God

The Voice of a Mom…Part II

/ Lesa / 9 Comments

As most kids, when my sister and I were little we would get very excited when we would hear the ice cream truck music close by.  We would quickly run in the house jumping up and down begging for some money so we could get back outside to flag the truck down.  We would run down to the curb and wave our arms frantically to get the drivers attention.  It was a sad day when you didn’t make it out there in time to catch his attention.  One of these occasions caused my sister great angst.  We perused the side of the truck and carefully picked out what we wanted to order.  We stood in line and waited our turn trying to be patient.  When it was my sister’s turn, the man behind the counter loudly proclaimed, “And what can I get for you young man?”  My sister immediately burst into tears and quickly ran up the steps to our house without any ice cream.

It was an honest mistake.  She was about 6 years old at the time with short hair, a simple t-shirt and shorts.  But this mistake totally devastated her.  Being on this journey, I think of that story often.  Even though I don’t have a transgender child, I am friends with some transgender people and I know many moms of transgender children.  I can’t imagine how hard it is for them to deal with this on a daily basis…people seeing them as a different gender then how they see themselves.

As promised, I have a guest today who is going to share a very personal part of her family’s journey.  She has the youngest child out of the three moms that will be sharing with us.   She is an amazing mom with a beautiful little girl and I am proud to know her and glad that she considers me a friend.   I ask that you be respectful if you decide to comment.  (to learn some scientific information about what transgender means – here is an article that you might find helpful).

10177861_10203423196682319_2655426038570311619_nAnd now the voice of a mom part II:

Hi, 
My dear friend Lesa asked me to share some of my experiences as a parent to a transgender
child, since she has been getting some questions and would like to share as much 
information as possible.  She provided specific questions that she’s been getting.  These 
questions are all valid and are honestly questions that I’ve asked myself and professionals.  I 
also want to thank you for reading this.  It means that you must be open enough to want to 
learn about a topic that is hard to understand if you aren’t living it firsthand, and I appreciate 
that.  First, it probably makes the most sense to begin by giving a brief synopsis of my family’s 
story. 
 
I am a mom to a six (and a half – she would want me to add) year old transgender girl, which 
means born anatomically male, identifies as female in gender.  I’m also married to a 
wonderful husband, have three step-children who I adore, have a Master’s degree and work 
full time in a helping profession.  When my daughter was born, she was assigned male at 
birth.  I was ecstatic to have a little boy.  He was perfect, healthy and loving – what I often 
referred to as an “easy baby.”  I loved everything about being a mom.  At age three (some 
examples were as early as two), when he was able to begin expressing himself verbally more 
clearly, he would often express a desire for more feminine things.  He wanted to wear female 
clothes, went straight to the girls side of the Stride Rite shoe store and the ‘girls’ toy aisle, 
insisted on dressing as a female character for Halloween, and played with dolls.  At the time, I 
wrote this off as being a phase, knowing that gender is often explored pretty broadly during 
this age.  In hindsight I knew something was different about my child even then.  I remember 
having a sinking feeling every time he told me he wanted to wear a dress or nail polish, and I 
felt guilty when I firmly told him he could not dress as a girl for Halloween, but I was trying to 
(naively) guide him in the “right” direction.   
 
By age four these expressions had become more common.  Because of the constant 
requests to paint his nails, wear dresses and perfume, play with dolls, etc, on occasion we 
allowed this in the house.  He would say he wished I would let him be the girl that he was.  My 
sweet little boy started to become more introverted and seemed more sad.  At preschool he 
preferred to play house and only played with other little girls.  Even though I made him dress 
as a boy, he always insisted upon wearing one or two subtle feminine items like a scarf or 
toenail polish.  I would occasionally receive comments from others about how feminine by 
child was.  At this point I deduced that my child would likely be gay, and started preparing 
myself for this.   
 
Almost to the day of his fifth birthday, the mild requests about his gender identity became 
insistent, persistent and consistent statements that he was, in fact, a girl.  He started acting 
out in preschool.  He would cry for over an hour and beg not to go out of the house unless he 
could go as the girl that he was.  One evening he told me that I should have named him 
“sadness” because he was sad “all the time.”  We started looking for counselors.  One night 
soon after, at five years old, my child – who has generally lived a pretty charmed life – told me 
that if I didn’t allow him to be the girl that he was, he wanted to kill himself.  To this day I don’t 
know how my sweet little five year old even knew those words, or how she could know herself 
so well or express herself so clearly, but I knew this wasn’t going away.  I didn’t know what to 
do except hug *her* and say okay, I’m listening, and we will figure this out together.   
 
Once she made that statement my world turned upside down.  I could no longer continue to 
live in denial about what was happening.  I had a lot to learn and a lot of people to talk to, and 
fast.  The next morning I met with the owner of the preschool, who said they had suspected 
she was transgender for some time now.  I took her that night and bought her her first dress. 
I have never seen her happier.  Words can’t express the happiness she expressed over this. 
The more parents of transgender/gender fluid children I talked with, the more I heard the 
same story we were living.   After gaining a wealth of information we started using female 
pronouns and it was glaringly obvious that this was the right thing to do. Over the following 
months we established a relationship with a therapist who has supported our path, and I 
made it my other full time job to learn everything I could about this topic.  I attended support 
groups in three counties as well as gender conferences.  I talked to so many people with 
either personal or professional experience on the issue.  I read everything I could get my 
hands on.  I cried…wept at times.  I lost countless hours of sleep, and 30 pounds since I could 
hardly eat.  But every single problem we encountered with my daughter immediately 
dissipated once we allowed her to socially transition – to live as the girl that she is, or as the 
gender she identifies with. 
 
She now lives as the female that she is.  She is excelling at school.  She laughs when I 
remind her that she once asked to be called “sadness”, and often remarks how happy she is 
and how much she loves her life. I could go on and on about ways this difficult decision has 
ended up bettering her life, but there isn’t nearly enough time.   
 
So, onto the questions Lesa outlined: 
 
1.    How do you know it’s not a phase? 
            Even though I tried to give some general examples above, it’s very difficult to put into 
words all of the ways it is abundantly clear that my daughter’s gender is innate, versus a 
phase or a result of “nurture versus nature.”  I would like to pose the question to you as the 
reader:  When did you know you were a male or female?  For me, I always knew.  It takes no 
thought, I just know.  I am not overly “girly”, like my daughter.  I don’t wear dresses often or 
much makeup, but I know innately that I’m female.  My daughter would tell you that she’s 
known she is female since birth.  This never changes.  Even the most subtle of details are 
consistent.  She naturally gravitates toward other girls for play.  She always chooses the 
female avatar when playing games.  She is happy and thriving being able to live as her true 
self, and she’s not hurting anyone by doing so.  I’ve talked to families who tried to force their 
child to live in denial of their gender.  These children usually faced issues like depression, 
anxiety, self-injurious behavior, addiction and suicide.  Even though allowing people who are 
transgender to embrace who they are challenges us to be accepting of things we don’t 
understand, there is so much evidence that in doing so, these people thrive and become 
productive members of society.  I have attached a link to a recent research study, in which my
daughter is a participant, that shows the benefits of allowing these children to live as their 
identified gender versus natal sex.  Also, I have learned that it is very common for 
transgender people to begin expressing their gender identity as early as they can start talking, 
so this is not uncommon.  The overwhelming majority of people, including myself, were taught 
very young that gender and natal sex are one and the same.  Many people would swear this 
to be as true as the earth is round.  I now know that this is not true.  Gender and natal sex are 
two different things.  Usually they match, but in relatively rare instances they don’t.   
 
2.    Aren’t you hurting your child by giving them hormones?  Shouldn’t you wait until they’re 
older? 
             I am going to defer to my other friends with older children for this question.  I am 
learning to take things one step at a time with this process, so we still have multiple years 
until we address this.  I can say that we plan to see a renowned endocrinologist when my 
daughter turns seven.  Not to start any type of medication, but because we want to establish 
a relationship with this doctor, and be as open and transparent as possible as we plan for the 
possibility of hormone blockers and hormones in the future.  This way the endocrinologist can 
get to know my daughter, give us any feedback she has, and make recommendations as 
appropriate.  I can also tell you that I know that the pain of living in a body you don’t feel 
matches your identity is tremendously more painful than anything else.  My daughter already 
asks when she will be able to have a baby, when she can “not have a penis anymore”, and 
generally expresses anxiety about having to develop in any way masculine.  She says these 
things and it still shocks me.  These aren’t thoughts I ever would have had as a child, yet 
what she says is textbook for transgender people. 
 
3.   What’s the big deal about the bathroom? 
            So, if you would again take a second to think about this for yourself:  If you’re a parent, 
and someone told you that your daughter had to use the boy’s bathroom, how would you 
feel?  For my daughter, the thought is so distressing that at times she would cry or refuse to 
go to the bathroom at all versus having to go with males. Transgender people have been 
painted in the media as men that dress up as women to get into the women’s bathroom.  This 
is just untrue.  I could go on and on with statistics about this issue, but I won’t bore you.  I will 
simply say that children are in more risk at school, church, and with family than they are 
sharing a bathroom with a transgender person.  This is a huge issue, and one that keeps me 
up at night.  My daughter looks, acts, and carries herself as the female that she is.  You 
wouldn’t even notice if you were in the girls bathroom with her.  If she had to go into a male 
bathroom, she would be mortified, likely mistreated, and cause more trouble than being 
allowed to simply use the bathroom that coincides with her gender.  Side note:  you likely 
have known transgender people in your life without actually realizing it.  They are so scared of 
being judged they often work very hard to fly under the radar, especially in the bathroom. 
 
4.  Aren’t you saying that God made a mistake? 
     This is the most difficult question for me to answer.  Short answer after a long, 
frustrated sigh: no. Long answer: I don’t believe there are mistakes in life.  As a person 
who is agnostic, I am very open to all possibilities, religious views, and am deeply 
spiritual.  What I am not open to is any person or doctrine who ascribes to judgment or 
mean, exclusionary behavior in the name of God.  I don’t think God makes mistakes, 
and I believe in life there are only lessons. Would you ask a person who had an autistic 
child if they were a mistake from God?  What about someone with birth defects or 
hermaphrodites?  Or cancer?  Are these mistakes from God?  There are certainly 
endless examples of things in this universe that we don’t fully understand, but denying 
their existence when you haven’t taken the time to learn, or because they aren’t like 
you, or because something is rare is unacceptable.  It saddens me that the people who 
scare me the most in this world, in regards to my transgender daughter, are those who 
are the most religious.  Isn’t that sad?  God is love, and I would hope to find shelter in 
people who follow God, but it’s often where I find the most heartache and judgment.  
Sometimes, when I need to make myself feel better about the turn our life has taken, I 
tell myself that my child is even closer to the likeness of God than most of us.  I’ve read 
that some cultures (like certain Native American cultures) celebrate and honor people 
who are gender variant.  I know our culture will likely not celebrate this anytime soon, 
but I wish it was more accepting of our differences.  I don’t doubt that God is divinely 
accepting.  My six year old recently asked me why God put her in “the wrong body.”  
I’m still figuring out the answer to that, still learning the lesson.  For now, I just 
reassured her that she is healthy, happy and that down the road there are ways we 
can correct the parts of her body that feel “wrong” right now.  She was content with that 
response and skipped away.   
Lesa here…thank you for taking the time to read this special post.  I have the utmost respect for this mom and all the moms I know that have LGBTQ children.  The road we travel is a hard one.  I love them all and I feel like their kids are my kids.  I would do anything for any one of them…and I love them all dearly.
Because love matters…

The Voice of a Mom…Part I

/ Lesa / 7 Comments

I love nature.  There is such a peace I feel when I’m out in the woods, on the beach, or just sitting on my deck surrounded by the tall trees that are behind my house.  If there is water involved, like a babbling brook or ocean waves that is an extra bonus (smile).

10177861_10203423196682319_2655426038570311619_nThis tree is in my back yard.  I know it is hard to tell by the picture, but it is indeed one tree.  And yes that is both white and pink flowers that you see gracing it’s branches.  I LOVE this tree.  It is so unique. It was here when we moved into our house 18 years ago so I’m not sure how it came into existence, but I am so happy that it ended up in my backyard.  In many ways, this tree reminds me of the journey I’ve been on the past several years.

On the one hand, it reminds me of my faith.  The branches on the tree that have the white flowers grow up towards the sky.  The branches that have the pink flowers grow outward and spread out as if they are reaching for something.  The white version of the tree is my connection to God while the pink version is my desire to reach out to others to share His love.  To me it’s also a symbol of my once rigid belief system entangled with my quest to let God out of the box.

When I look at this tree, I also see the struggle of my son.  He tried to stay on a path that he thought was required of him. In doing so, he had to deny who he really was inside.  He tried desperately to stay on that path while on the inside he felt his true self reaching out trying to break off of the path that was never meant for him.  I see the part of the tree that grows upward and has the white flowers as the path, while the pink side is him reaching out to be himself.

I also can’t help but think of the transgender people I’ve met when I look at my tree.  Born as one gender while truly another. My tree is two trees intertwined into one.

If you’ve read some of my other posts, you know that things have gotten very heated towards transgender individuals.  The bill that was passed in NC and the whole Target bathroom announcement has caused some pretty ugly banter on social media.  What really surprises me is that some of these people who have the loudest voices don’t even know a transgender person.  Sadly this recent activity has caused suicide hotline calls to increase with the incidence of calls from transgender individuals doubling.

As I’ve shared my personal journey, I’ve tried to share the journey of others that I have met along the way.  I try to speak on their behalf and not speak for them, but that is really difficult.  As I’ve tried to relay what I’ve learned, it’s been in my voice.  It is so much better to hear it from the person who has experienced it themselves.  So I think this is the perfect time to hear from some other voices.  Voices that know first hand what it’s like to have a transgender child.  I have three amazing moms who have agreed to be a guest on my blog and share a part of their journey.  I know all of these moms personally.  I have witnessed some of their struggles first hand.  I’ve seen the pain of their children through their eyes.

I will be posting one story a week beginning next week and I will use the picture of my tree as the series picture since it is my symbol of this journey.  I’m excited for you to meet these moms through their written words.  It gives you a chance to step into their shoes.  To me, being willing to learn about another person’s story is an act of love.

And love matters…

 

Sticks and stones…

/ Lesa / 5 Comments

Did you have a nickname when you were growing up?  Maybe you still have it to this day.  I had several…the first of which I gave to myself…unbeknownst to me.  My name is Lesa Page (yes my parents spelled both my first name AND my middle name incorrectly).  When I was little, I couldn’t quite pronounce the two words and they came out as Esa Peach.  So, Esa Peach was my very first nickname and some family members to this day will sometimes call me by that name.  When I hit my teenage years, my nicknames became more related to the fact that I am vertically challenged.  A few of those names were:

Little
Little L
Stump – I of course didn’t care for this one too much
L – my dad calls me this today – I think he’s just lazy (smile)
Lesa Page – as a teenager there were so many Lisa’s that my friends called me by my first and middle name.  Kind of wish I would have stuck with that as an adult…I kind of like it.

When my son was a baby and toddler, his nickname was Booper.  My mom was so afraid that was going to stick.  I’m not even sure how Mike and I started calling him that, but it just seemed to fit him.  He was a pudgy little guy and Booper just seemed to work.  I’m sure he is happy that it was short-lived.  His nickname now is Kai (his name is Kyle).

It seems like yesterday that he was that little baby.  I remember holding for the first time.  To be honest, he looked like a little old man…kind of wrinkly and very little hair.  He quickly grew and like I said was a little pudge.  He unfortunately had colic as a baby.  And not the kind where the baby would cry during a certain time of day…it seemed to bother him all the time.  It made me feel so bad for him.  As I held him, his little legs would bunch up and he would throw his little head back with the most heart wrenching cry.  There were many days that I would cry right along with him as I bounced and paced the floors with him.  Man did I do a lot of pacing.

He eventually grew out of that and became a happy little guy.  I can still see his little face when I would walk into his room in the mornings to retrieve him from his crib.  He would say my name with his pacifier pushed to one side of his mouth and would give me the biggest smile.  It was as if his whole world just walked through the door.  I remember his first steps…arms stretched out like Frankenstein, teetering from one foot to the other with the biggest grin on his face.  He was so proud of himself.  He was a stubborn little bugger too.  The terrible twos are an understatement.  He was so smart which I swear made it worse.  Once he got something in his mind, boy was it tough to re-route him.  And the older he got, the harder it got.  Once he hit the elementary school age, it took a lot of creative thinking to stay one step ahead of him.  And when we really got stuck in a battle of the wills, it seemed like humor was the ONLY thing that would snap him out of it.  Good thing I’m a goof ball (smile).  It just took a little humor to break things up and then you could have a conversation with him.

He was always well liked in school by his teachers and classmates…especially the girls.  He was a straight A student all the way through high school.  I think he got a B or two in college, but seemed to always make the deans list even though he struggled terribly with anxiety and depression.  I’m really not sure how he did it.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, we noticed a change in him around the age of 14 and things came to a head when he was 15 and we found out he was gay.  My friendly, preppy, kind boy turned into an angry, depressed, anxiety ridden boy.  The music he listened to changed, the clothes he wore changed, the kind of friends he had changed.  It was as if the internal struggle that he had been going through for years that we were unaware of came out to the surface in every way.  It was terrifying.  It was as if aliens had come in the middle of the night and replaced our child with someone who we didn’t recognize.  All of the hurt that he had hidden for so long was now out in the open.

I wish SO BADLY that I had the resources back then that I have now.  I would have done things SO differently.  I know I hurt him…before I knew he was gay…and after I found out.  You see, I lived in the place where I thought being gay was something that needed to be fixed.  I felt that way because that is what I had learned from the resources I had at the time.  I was given a lot of hope from those resources…unfortunately it was false hope.  Stories of change that were told later turned out to be lies. And I transferred that hope to him.  It gave him hope and when things didn’t change it only added to his frustration, hurt, and depression.

Society gives gay people a lot of grief about being gay.  Names are hurled at them like butch, fag, dyke, fairy…not exactly endearing nicknames.  And despite the little saying of “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me,” they do indeed hurt.  The hard part though is when a gay person’s family is the cause of the hurt…not by name calling necessarily…although that does happen, but by attitudes and statements that are made.  Something I’ve heard more than once from a young gay person before coming out in regards to their family is this….

“They don’t like me….but they don’t know that they don’t like me.”

What we need to understand is that they are absorbing every remark, comment, facial expression, body language, etc. when it comes to our attitudes about gay people.  The first time I heard that from someone…my spirit was crushed because I know that my son felt that way before he came out.  Looking back…it explains a lot.  I’ve never said anything bad about gay people. I’ve worked with them, have a gay family member in my extended family, etc. and I’ve never felt anything but love for them.  But when you come from a place where you think they are broken and can be fixed, it is hurtful.  And I know my son overheard comments from me regarding this.

I don’t write this to make you feel guilty if you have a gay child and have gone about things differently then you would have like to or feel like you have messed up.  I can tell you that I messed up.  You can move past it.  You can ask for the person to forgive you…and then do what is hard and forgive yourself.  I still struggle with that part.  This post is more for everyone else who may or may not have a gay child, family member, or friend.  Be careful what you say and how you say it.  You never know who is listening…and if they are struggling they will be hyper sensitive to your speech and demeanor.  Let’s not have another child think…they don’t like me…but they don’t know that they don’t like me.

Today my son is a young adult.  The other day we were leaving for work at the same time (he is living at home to save money to one day move out).  I was sitting in my car as he walked down to his car that was parked in the cul-de-sac.  As I watched him in my side mirror with his slouchy hat (to control his curls), skinny jeans, and messenger bag slung across his shoulder, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for his forgiving spirit for a mom who didn’t have a clue when he first came out.  I’m so thankful that his spark is back and I once again have my funny, happy boy.  He knows without a doubt that I love him.  But he can also say…

She likes me…and I know she likes me because she shows it in her words and actions.

Love each other…because it matters.

I’ve had the radish…

/ Lesa / 16 Comments

When my family planned a trip to New England a few years ago, my friend from Vermont taught me a few of the sayings that are from there.  Her family was traveling with us so it was really fun to have our very own tour guide.  We visited Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine both times that we vacationed together up there.  The saying, “I’ve had the radish” was the funniest to me.  I mean…what do New Englanders have against radishes (smile).  She explained to me that when her mom was at her wit’s end with her and her brothers she would let them know that she’d had the radish.  They knew then that they better settle down or they were going to get it.  They would also say it when something was worn out or ready for the trash.  Pretty funny, but then again being from Baltimore has its own little world of sayings as well.

This is how I’m feeling right now…I’ve had the radish.  I’m wondering seriously if this is even real life.  Am I living in one of my crazy dreams?  It feels like it.  My chest physically hurts, and the only thing that keeps going through my mind is what breaks God’s heart is breaking mine.

broken-heart-with-hammer

A young man who I met about a little over a year ago took his life yesterday.  I remember hearing his story.  I remember sitting with his mom as she tearfully told my group that her church refused to baptize her son.  How distraught she and her husband and her son were about that….rightfully so.  I can’t get his face out of my mind.  His shy demeanor, his intelligence, his compassion.  The church was going to meet with them to discuss this with them further.  After many attempts to do so…and simply just being blown off…I guess they waited too long.  I wonder if these leaders will sit down with this family now.  (he suffered from depression, but I promise you the church’s response did not help)

The church and their statements…their policies…I wonder as they sit in their meetings if they consider the consequences of their decisions.  Do they know any LGBTQ people?  Have they learned their stories?  Asked what they needed?  I am often asked, “Why don’t the LGBTQ people who aren’t happy with their churches find an affirming church?”  The answer is simple…in many areas of our country…there aren’t any affirming churches.  There are the churches that will say they are welcoming, but they don’t have anyone LGBTQ attending.  If you were truly a welcoming congregation, you would have them attending because they would know that you were welcoming.  In many cases, churches tolerate the LGBTQ community and then pat themselves on the back that they let them attend.

The Mormon church recently introduced a policy in November regarding the LGBT community.  Since then there have been 32 LGBTQ suicides in the last 81 days.  Let that sink in…  While it’s impossible to know whether the new policy triggered the reaction of these suicides, the circumstantial evidence can’t be ignored.  The church was asked about this and they replied, “they do not reject LGBT members.” Really?  Have you asked them how they feel about your new policy? Clearly there is a disconnect.

I gotta be honest.  I feel sick…I feel hopeless…and I feel helpless.  It makes me want to have NOTHING to do with the church.  I know that’s harsh.  I know there is a good possibility that we all may never agree, but making people feel as if they are unworthy of love…thrown away…is not how we should handle that disagreement.

If you have a conversation with someone about God, Christianity, the Gospel…whatever the topic regarding faith…and they leave feeling less than, unloved, belittled, etc…you are DOING IT WRONG.  As Christians we are to bear good fruit. What kind of fruit are you bearing?  How many lives must we lose?

For now I will remind myself of Isaiah 61:1-3

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion– to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.

beauty-from-ashes

Lord bring us beauty from ashes.  Love each other…love matters…and how we love matters even more.

 

 

 

Lesa did you know?…

/ Lesa / 7 Comments

I can’t believe another year has begun…and we are past the middle of the first month already.  Maybe it’s because Christmas hasn’t quite been over for us yet.  We just had our family Christmas with my in-laws this past Saturday, and this coming weekend was supposed to be Mike’s holiday party at work, but because of all the snow they are calling for it is now going to be at the end of February.  So, I guess the holidays are going to last a bit longer for us.

Have you ever had a year where you just couldn’t get into Christmas…maybe even felt a little sad?  I had one of those this year.  I’m not even really sure why this year bothered me.  I know people who struggle with depression during the holidays and although I miss my loved ones who are no longer on this earth every holiday, I don’t usually get the blues.  I didn’t get as much quiet time with God and that may be why…but for whatever reason…I was pretty weepy…and certain Christmas songs sure didn’t help.

One of my all time favorite Christmas songs is Mary Did You Know? written by Mark Lowry.  Right now my favorite version is by Pentatonix.

As a mother, it isn’t hard for me to connect to this song.  I try to imagine how Mary must have felt raising Jesus.  She of course knew who she was raising, but she didn’t know everything that they would go through. There is a scene in the movie Passion of the Christ that will forever remain with me.  It’s when Jesus is walking with the cross and he falls.  Mary is in the crowd and as she watches him fall she has flashbacks to when he was a toddler learning to walk. They show him falling as a toddler and then they go back to the scene of him as an adult.  That scene hits me right in the heart.  Our children are our children until the day we die…no matter how old they get, and when they hurt…we hurt.

As I listened to the song this year, I couldn’t help but wonder what life would have been like if I’d known sooner that my son was gay.

Mary did you know that your baby boy would one day walk on water?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would one day discover he was gay?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would be called an abomination?
Mary did you know that your baby boy will give sight to a blind man?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would be discriminated against? (there are currently 115 anti-LGBT bills that have been introduced in state and local legislation)
Mary did you know that your baby boy would calm the storm with his hand?
Lesa did you know that your baby boy would have preachers calling for his death from their pulpits. (these aren’t outlandish Westboro Baptist type churches – they are every day churches – I won’t put their names here because they could be a trigger for someone, but if you want more info you can contact me.)

Would I want to know these things as I held my baby boy?  No, I have to say that I’m glad I didn’t.  As much as I wish I could have prepared him for what he was about to face, I wasn’t prepared to handle it back then.  I, of course, wish I could have protected him from the pain he went through with the coming out process, but I know that it has shaped him into the strong person he is now.  I am a different person now having gone though this with him.  I shudder to think of how I may have handled it if I had known back then.  (please understand that I am not comparing raising a gay son to raising Jesus so don’t email me about that – smile).

There were a lot of engagements happening this Christmas…and maybe that was part of my sadness.  It’s a reminder that my son may not have the same joy of that occasion.  Yes, he can get married at the moment…but…

Will he have a clerk refuse to sign his marriage license?
Will he have a baker refuse to make his cake?
Will he have a florist refuse to create his flower arrangements?
Will the venue find a reason for him not to have his reception where he would like it?

These are the kind of things that our kids are faced with on a daily basis.

So, these have been my holiday musings.  I hope one day I won’t have such things to ponder.  I share them with you as a reminder that there is still work to be done.  Because whether or not we agree on things, the one thing I know for sure is that everyone should be loved.

There’s a line in the song that pertains to Mary and myself:

This child that you delivered, will soon deliver you.

My son has delivered me from the box I was living in, and had God stuffed in there with me, and helped me love others unconditionally.  I am forever grateful for that and it makes the journey a little less painful.

So let me ask you…

Do you know…that you are loved.  If you don’t, contact me.

Love matters…but how we love matters even more.