a broken heart like the Father, offer love like He does, and pray that we all may become more aware of the sinful nature we each reside in every day.

So here’s your sign.

John 8:7 (NIV) When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

1 John 4:10 (NIV) This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.