As a parent with grown children that choose not to tell me even rudiments of what is going on with their lives, I read their blogs. My son is a poet while studying to be a pastor. He posts his poetry frequently on his poetry blog. His poetry and his blog don't really tell me much of what's going in his head or heart. He will answer email I send him, but it's standard male one-word grunt-speak. That's ok. I used to be fluent in male one-word grunt-speak. Fluency fades quickly if you don't use the language much. Thank God for small miracles :-).
My daughter, my beloved daughter... My daughter does not email with me and only rarely talks to me on the phone because she wants, "to hear my Dad's voice." So read her blog and the churches website to glean what little I can about what is going on in her life.
My daughter is called by God to be a pastor, and called to be a church planter. In 2000, she began college as a Theology major at a local Christian University. From the beginning, she has had to answer the question of what she, as a woman, thought she was doing on a Divinity path. She graduated in Theology, very near the top of her class. She went to a conservative Christian graduate school in Boston to get her Masters of Divinity. She was not well treated there. She left early with a Masters in Christian Education. She finally received her MDiv, but not without challenges to her calling.
About 2 years ago, she was called by a denomination to plant a church. It took some time and a great deal of effort and God's own support, but her little congregation is beginning to fly with wings of angels. Thinking of how Poppa has blessed her ... somehow my darn glasses have gotten wet and I can't see my keyboard. Must be the rain... Anyway, the little church God has given her to shepherd makes an impact all out of proportion to the size of the congregation.
She is new to the denomination which has called her. She is taking advantage of some classes in this denomination's Theology. The other day the question posed to the students was, basically, "How do you address the protest of people in the congregation who believe that women cannot be spiritual leaders." Her initial response to the question is that it needs to be asked, but her heart, I can feel it being twisted and wrung dry, is just breaking that she has to write the same paper she has been writing for 10 years. She laments,
"how deeply i long to never again defend the calling God has placed on my life...and how deeply i know this probably will never end.
i will be writing the same paper as long as God continues to call me to this life."
My heart just breaks for her.
As I thought about her writings, the parallel between my beloved daughter having to defend the Calling on her life to be a woman and a pastor and the Father creating me to be transgender and called to be His servant to the people of His flock. Jesus, the One Who Loves Me, responds to the questions of sin in the life of the man born blind [or born transgender] in John 9:3, Jesus answered, "It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.(ESV)" I pray that Poppa uses me for His Glory. Like my daughter, I know I will be defending God's calling on my life to be transgender and to be a part of His loving arms reaching out to the ones he loves.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Of what use is it to line all your ducks up into a nice neat row meeting all *available* information about what ducks you need and how they are to be presented, when there's a document that says one of your ducks needs to be thus and so and you've never seen or heard of it???
I took pains to make certain that my name and gender change documents for my birth certificate were appropriate and correct. This includes a letter from my Doctor saying I'm receiving "appropriate *medical* care." And this bureaucrat says her guidelines [which I could NOT google or bing anything about even from her own website] require the letter state "appropriate *clinical* care."
Now, from the online Merriam-Webster definitions of clinical and medical, I read them as implying medical is a higher form of care because it implies a doctor is involved where as clinical is only something done at a clinic and doesn't require a doctor.
I'm not happy!
I took pains to make certain that my name and gender change documents for my birth certificate were appropriate and correct. This includes a letter from my Doctor saying I'm receiving "appropriate *medical* care." And this bureaucrat says her guidelines [which I could NOT google or bing anything about even from her own website] require the letter state "appropriate *clinical* care."
Now, from the online Merriam-Webster definitions of clinical and medical, I read them as implying medical is a higher form of care because it implies a doctor is involved where as clinical is only something done at a clinic and doesn't require a doctor.
I'm not happy!
Monday, February 8, 2010
A Sword for the Lord
A Sword for the Lord's Truth
Is forged, strengthened in fire and
Sharpened over time
How do I be a
Sword of Love?
In Love I am to fight the Enemy
And in Love I am to cut the chains
Of Hate and Untruth
Is forged, strengthened in fire and
Sharpened over time
How do I be a
Sword of Love?
In Love I am to fight the Enemy
And in Love I am to cut the chains
Of Hate and Untruth
Monday, January 18, 2010
To be an activist
A couple weeks ago at group [this has been percolating for a while in what passes for my thot processes] we got on the subject of demonstrations and, peripherally, activism. I had to put my 2 cents [tho with inflation it might be worth less or even worthless] in on the topic. In responding, I realized I had to be careful how I expressed myself because I was making my first ever statement claiming to be an Activist and I knew at the time I am going to be responsible for my words.
Before, I supported the civil rights of all people and conservation. Skin color, religious practice, sexual orientation, or gender presentation. Well, I gotta be honest, I have discriminated against New York Yankee fans. Or maybe it's just the Steinbrenners. I will also confess to gritting my teeth while muttering, "Christian Right Republicans have civil rights, too." And while I always voted my beliefs, that was the extent my support. I never called, wrote, emailed any of my elected officials. I have not written any "letters to the editor," or called a radio talk show to make my support or opinions clear. I have only reacted to statements of discrimination in conversations around me. I have never been particularly proactive or even active in civil rights or conservation issues.
Since I started to live a more authentic life last summer, I have been physically and emotionally involved in the Equality March in Seattle and the Transgender Remember Our Dead event at the University of Washington. In those cases, I was a part of a group that was making a civil rights statement. I was an activist, but I wouldn't say I was conscious in my everyday life of being active in statements about civil rights or ecological issues.
That Wednesday night, I found myself making a statement of my manner of carrying into action the activism I am called to. And I know I am called. It starts with being as "out" as I can be. I am not in your face, but I will not hide. I shall live my life as honestly and as openly, as authentically as I can. I will answer all serious questions and many rhetorical questions to the best of my ability. In public, I am trying to live my life as the woman, actually the lesbian, next door. I am being an activist by being myself where people can see me and interact with me. I am trying to be myself, an example of a normal human being. I am hoping that people who see me, when in a conversation about gays, lesbians, bi and transgendered people, will say, "Well, I know this transgendered woman, she's a lesbian, and she's really nice." And that is the response I have gotten from people at the Tully's I visit for my wifi. I did not tell any one but the baristas know and so do several of the regular customers who come in. They have learned that I am nothing and nobody to be afraid of. When I find work again, I will be just as out, I will have no secrets from the people I work with.
This is a small and inauspicious start as an activist, but I'd like to think that Martin Luther King and Mohandas Gandhi would smile and nod their heads at my becoming more intentional as an everyday activist.
Before, I supported the civil rights of all people and conservation. Skin color, religious practice, sexual orientation, or gender presentation. Well, I gotta be honest, I have discriminated against New York Yankee fans. Or maybe it's just the Steinbrenners. I will also confess to gritting my teeth while muttering, "Christian Right Republicans have civil rights, too." And while I always voted my beliefs, that was the extent my support. I never called, wrote, emailed any of my elected officials. I have not written any "letters to the editor," or called a radio talk show to make my support or opinions clear. I have only reacted to statements of discrimination in conversations around me. I have never been particularly proactive or even active in civil rights or conservation issues.
Since I started to live a more authentic life last summer, I have been physically and emotionally involved in the Equality March in Seattle and the Transgender Remember Our Dead event at the University of Washington. In those cases, I was a part of a group that was making a civil rights statement. I was an activist, but I wouldn't say I was conscious in my everyday life of being active in statements about civil rights or ecological issues.
That Wednesday night, I found myself making a statement of my manner of carrying into action the activism I am called to. And I know I am called. It starts with being as "out" as I can be. I am not in your face, but I will not hide. I shall live my life as honestly and as openly, as authentically as I can. I will answer all serious questions and many rhetorical questions to the best of my ability. In public, I am trying to live my life as the woman, actually the lesbian, next door. I am being an activist by being myself where people can see me and interact with me. I am trying to be myself, an example of a normal human being. I am hoping that people who see me, when in a conversation about gays, lesbians, bi and transgendered people, will say, "Well, I know this transgendered woman, she's a lesbian, and she's really nice." And that is the response I have gotten from people at the Tully's I visit for my wifi. I did not tell any one but the baristas know and so do several of the regular customers who come in. They have learned that I am nothing and nobody to be afraid of. When I find work again, I will be just as out, I will have no secrets from the people I work with.
This is a small and inauspicious start as an activist, but I'd like to think that Martin Luther King and Mohandas Gandhi would smile and nod their heads at my becoming more intentional as an everyday activist.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The time is a quarter to numb...
How things are for me??? Today my divorce is final. I get my name change... Later this week I'll start chasing all the places I need to change my name. I'll send the paperwork and the money to the state to change my birth certificate and then prolly change my driver's license. Today I'm just a couple of shades shy of being numb. I prolly wont stop at the liquor store but it crosses my mind.
Monday, December 28, 2009
The End of a Chapter...
Like a lot of people, maybe most people, I've worked a number of different jobs in my life. I was a programmer/analyst for a small airplane manufacturing company based in Seattle [Boeing]. I was laid off after 9/11 and wasna unhappy to no longer be working there. I never woulda quit but I wasna happy, either. My next job was working as a Certified [yes, I am certifiable :-P ] Nursing Assistant for Providence Hospital in Everett. I started as a nursing assistant and expected it to be temporary because I thought I wanted to be an RN. I worked 32 hours a week with 8 to 10 patients. I found that I loved it! I got a lot of face-to-face contact with the patients and the greatest group of people I've ever worked with! I brought my offbeat sense of humor to my job. [Patch Adams is one of my favorite movies!] The patients enjoyed my humor and it would make their day a bit easier. One of my favorite memories of the job involved a woman who'd recently received very serious diagnosis. She was crying softly in her bed and I came in and sat down with her and we started to talk about things and after a bit, she was laughing with me and felt much better. Her nurse never said anything to me but wrote up an Angel of the Month nomination for me because she was amazed at what had happened. There was another patient with respiratory failure who'd been in and out of the hospital on our floor. I was frequently her aide. The last time she was in, she came to understand she was not going to get better and in fact was only alive because of her respirator. She and her family decided it was time for her to go on to meet her Savior. They called their pastor and the family gathered in the room for prayer and communion. Both her nurse and I were not going to interrupt them. They held off their service until they found us. They very much wanted us to be a part of it. This was a really humbling moment for me to be honored that way. You never know how much the little things you might do for somebody will touch them and their families.
I was a nursing assistant for four years. The last few months, they'd changed the staffing and we almost always had 11-12 patients. That's a lot for any floor but the people on our floor required more care than the average patient, so it was real load. In August of '08, my life had come to a point where I knew I was going to transition soon, so I told my supervisor that I am transsexual. She replied, "You're a nice man. You're just confused." Wrong answer! About a month later, they [management] put together a trumped up, bogus story and fired me. They sent a complaint to the State. It was all hearsay and they couldn't prove it was true but I couldn't prove it wasn't true. The State takes its own sweet time investigating things. Today, I received legal mail from the state. I am to turn in my credentials and I will never be a nursing assistant in Washington state again. There's a little more to it all than that but that's the bottom line.
It hurts... I was a very good aide. My patients loved me and I loved my patients. I learned how much I enjoy helping people, particularly face-to-face. I don't know what field to go into next because I know I want to continue to help other people.
The end of a chapter, but not the end of my calling.
I was a nursing assistant for four years. The last few months, they'd changed the staffing and we almost always had 11-12 patients. That's a lot for any floor but the people on our floor required more care than the average patient, so it was real load. In August of '08, my life had come to a point where I knew I was going to transition soon, so I told my supervisor that I am transsexual. She replied, "You're a nice man. You're just confused." Wrong answer! About a month later, they [management] put together a trumped up, bogus story and fired me. They sent a complaint to the State. It was all hearsay and they couldn't prove it was true but I couldn't prove it wasn't true. The State takes its own sweet time investigating things. Today, I received legal mail from the state. I am to turn in my credentials and I will never be a nursing assistant in Washington state again. There's a little more to it all than that but that's the bottom line.
It hurts... I was a very good aide. My patients loved me and I loved my patients. I learned how much I enjoy helping people, particularly face-to-face. I don't know what field to go into next because I know I want to continue to help other people.
The end of a chapter, but not the end of my calling.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Shannon's First Christmas
It wasn’t a joy but it wasn’t a tragedy, either.
I had planned for Christmas Eve. I was going to go to dinner at First Congregational Church, and then to the Christmas Eve service they were going to have. After that I was planning to go to a Candlelight Service at Cedar Cross Methodist. I went casual most of the day; running a few chores and surfing at my Tully’s. I went home, got showered, shaved and ready for the evening. And then I got really nauseous and dinna feel well at all. I crawled into my bed and just lay there. I had a very difficult time getting to sleep. The nausea and the dreading of Christmas Day would not let me relax and get to sleep.
Sleep finally came and so did Christmas morning. The apartment felt incredibly empty. It was painful to be so alone on Christmas morning. It felt like someone had cut my heart out. I took my meds and after a bit, I started my breakfast. It wasna very different from any of our Christmas Breakfasts before except there wasna anyone to share it with. When I was done eating, about a quarter to 10AM, I decided it was late enough in the morning that I could call my family and wish them Merry Christmas! I called my wife, got no answer and left a message. I called my daughter, got her voice mail and left her a greeting. I called my son next and it was the same story. It was a little disappointing but it was early yet. Called my baby brother, no answer and left a message. Called my other brother and he was home. I had a good long chat with him. When I finished, my daughter had left a message on my voice mail. That was good.
Just after I woke up that morning I had three very nice text messages from friends of mine. I really, really appreciated them. My morning rolled on. I got a very quick, impersonal, “Merry Christmas” text from my wife. Nothing at all special. I waited and waited for her to call me. She never did. After noon sometime, I had a good cry. I deserve better than that from her! I finally got a call from my daughter and I thanked her very much for calling me back. I think she picked up on my feelings because my son called me about a half hour later. I didna catch the call but he did leave a message.
Debra invited me to her house for dinner Christmas Day. I had told her I’d be there. I also told her I’d bring a casserole. I’ve been trying recipes from Allrecipes.com. This was an opportunity to try out one that sounded really good to me. Called creamy corn casserole, I was anxious to try it out. I love corn; so much so that it comes out in my humor . I put it together and it was really easy [three-four stars.... was a little bland]. Timed it to be ready just before I left and I got myself ready. Popped it out of the oven, covered it with foil, wrapped in a large towel and then headed to Debra’s place. Debra had several people there I had not met so it was going to be an interesting night. Debra and Corina [a woman I had not met] were doing most of the cooking. Debra was being Martha Stewart for the evening. It was a good dinner and a nice evening. I really enjoyed Corina a lot and look forward to meeting her again. Sophia was there and a couple of other women I dinna know before. Sophia seemed to have a very good time. I’m glad I went. So my first Christmas ended on a good note.
I had planned for Christmas Eve. I was going to go to dinner at First Congregational Church, and then to the Christmas Eve service they were going to have. After that I was planning to go to a Candlelight Service at Cedar Cross Methodist. I went casual most of the day; running a few chores and surfing at my Tully’s. I went home, got showered, shaved and ready for the evening. And then I got really nauseous and dinna feel well at all. I crawled into my bed and just lay there. I had a very difficult time getting to sleep. The nausea and the dreading of Christmas Day would not let me relax and get to sleep.
Sleep finally came and so did Christmas morning. The apartment felt incredibly empty. It was painful to be so alone on Christmas morning. It felt like someone had cut my heart out. I took my meds and after a bit, I started my breakfast. It wasna very different from any of our Christmas Breakfasts before except there wasna anyone to share it with. When I was done eating, about a quarter to 10AM, I decided it was late enough in the morning that I could call my family and wish them Merry Christmas! I called my wife, got no answer and left a message. I called my daughter, got her voice mail and left her a greeting. I called my son next and it was the same story. It was a little disappointing but it was early yet. Called my baby brother, no answer and left a message. Called my other brother and he was home. I had a good long chat with him. When I finished, my daughter had left a message on my voice mail. That was good.
Just after I woke up that morning I had three very nice text messages from friends of mine. I really, really appreciated them. My morning rolled on. I got a very quick, impersonal, “Merry Christmas” text from my wife. Nothing at all special. I waited and waited for her to call me. She never did. After noon sometime, I had a good cry. I deserve better than that from her! I finally got a call from my daughter and I thanked her very much for calling me back. I think she picked up on my feelings because my son called me about a half hour later. I didna catch the call but he did leave a message.
Debra invited me to her house for dinner Christmas Day. I had told her I’d be there. I also told her I’d bring a casserole. I’ve been trying recipes from Allrecipes.com. This was an opportunity to try out one that sounded really good to me. Called creamy corn casserole, I was anxious to try it out. I love corn; so much so that it comes out in my humor . I put it together and it was really easy [three-four stars.... was a little bland]. Timed it to be ready just before I left and I got myself ready. Popped it out of the oven, covered it with foil, wrapped in a large towel and then headed to Debra’s place. Debra had several people there I had not met so it was going to be an interesting night. Debra and Corina [a woman I had not met] were doing most of the cooking. Debra was being Martha Stewart for the evening. It was a good dinner and a nice evening. I really enjoyed Corina a lot and look forward to meeting her again. Sophia was there and a couple of other women I dinna know before. Sophia seemed to have a very good time. I’m glad I went. So my first Christmas ended on a good note.
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