A Readiness to Hear - Part II

So, as I have been digesting this message, wondering what it means for me exactly, I have been inspired to ask myself a question. Actually it came out of a prayer that I prayed. The prayer went like this: “Dear Lord, please help me to see people as you see them, so that I can in turn love them in the same way that you have loved me.”

And when I prayed that prayer I began to think about looking upon someone in “love”, in a “loving” way and what that would look like or feel like. And that’s when I began to think about Giselle, and how I can look at her and truly feel love towards her. I can literally feel my love for her, and know that I would readily give all areas of my life for her, and to her. And I wondered, having known how difficult it was in the past to experience that ‘connection’, why I could so easily experience that with her. And it dawned on me, immediately, that it’s because I know that I can literally be at rest with her. She sees all parts of me, and there is neither nothing that I want to hide, or feel guilty about with her. She accepts me. And in that acceptance, I can feel those areas within me, that were previously in darkness because of my fears and anxieties, begin to just ‘melt away’, to come into the light of her love for me. I feel no guile with her, even though I know that it hasn’t been removed by her, I don’t feel it towards her, because I feel the full sense of her acceptance towards me.

I realized that is what it means to feel love towards someone. And it is because of acceptance from the other person. So to truly experience the Love Commandment (John 13:34-35) as a community, we must first start to extend acceptance and love towards each other. And I believe that “acceptance” is in itself creative. And what I mean is, that I believe that God causes it to begin growing where He desires. As we show acceptance to others, it breeds within them a similar acceptance. And as we begin to accept one another, not wanting to change that person, we begin to start loving each other as God has loved us.

"Be still and know that I am God", is what He said. And John also said "God is Love", so we can rephrase that by saying:

"Be still and know that I am Love".

Or in other words:

"Experience my love by first being still, stop your striving to be something different, to change yourself, to try to be better. And when you have found that place, THEN I will deliver you. I will fashion you to be pleasing in my eye, not because I think you need to be changed before I can love you, but because I love you and want the very BEST for you. And then you will experience my Love. You will experience the Love that I have towards you. Be still. I love you."

It is when we are courageous enough to stand still before our Loving God and not try to change, that He can then truly begin to change us. And it is at that point, as a community of people loved by Him, that we can begin to truly feel His Love for us through each other.

A Readiness to Hear

It wasn’t until I entered into a relationship with Giselle, that I knew what it meant to know and feel and experience love. And it’s taken me a while to rest into this relationship as well.

Some eighteen years ago, when I started to attend a certain church in Brisbane, I was introduced to a message by a man named Leonard Evans. The name of that message was called the “Love Commandment”. I remember listening to this message a few times, and felt that it somehow gave me a perspective of God that helped me to journey through some of the times ahead. I remember feeling the “safety” of this message as I went through Bible College at a College that was “radical” in its teachings of the Holy Spirit. And when I say radical, I mean radical for me. After all, I can only talk of the context within which I found myself.

I suppose in an ironic sense, back in those times, I don’t ever believe that I truly digested everything fully in that message. (And neither did the church that I was attending either. It seemed that people were content with just a vaguely familiar understanding as opposed to a deep context of experience) Neither did I put it totally into practice in my life. In fact, I think I only knew it in my head, and really felt little of it through my experience. It’s not that I wanted it to be that way, but it was more like just “one of those things I was going to do one day”. One day I would allow myself to be changed by this message, by what God was saying to me through this message. One day was easy. It was enough for me at that time, though, to just think upon that message as a “break glass” kind of message. The church that I attended at the time was Pentecostal. And sometimes I would see “things” that kinda troubled me, or confused me. Other times I saw things that I just really didn’t like. And just like a little security blanket, I would go back to that message in my mind, and know that everything was going to be okay. I guess it was a grounding for me; an anchor or a keel.

Through the years, that same message, possibly a seed, was something that I went back to from time to time. It was something that helped me understand I guess who God was. Fast forward many years to last week, and I found myself, for reasons I can only attribute to God. Who can say why memories that have been buried for years surface again? It’s at those times, that I sit quietly and wonder if there isn’t something that I should be seeing or hearing, a message from God.

So that message jumped into my conscious last week. I remembered his name. So I googled him and didn’t find much. Then I googled again, and found something more. After a little digging, I came across the original recordings of the messages that Len Evans gave in Australia way back in 1977. So I have been listening to those messages, and letting them go further in than they ever did before.

A Place of No Choices

I sometimes wonder 'what's a good reason to share my story?' Especially if it feels somewhat like a story of failure, or brokeness, or incompleteness. And when I say that, I don't mean completely. For the most part, I am incredibly happy. I have someone in my life that sees me as I feel like I really am and for the first time in my life, that is incredible.

I am truly figuring this all out as I go along. I have made my share of mistakes. Sometimes I think it's more than my share, but who's counting? When searching for answers, we look until we either find the right answer, or simply exhaust all the wrong ones. I'm out of trying answers to "solve this condition" that I suffer from. I honestly don't see any answers that I haven't honestly tried in some form or another. And then there's not just me, there are others who share my journey. And they have tried their share of answers as well ... to no avail.

When faced with a situation where there is truly no choice, and no way forward, what do we do? I can liken my experience to that of a roller coaster: the rides in progress, and there is no getting off until it's done. I know that sounds fatalistic, but to me it's more about acceptance. I have come to accept this journey that I am on. I don't always like it. I wouldn't have chosen this path for myself. Not in a million years. It's far too hurtful and destructive.

Coming out of Egypt, and hemmed in on every side with the Red Sea the only way forward, which in the moment, seemed like no way forward at all, Israel faced a situation where there was no choice. There was no palatable choice. And to be honest, I am sure they wondered how they even had got there ... they seemed to say a lot 'we've been brought out of egypt for this??'

And yet, the way forward for them, when it finally arrived, when their focus was finally on the large body of water before them, was to move into something that was "wrong". It was wrong except that God had said that it was right. It went beyond what was normal, and beyond what was safe. It was a place of "No choices".

And that's where I am at ... after many years, and countless attempts to avoid this course, this way forward, I realise that the 'body of water' that seemed impossible, and incredibly uninviting, is my way forward. And through that passage, somehow, I am hoping to find a 'baptism' into something new.

My God will hear me" (Micah 7:7).

Being seen to be seen

We went to church yesterday. It was nice to see everyone again. We had agreed to give Jen a ride home, but my new car had a flat tyre. Hmm. Kinda annoying to be honest. We had to wait for RACQ (road side assistance) to change the tyre. I soo wasn't going to change it, and neither was Giselle. Pffft. We didn't have to wait too long. It was all sorted soon enough.

The little incident, however, had me thinking. See, it's one thing to be "noticed" or "clocked" or whatever. It's very unnerving. And I don't know sometimes when someone looks at me, what's actually happening behind their eyes, so to speak. I mean, have they "figured it out", have they figured me out? Or are they just noticing a rather tall girl. So there is that whole "thing" to deal with. But on the flip side of that coin, and I know as soon as I say this, I admit that there is just no pleasing some people .... but .... when you're standing there, and a guy is changing your tyre, and he's not noticing you .... Well, that's annoying too. In a different way.

And, let me add, really NOT looking to go there at all. I'm not wanting male attention so that I can take it to the next level. Nope ... not at all. I am happily with my Darling. I truly couldn't imagine a more amazing relationship. It's just funny, that I find myself in a dilemna. I don't want to be noticed, but then I do. But then, if I am noticed, I'll never know if it's cos I look nice, or cos I look suspiciously like a guy in a dress. Hmm.

It probably really just underlines the whole concept of being comfortable in my own skin. And I think that's where I am at. For a long time, I wanted to almost "disappear" into a female persona. I wanted to cover myself up, so that none of my "maleness" could be seen. I wanted to look like "Jane average Girl". And I thought the pathway to achieving that was to "cover up" who I was.

I have come to discover at 41 years of age, that it's not about covering up, and hiding as it were. That's not what this journey is for me. It's about revealing who I am from the inside. I am a woman on the inside. I don't understand how that happened exactly. I really don't. It's definitely not something that I can change though. It is who I am. Fundamentally, and intrinsically, I am this person. I am female. I can cover that part of me up and be male, but underneath, I am female.

So, to become who I am, to travel on this journey to self acknowledgement and acceptance, I have discovered that it's a journey of revelation, not of covering up. It's not about hiding the "maleness" that is on the surface of my persona, but it truly is about letting my "female-ness" shine through. And I have to say, I never thought that was how this worked. Another one of those paradigm shift things I guess.

Need versus Desire

I have spent much time contemplating these two concepts as they relate to me being transgendered. It would seem a good thing that that which we desire is also that which we need. And imagine if that which we both need and desire could also be the greatest wish of those around us. I believe that if it were possible to have those three concepts line up, then we would truly find peace in our lives.

I have long desired to be female. I have long desired to be a girl. I have long desired to have the childhood of a girl, rather than the one that I experienced. I would have to say that I have been aware of my "desire" for the longest amount of time. It truly does form my earliest memories. I can't think back to a time in my life before I desired this. Which is a considerable amount of time.

It's only been in recent years, however, that I have discovered my need to be female. And that need has been something that I have underestimated. Dangerously, I thought that I could ignore it. It's possible to ignore desire, and I had done that many times. I had successfully ignored the desire to be female, and to function as a "male". A desire is something that would be nice to have, but not necessary. My need to be female, however has been dangerous. Ignoring that need, has caused me to descend into a dark place within myself. Perhaps it's as the proverb says, "a hope deferred, makes the heart grow sick". I have experienced the sickness in my heart. It's not a nice experience either. I can understand why so many don't survive this condition. It does have a high rate of related suicides which is incredibly sad and tragic.

I have often thought of this condition like a tooth ache. It's something that, if we're lucky, we can ignore for a while. Put off that "visit" to a place where we would rather not go. But in the end, we know it is inevitable. It's only possible to avoid the dentist temporarily. For someone with a toothache, it is never a permanent solution to avoid the dentist completely and entirely. At some point the visit needs to made. The longer we leave it too, the more damage that could and the risk of loss become greater. Still, even though we understand that damage can occur, and the risk of loss is greater, we still avoid the dentist.

Being trangendered is a condition that has it's own dentist. When you think about it, why do we visit medical practioners usually? It's either to check that everything is okay, or possibly more common, because we know that something isn't right. I don't know too many people that regularly visit a dentist, just because it's a good idea. I know lots of people who haven't been to a dentist for years.

I knew something wasn't right with me. In truth, I have known all my life, well for as long as I can remember. But, I have avoided doing something about it. I have wanted it to be something else. I have imagined that my "toothache" would go away. But it doesn't. And the pain becomes greater, and the burden becomes heavier. It is often said that pain is a great change agent. We don't change until the pain of staying the same becomes greater than the fear of change.

My pain has been becoming greater all of my life. And I need to do something about it. To not do something about this, is to not survive this.

Halloween and Oz

My first Halloween occurred when I was ten years old. I was going to school in Calgary, at Dalhousie Elementary. I hadn't been there that long. My family had moved, again, from Columbus, to Toronto, to Calgary. I guess it was time for my brother and I to get back into school.

So my first experience with Halloween was mixed. I remember bad plastic costumes. I remember doing the whole Trick or Treat thing around Silver Springs with Shawn. I also remember a boy named Greg. It was custom in school for everyone to come back to school in the afternoon dressed in their Halloween costumes. Dalhousie was the only school I attended that made the students to go home at lunch. And that was a challenge for me, because Silver Springs was probably about 30 minutes away by car. Way too far to walk obviously. And in all honesty too far to drive home and back. Lunch was an hour. That's all I had. I remember my mum used to drive to school every lunch time and pick me up and we used to drive somewhere nearby where we would have a sandwich and a drink. Mum was good to me. I have so many memories of my mum as someone who really knew how to, and did in fact take care of my needs.

On the afternoon of Halloween, Greg came back to school dressed as a girl. And for that matter so did David Miller. But it was obvious that David was having more fun making fun of it, making fun of being dressed as a girl. But Greg wasn't. He took it more seriously. As seriously as any boy could who was only 10 I suppose. I wondered how he felt that day at school. He was dressed as a girl. Some of the girls gave him a hard time. I think that was because he was wearing make up, and at that time, they probably weren't allowed. I studied Greg that afternoon. I resolved to have the courage to do exactly what he had done the next. I never did. I wanted to. I wanted to have the courage to do that, but I faced two significant hurdles. One I was scared to do it, even though I was becoming aware that it was a desire that wasn't going away. And I had a suspicion that my mum wouldn't want me to do it.

It was in Dalhousie Elementary that I read a book. I wasn't a great reader. I certainly didn't turn the world on fire by the number of books that I read. But I did read. I liked the feeling of getting lost in a story. I also used to be amused that as an young reader and young writer, I noticed that my writing style would emulate what I was reading at the time. I wish it still did that. How handy would that be? If I had to hazard a guess as to why that was the case, I would say that it was because I was still unformed in my personality and style.

When I was in school, a couple of times a year we used to have the opportunity to buy books through some catalog thing. I remember doing it in Australia, and I remember doing in Calgary. I still have a copy of "101 Elephant Jokes".

I read slowly. When I started "The Marvelous Land Of Oz" by Frank L. Baum I had no idea of what would happen. In the story, the main character's name was Tip. If you have read this story, then you will know what exactly I am referring to. The main character through the story discovers that he was transformed by a witch. The story ends with him undoing the effects of the transformation allowing him to return to his original identity. And of course, his original identity was Ozma, the Princess of Oz.

It's hard to read a story where you relate to the main character and follow them through their journey only to find out that the character changes so much they in effect cease to exist and are effectively replaced by another. That's what happened in this story. And it was disturbing for me to read as an 11 year old. I think it unnerved me most because it was so close to what was going on inside of me. At the time i remember talking to my mum about it. She said something, though it wasn't memorable, and I can't remember really what she said. I think she fumbled with her words something about "how unusual".

I have wondered if that is what is happening to me. It's like reading my own story and discovering what I was almost afraid to discover, that I am not who people perceive me to be. And I can't be that person. I have tried. And I have failed. Maybe that failure hasn't been on the surface where people can see, but I have felt it. It has definitely been a failure deep within me.

Is it an unforgivable sin for a writer to so drastically change the main character of a story? To a point where they are unrecognizable? Is it forgivable of a person to do the same thing to themselves?

First Memories of being TG

I grew up in a pretty conservative family in Sydney Australia. We went to church, first to a presbyterian church, and then later to a baptist church. Apparently when the presbyterian church decided to become a part of the Uniting Churches of Australia, my parents made the decision to stop attending. I don't really know why to be honest. It wasn't like we were overly spiritual. My dad certainly wasn't spiritual in that sense. Or perhaps I should clarify that by saying that my dad wasn't religious. And that would prove to be a bain in my family in later years resulting in the breakdown of my mum and dad's relationship.

My Nanna was religious apparently. She went to an angligan church. The church of England. It's probably the first church I really have memory of to be honest. Though apparently, according to my mum, Nanna wasn't always a church goer. My mum was taken to church by her grandmother when she was a child. Her attention to the Anglican church was recent, though at the time it felt like it was well established.

So, I guess you could say there was somewhat of a christian / religious upbringing. That is what I experienced. Just before I turned 10, my family moved to the United States of America. My father, ever the entrepeneur, decided that there was money to made in selling australian style cakes and pastries. It was a failed exercise for sure. What did I get out of that experience? I learned what it meant to be homesick. I missed Australia in those first months that we were away. We moved in October or around that time. My birthday fell in December.

I remember going out to Farrell's Icecream place on my birthday. In typical american style, they served a free ice sundae to anyone who had a birthday. They also banged on a drum, made lots of noise and fanfare, and sung happy birthday. My problem with that was that I didn't like fanfare, wasn't sold on the idea of icecream, and really didn't want to be the centre of attention. My dad said to me in the car ride home that night something to the effect of "I'm disappointed in you. You won't be getting any more birthday parties".

I did get more birthday parties though. Not true to his word. I have had many birthday parties since. Funny what parents will say to their children. I remember at the time though, swearing to myself that I would never want a birthday party that he threw me anyway.

Some of my memories wouldn't necessarily fall into the category of being "transgendered aware". As a matter of fact, I didn't, and couldn't accept this part of who I was for the longest time. But, I do have memories that "stick out" for want of a better way of saying it. One such memory, one of my earlier ones was remembering that there was a girl in my class in preschool whose name was Holly. I don't remember actually considering her a girl to be honest, because she wore boys clothes. She didn't wear dresses. She wore pants and tshirts. I remember the teacher, on the request of the mother, asking her to put on the dress that she had sent with her daughter that day to school. I don't know if I have that right exactly. We're talking over 30 years ago to be honest. But what I do remember, what does actually stick out was seeing this person having to wear a dress that never did. And seeing her discomfort in that.

Another of my earlier memories was praying to God that when I woke up the next morning that I would be a girl. Pretty standard apparently from what I've heard and read. I remember trying on "prayer" when I was about 5. It didn't particularly work all that well. I remember being on a beach with my father and brother. In the course of events I happened to lose a sock that I thought that I was certainly going to be punished for. I remember falling asleep that night praying that God would bring the "sock" back. He didn't. I remember also praying that I would wake up and He would have turned me into a girl. He didn't. I remained a boy for a long time to come. And I had to learn how to cope in that.

My mum's clothes fascinated me when I was young. I am not sure exactly what it was about those clothes, but I just liked women's clothes. My aunt put some old clothes aside for her children and when I was at their house I used to play dress ups. I loved that. I remember asking my mum if she could do the same. She said she would, but never did. I remember asking her a few times after my initial request, only to be told that she was "getting to it". I learned later that it was her way of "non confrontationally" dealing with something that she didn't want to deal with. I am not sure that she actually remembers that occurance. Perhaps the memory is mine and mine alone.

I remember also, at one time, playing a role playing game with my male cousin who was about 10 months younger than me. We played mum and dad, and I was the mum. It didn't mean much, other than the label now that I recall. I think, for me, it was not really knowing "what to do next". I just knew that I wanted to be a girl. I had little idea of what that meant, or how I should behave.

Another time, I remember watching an episode of Here's Humphry. Humphry got to dress up as a ballerina. I loved the idea of that. I think I was at school when that episode aired because all I could remember for weeks after that was trying to stay home again to hopefully see it happen again.

When I was about 8 or 9, I'm not exactly sure when it was, I remember going into the third bedroom in our house. This bedroom was specifically for when my Nanna and Da came to visit from Nowra. It wasn't really used at any other time. My brother Mal, and I, shared a bedroom for the first ten years of my life. There was a big wardrobe in the bedroom that was stacked with all sorts of things. I have been told that I was a nosy kind of child. I must have been bored that day, because I went looking in this room, where I can't honestly say I ever really ventured in much when my Nanna and Da weren't staying with us. The robe had two sections, and in the section furthest from the door, I saw them. Two girl's dresses. Thinking back on this, it must have been significant because I didn't see girl's dresses in my house. I had only a brother, and no sisters. I remember looking at the dresses, tentatively touching them. They felt amazing.

For days to come when I was alone in the house, or when I was sure that I could get away with it, I remember sneaking into the room and just looking at the dresses. They were amazing. They were breathtaking. My recollection was that one was a darker colour, and one was lighter. I think the lighter one may have been a pale violet. I was to find out later that these dresses had been my mum when she was a flower girl in her own childhood. As much as I loved the look and feel of them, I never put them on. I knew that I just shouldn't do that. I think a part of that was knowing that it was wrong, and a part of it was almost wanting to preserve my "discovery" and leave them perfect.

When I was in Kindergarten, I remember looking at the uniforms that the girls wore, and wishing that I could wear them as well. I wanted the teacher to say that all the boys and girls were to swap uniforms. I wished that. I wanted it to happen. And interesting enough, may I say, that those uniforms were rather boring little tunics. There was really nothing pretty about them per se, it was just the idea of being able to wear something that was girl-associated, and not boy-associated.

In Grade 1, I remember one of my teachers, I think she was a student teacher. She was young and very pretty. She used to wear pretty clothes; dresses and stockings. I remember her attempting to teach us exercises one day in the playground. She made a comment to the class that she couldn't show us everything because she was wearing a dress. I just recalled thinking that I wanted to be her.

When I was young, and before I went to preschool, I remember going out for the day with my mum, and she was putting lipstick on. She looked at me and put a little on me. It was nice to be able to do that. When I think back now, I wonder if it was just chapstick. I couldn't really tell. Perhaps it was. It certainly does seem very much out of character for my mum to do something like that.

It's easy to question those memories; to wonder if they ever did in fact happen. Even reading back over them now, I wonder. In moments of weakness and doubt, and impossible not to wonder. But then that's probably the foundation of being transgendered; it's studded with moment's of weakness, self doubt. This is a confusion of identity.