Author: Carol Gibbs

By Kathy Bruce

This week, Kathy shares about how her experience growing up during the civil rights movement formed her in a way that encourages her to promote racial unity today.

Here is her story.

     I grew up in Baltimore city during the civil rights movement (1954-1968). As a child, I never sensed there was a ‘movement’ of any kind going on. I was blessed that way, I guess.

     I am the oldest of five children born to teenage parents. My parents were married a few months before I was born in 1957. I remember lots of love, laughter, and legacy building moments growing up. These moments continue to carry us through to this day.

     My childhood was happy-go-lucky. I lived in a two parent home. I spent many hours playing outside with my siblings and friends. We played hopscotch and tag, skated, rode bikes and played baseball in the street. I remember sitting on the front steps of our house eating popsicles—cherry or chocolate for me!

     As a child, I spent lots of time with extended family—my great grandmother, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. My parents would load us up in the car on Saturdays with packed lunches and blankets and we would head to the beach, Carr’s Beach. There, we would meet up with extended family to grill food and dance to the latest hit songs. I was unaware that the beaches we enjoyed were segregated. I was blessed that way, I guess.

     My two youngest brothers were born in 1963 and 1968, the years President John F. Kennedy was assassinated and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. Those were significant times in American History… African American History. I would come to revisit these significant historical moments as an adult.

    I vividly remember the night of Dr. King’s assassination. My sister and I were spending the night with my grandmother. My grandmother lived on a very busy street. I would take great delight in seeing the shadows from the headlights of the cars make funny shapes through the blinds on the walls of her house. That night, there were no dancing lights streaming through the closed venetian blinds as I happily played. What was going on, I wondered?  I remember going to the window, peeking through the blinds and was horrified by what I saw! There were army tanks and soldiers with long rifles riding up and down the middle of the streets patrolling them and the behavior of the residents. There were no cars coming or going about their business anymore. My grandmother said there was a curfew in place because people were rioting after learning of Dr. King’s death. Rioting? I didn’t know what that was. I was blessed that way, I guess. I remember being so afraid and wanting to go home but there was no way out. We were supposed to go home the following morning but were forbidden to leave because of the curfew.  People were being arrested for breaking the curfew. We had to stay put for several days. I was ten years old.  

     I have always felt a strong connection to my ancestral roots, the place of my earthly beginnings. So, when my paternal cousin was able to trace our family’s American ancestral roots to a town in South Carolina—Darlington County—to be exact, I was thrilled!! I was in my 40’s at the time. By then, I had heard a myriad of stories about how that tragic night, April 4, 1968 came to be. I was so clueless as a young girl about the racial injustice and its effects. By this time, as an adult, I had experienced first-hand it’s sting. I had been spat upon and called a ni**er by a young white man who called me that from a passing car. I had been overlooked, dissed and dismissed in a country that I proudly sang patriotic songs about in elementary school, just because of the color of my skin.

     It was fascinating to see the names of my ancestors on the census’ that were taken after they were brought to this country against their will. I was finally able to make a connection, knowing my roots. The historical documents revealed that our family could be traced back to the 1800’s.  My ancestors were brought to a plantation in South Carolina that still stands today.

      A few years ago, I was able to visit that plantation with my husband and granddaughter to pay homage to those whose shoulders I proudly stand upon. I literally touched the dirt that absorbed their blood, sweat and tears. Earlier, I would come to know that my mom’s and my husband’s American ancestral roots began there, too.

     Armed with this historical reference helped to shape me and my world view. I never quite saw the land I loved through the eyes of that clueless little girl again. I could see my father (Sgt. U.S. Army) returning from active duty by bus to be ushered to the back of the building to get a drink of water from the ‘colored only’ fountain while the whites entered through the front door. I heard about so many injustices to people of color that made me cry and call out to the God I love. He is redeeming that pain for me in ways I could have never dreamed.

     Fifty years after seeing the National Guard tanks roll down the street and the so-called ‘formal’ end to the Civil Rights Movement, I am keenly aware that the fight for civil rights is still as prevalent today as it was then. As a sixty year old woman, I am reminded that the ‘movement’ was and still is in my lifetime…not that long ago.  

     Standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before me, I want to do my part to call attention to the injustices that STILL exist today. My life is given to tearing down walls of separation through conversations. I’m called to be a bridge builder by having conversations with others about what’s going on in our neighborhoods, churches, cities, states, country and the world. I am called to be a bridge builder by exposing those ‘hidden’ things that undermine the dignity of God’s image bearers and calling attention to it for those who don’t get it!!

      I am a voice for those who are marginalized. I know I can speak out in ways that my ancestors would never have dreamed possible. I can carry myself with the dignity and respect that they were not afforded. I can dream of a world that truly embraces the vision of unity. A John 3:16 mindset.(“For God so loved the world…”). I can help others see that—”Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere” (Dr. King). I can do it right in my sphere of influence—my kitchen table.

 I am blessed that way.

Stories changing lives…

Kathy is a leader in her church and the community, and strives to build bridges to racial unity through conversations on her Facebook Blog Page—”Kitchen Table Conversations with Kathy.”

She and her husband of 40 years, John, live in Maryland. Together, they have 4 children, 7 grandchildren and will be welcoming a great-granddaughter in the Fall.

   By Sam and Leigh Erdman

This week, Sam and Leigh share about the faith journey that led them to foster and eventually adopt two children.

     Eight years ago, we began a process of asking some questions about our life.

     We had two young children at the time, life was very full and fun, but we were both experiencing the sense that God had more for us. We had a good life, were blessed in countless ways, and yet we wondered what God wanted to do with our family, where we were, in the stage of life we were in.

     As we began to explore possibilities, we developed a list of dreams and visions for our family, along with some things we thought would be fun or exciting. It was hard to tell which, if any, of those dreams were God’s dreams for us and which ideas were ours that we were trying to justify into a “calling.”


     There were many false starts along the way, thinking we were following God only to have doors close, or our excitement and passion for whatever it was, wane. It was frustrating, and we questioned whether we would ever clearly hear God’s voice. But we continued to pray that God would speak to us and help us to offer our life with open hands.



     We kept being drawn back to Micah 6:8, a verse that became our family verse throughout that year. In it, God says, “You know, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” This verse felt like a great set of marching orders to set us up to be used by God. We thought that if we could check those three requirements off the list, we would finally be in a place where we could hear God speak.
 
 

     Over the months, though, as we kept reading that verse, we found ourselves discouraged. Those three “requirements” seemed to be the furthest thing from reality in our lives. 

     The first one- “do justice”. We had many friends who were deeply and passionately engaged with justice issues around the world. We were happy to write a check, and voice support, but none of these causes captured us the way they had for our friends. Failure #1.

The second command- “love mercy”. This was the most blatantly difficult for us. We took a spiritual gift assessment a few years prior, and our “mercy” gifting was off the charts- the bottom of the charts. Like, everyone ever who had taken this test had more mercy than we did. Failure #2. 

     And the third requirement- to “walk humbly”. Pride, for us like so many, has been an easy trap. 

     We had a long way to go.

     God, however, started to bring some clarity to us. We realized that we had a growing desire to make a difference in the life of a child- or children. Primarily, our thoughts centered around adoption and foster care. We had many fears and concerns regarding fostering so we started to pursue adoption. False Start. 

     God kept bringing fostering back to our hearts and minds but we tried to shut that door. How could we love a child only to watch them leave our home for a less safe place? Was this another false start?



     God kept moving.

     First, we were asked to care for an infant who was to be removed from his home. We said “yes” only to have the city tell us “no,” since we weren’t approved foster parents. You would think that would have made this all clear for us- it didn’t. We continued to let our fears drive us rather than trust God in them. 



     Next, God brought a friend into our lives who grew up in the foster care system and his story changed us. During this time, God made this thought clear: “if a child comes into your home, and then goes back into an unsafe home, I will be with you. I sent my Son, whom I love, into an unsafe world- a world that would kill him. I’ve been where you fear going, and I will be with you. ”God would be with us, in both the joy and the suffering of this call.

We decided to say yes. 

     We began taking the required foster care training classes while continuing to pray for God’s grace and protection. We completed the classes and quickly had two kids placed in our care.



     Nothing could have prepared us for the pain and heartache of foster care, even though we had training and guidance along the way. Even so, the gifts we have received and the lessons we have learned far outweigh the pain.



     The biggest lessons we learned take us back to Micah 6:8. We realize now that saying “yes” to God doesn’t mean meeting those requirements in our own strength. It means trusting God to give us what we need. Foster care has taught us about the injustice of poverty, mental illness, and addiction, and given us a voice to speak out against it.

     God has turned our hearts towards mercy, not only for the children in our care, but for their birth parents and families. We have been humbled time and time again as we try to love children who are hurting, and do not yet know how to receive the love that we offer.



     It’s easy to feel like mediocre parents- on a good day- but God continues to meet us. Rather than fixing ourselves, we know that He uses us just as we are, right where we are. He is sufficient. He is the God of justice, the God of mercy, and the perfect example of humility. If we trust who He is, the blessing of faith is that He allows us to become more like Him.

     We had the privilege of adopting two of the children we fostered and the pain of losing many. We faced what was our greatest fear in the process, but learned that the more we say yes to Him, the more we experience authentic joy and the deep blessing of a surrendered life.

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    “Who do you say I am?” We answer this question every day by the way we live. We reveal what we believe about God, about ourselves, and about other people. A powerful message is expressed by how we interact with others. Every encounter is an opportunity for us to make a deep, meaningful connection, or to hide behind the fears and prejudices that prevent us from truly getting to know another person.

     Our Western culture, particularly the church, has taught us to be blind to the individual by placing people in categories; single, married, divorced, women, men, recovering, disabled, immigrant, gay and by race. We apply preconceived notions to each group because it helps us to identify who they may be. These preconceived notions fail to recognize the value of and embrace the uniqueness of the individual without even hearing their story. Each person’s story has the potential to bring a deeper understanding to who they are…and they long to share it. Everyone wants to be known and loved.  

     Our culture has attempted to respond to this deep desire by providing special opportunities for that to occur. Millions of people, every day, search dating sites for the perfect person. Extensive inventories are completed with the purpose of identifying a compatible partner. The ultimate hope is to find someone who knows and loves them.

     But what does it mean to be known? Being known requires that we courageously reveal our truest self to another. This willingness  often becomes an invitation for others to respond in kind, creating a beautiful exchange. When we take time to listen to another person, we are communicating that they have value. They have significance. We may not always understand the person but there is something supernatural that happens as we take the time to listen. We communicate love.

Take time to express love today….listen to someone’s story.

Excerpt from Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community.

Buy it on Amazon today!

     When our children were young, back in the mid 80s, my husband and I felt that it was important to live near their loving grandparents. We packed up and moved to our hometown. My husband was employed an hour away so he commuted on the train each day to work. 

     We naturally returned to the church where both he and I attended when teenagers and were married after college. It was a wonderful Episcopal church with lovely people. 

    The Episcopal church was one of the first to be outwardly supportive of the gay community. I had a very conservative upbringing and attempted to ignore this aspect of the faith, but, when they commissioned  the first gay bishop, it became too much for me to ignore and we moved to another church, a non-denominational, evangelical church, where we remained for 25 years. 

    God began an amazing  transformation in us.  Our family thrived at our new church. We poured ourselves into church life, volunteering often and attending  small groups. Then one day, my growing faith led me to start praying for God to help me to “love well”. I had no idea the impact that that prayer would have on my life.

     “I had given much thought to what it looked like to love well. It seemed like such a simple prayer but it was answered differently than I anticipated. I expected that God would increase my number of lunch dates to encourage people, or have me support them through difficult life circumstances, but God had deep transformational ideas in mind in response to my naive invitation. So, when I prayed to love well, God presented me with three very unexpected and powerful experiences, over a few short months.

     First, my husband was invited to consider a position on staff at our church to be the director of International Ministries. It was an amazing position, so after much prayer, he left a very lucrative position as a lawyer to go to a not so financially lucrative position at church. It was a calling. I joined him on staff a year later.

     Then, my father was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. I stepped down from my new teaching position to help care for him,  with my siblings, until he died seven months later. It was a heartrending experience.

     The third experience took us to our knees. Our younger son, who was twenty-two at the time, told us he believed he was gay. He was not certain and invited our family to join him on a journey to discern. He explained that he had been experiencing same-sex attraction for ten years prior and asked us to pray for him as he questioned God about his identity. “Is this who I really am?” Our son chose to go through counseling during this process and spent the next couple of months in prayer and discernment with a young couple from the Christian organization that had mentored him in college. They walked with him through the Bible exploring original text to see what God had said about same-sex attraction. I was convinced that he would come out of this process believing that he was straight. That was not the result of his discernment. After months, of seeking answers, he believed that this was who God created him to be…a gay man. We were devastated.

     How could this be? Both of our sons were raised in the church and had been very active in it as leaders. When they went to college, they found a home in the Christian organization on campus. Our younger son was president, for heaven’s sake. My husband and I began to pray for God to step in and show Himself strong, and He did… but not the way we expected.

     I was raised in the church at a time where what was taught went unquestioned. And, what was taught about the LGBTQ community stayed with me for a very long time; that being gay was a wrong choice.

     The months following my son’s declaration, my husband and I spent many hours with him sharing everything that we believed, everything that the church had taught us about being gay. We quoted bible verses and shared our opinions about something we knew nothing about, hoping that we could convince him otherwise. It was not our finest hour as parents.

     Then, we began to examine ourselves. When something occurs in the life of your children you are forced to question if you were in anyway responsible. Our sons were raised in a Christian home. They went to Sunday school, went through all the youth groups, and committed their lives to Christ. What had we done, or not done, that had contributed to his being gay? It was a very humbling experience.

     To say that our world was rocked does not even come close to the immense emotions that we experienced during this time. All the hopes and dreams that we had for our younger son were dashed in an instant…and we struggled for answers. We wanted to protect him from the world’s response. The thought of him having a lifetime of persecution was heartbreaking. What about marriage? What about grandchildren…our grandchildren?

     Our older son, sixteen and a half months older than his brother, had just married a wonderful young woman a few months before. She was our younger son’s best friend in high school. Our younger son would never have this in his life. What about his future? Where was God in all of this? Wasn’t He supposed to be sovereign? Why wasn’t He doing anything?

     Over the next few months, there were many conversations as a family and with God. There were many sleepless nights and many tears shed.

     Then…one day…God spoke. He said that our response to our son was to “just love him.” God had plans. He would take care of him.“This is what loving well looks like.”

     So, as God began to reveal more of His love for our family, my husband and I began to do research on same-sex attraction and our eyes were opened. “

Excerpt from Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community, by Carol Marchant Gibbs

        Thirteen years have past since that time. Through the years, God has reminded us of His love for our family and taught us many things about justice and His deep desire for all mankind to experience love. 

     We have begun to understand the face of persecution as we have supported our son. The church we fled to 25 years prior because gay bishops were being commissioned became the accuser.  How ironic. We chose love, left the church of 25 years, and found a more affirming church.

   God created all people. Could He be using our differences, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, people with disabilities, man, woman… to teach us what love really looks like? Look beyond the surface and enter into a conversation with someone who is different from yourself. God will surprise you…no question.

     I remember experiencing deep sadness after my father died many years ago. As I walked along a secluded beach, I found myself pleading for God to reveal His love for me. I prayed that on that very shell-less beach, I would find a symbol of His love, a conch shell. After walking a short distance, down at my feet was the conch for which I had prayed. But, when I stopped to pick it up, I saw that it was broken. Then, I felt God speak. “Life does not always look the way you think it should, but it is beautiful just the same.”

Look for beauty today. 

     The simple act of listening well to a person almost always changes your perception of who they are. In this week’s blog, I will share a few of my personal experiences about listening. 

     I have never been a shepherd, but I have been to Central Asia and have witnessed  the profession in practice.  Shepherds are both men and women of all ages. In the Bible, Rachel is the first woman shepherd introduced: “Rachel came with her father’s sheep for she was their shepherd” (Gen. 29:6). Later, we meet David who was a shepherd as a young boy.

    Shepherding is one of the oldest professions in the world. For centuries, shepherds have wandered hillsides, enduring harsh weather conditions, and fighting off predators, for the sole purpose of protecting and caring for their sheep. The shepherd is present through every situation. Whether in feeding,  providing medical attention or simply for guidance to the next pasture, the shepherd uses his or her voice to direct the sheep. To sheep, the voice of the shepherd is a reassuring presence.  Sheep understand that the shepherd has their well-being at heart, so they trust in the voice that gives loving direction to their lives. Sheep respond to the shepherd’s voice like no other. 

        Jesus was often referred to as the Good Shepherd because His desire for mankind is similar. He wants to care for us, to love and protect us, to tenderly bandage our wounds when the predators of this world attack, and to direct our path to greener pastures, giving hope to the future. He longs for us to hear His voice. 

     But how do we listen to the voice of God? I believe that He uses many ways to speak to us; through the Bible and other writings and through people and circumstances. I am sure that He also speaks audibly to some but this has not been my experience. For me, I have heard Him speaking to my heart. It’s not audible but it is very clear. 

     I started to hear God speak in this way when I was a teenager. I grew up in the church and was very active in a para-church ministry in high school. I committed much of my time to reading the Bible and journaling. But, when God began to speak to my heart, it scared me so much, I consciously began to close myself off to His voice. I didn’t mention it to anyone because I thought they might question my mental state…I did. Sure, I continued to do all the things that church goers do but it’s amazing how you can busy yourself so much in activity for God  that you miss the relationship with God.  

     It wasn’t until I was an adult, in my early thirties, that the notion that God really does speak to us today was introduced to me. I found myself in a small group that was focused on hearing God. It was then, that I began to understand the many ways that God communicates with us. This new discovery was exciting and an amazing relief, leaving me eager to experience what I had years earlier. So… I often found myself setting aside time to wait in quiet for God to speak. There were many days that silencing my mind from the busyness of the day was a challenge, after all, I did have two little boys. I had to be strategic with my time and found that the more I was able to be still, the more the voice of God was able to break through to my heart. 

     There have been  many times that God has spoken through the chaos of the day to give me a kind word of encouragement. I have a vivid memory of when God spoke through my five year old son many years ago.

    Fitting a daily life into the process of building a house can be a challenge. It was an all-consuming task for us and we found ourselves needing to consult on the building results almost every day. One Tuesday during the process, my younger son and I stopped by the house to consult on the placement of the vacuum cleaner system prior to going to our regular bible study meeting. It was a wonderful bible study for moms with a special program for children that my son really enjoyed. As we waited at the house for the contractor to arrive,  it became obvious that we were going to be late for our weekly meeting. My son became very concerned and reminded me several times that we needed to leave. “We’re  going to be late, Mom”. Finally, his little voice broke through when he said, “You know, Mom, bible study is much more important than the vacuum cleaner system”. He was five. I never scheduled an appointment on that day again.

     Learning to quiet your life also includes quieting your mind.  Sometimes busyness can manifest itself in my thoughts as I am listening to a person share their story. I may have the best of intentions at heart but important details of someone’s story can be missed if I am thinking about how I might respond to what is being shared.

     In my relationship with God, I must admit that most of the time I am telling God how I think my life should be rather than listening to what He has to say about it. But, when I take time to listen, I begin to see God in a new light and understand more deeply His love for me. 

     There are some days that I am more successful at listening to  people and to God.  It takes practice. Fortunately, we have a lifetime to master the skill.

“My sheep hear My voice. I know them, and they follow Me”. (John 10:27)

Stories changing lives.

My country tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died!
Land of the Pilgrim’s pride!
From every mountain side,
Let freedom ring!

Our father’s God to, Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!

First and fourth verses of “America” (My Country ‘Tis of Thee”) Written by Samuel Francis Smith

     Let freedom ring!! Our country has experienced incredible freedoms over its short life. I am extremely thankful for those who have unselfishly given their lives to make that happen here and abroad.

     As we celebrate Independence Day, I can’t help but think about the people in our country that are prevented from truly celebrating freedom today. Whether it is race, ethnicity, religion, poverty, sexual orientation, disability, or immigrant status, women and men, created by God, are not experiencing the freedoms that our country was founded upon. Oh, that freedom would ring for all people.

     “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness” Declaration of Independence

What can we do today to help make that happen? Let freedom ring!

God bless you this Fourth of July!

     Todd had already started transitioning when he first met Katrina. They met on a dating site and chatted for two months before meeting in person. Todd really liked her, so he made the decision that he would not tell her he was a trans man until their third date. He really wanted her to get to know him first. So, he waited.

     The timing of the third date couldn’t have been more perfect because Katrina was scheduled to go on a business trip the next day. This would provide some space for her to think about whether she wanted to go forward with their relationship…or not. So, at the end of their third date, as Todd was walking her home, he told Katrina he was a trans man.

Todd’s Story

     As I reflect on my life, an overwhelming sense of gratitude wells up inside of me. My parents were pretty extraordinary; very loving and always very supportive. I was close to them both but in different ways. I loved the outdoors so my dad and I spent countless hours hunting and fishing. My mom was easy to talk to and offered advice when I needed it the most. Though my sister was three years younger, she and I had a special bond. We did not have the typical sister-sister relationship. We were more like sister and brother. Our interests really overlapped. We loved to play outdoors together and were on the same softball teams. But we were different in that my sister could also be very feminine…and I was not.

     Our family was also very conservative and went to the Lutheran church every Sunday. When I was young, I really didn’t hear anything from the church about the gay community, but I did from my family. I remember hearing early on that being gay was “abnormal.” It wasn’t presented in a hateful way, it was just matter of fact.

     As early as I understood the difference between boys and girls, I knew I was different. At age four, I was often mistaken as a boy. My mom would kindly correct the person, but I could sense her embarrassment, so it began to embarrass me. I wore boys’ clothes, shoes, and had mannerisms that suggested that I was a boy. I even tried to stand up when going to the bathroom. Everything about me said I was a boy and I often reminded my mom of that. In my mind, I was a boy.

     I was a boy in a girl’s body and it became increasingly frustrating for me. My mom’s concern landed me in a therapist’s office. She didn’t take me there to change me, but to help me deal with my feelings. For two years, I went to the therapist to talk about how I was feeling, and I became more and more frustrated with the process. The sessions involved my talking about how I felt while I played with toys. I wasn’t getting anything out of therapy, so I told my mom that I was “fine now” and did not need to continue. So, I stopped going.

     My middle and high school years were filled with even more anxiety from the constant teasing. I was different and worked very hard to manage the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that became a huge part of my life.

     When I got older, I attempted to date women but the fact that I was uncomfortable in my own body was not helpful. I just couldn’t express my true self as a woman and the relationships I found myself in were unhealthy and abusive. So, I realized that I needed to do something about it.

     In 2004, the transition commenced with six months of talking with a therapist about what might be the best treatment for me. I knew that living the way I had was no longer an option. There was so much to think about. Was a physical change the only way? I had to mentally prepare for whatever was to come. One of my greatest concerns was needles. This may sound humorous to some, but I really don’t like needles and a physical change would require many. After six months of therapy, it had become clear that a physical change was the only solution.

     There were so many things to resolve prior to the change. I needed to be completely ready for what was about to occur to my body. In preparation for that, I changed my name and had the necessary legal documentation completed. Hormone treatments began in 2005, six months after my decision. I was on hormone therapy for one and a half years.

     I started to transition while working in the finance department at a retirement company. The hormone treatments were working and I was looking more masculine. The therapist offered to come in to my office to explain to my colleagues what I was experiencing. I had told no one. I chose to go on a business trip to avoid the scheduled gathering. I did not want to be witness to the shock or uncomfortable questions or comments. It apparently was received very well. It did feel awkward for a while after my return but that did pass. People were kind and gracious.

     My body continued to transition. Then in 2007, I had top surgery. This was done locally by a specialist in the field. The surgery was a success and I began to feel more like the person I imagined myself to be.  

     Two years later, I decided to try dating again…as a man. I completed a profile on a dating site and began communicating with a lovely woman named Katrina. 

     We met at Starbucks for our first date. I thoughtfully bought her a chocolate chip muffin and a cup of coffee, only to find out months later that she really didn’t care for chocolate. Still, she politely received my offering and we spent the next three hours getting to know one another. The conversation just flowed. We had so much in common; similar backgrounds, values, and interests. At the end of the night, when the staff at Starbucks began to close the place, we said our goodbyes and I told her I “would be in-touch.” Then, I called to see if she got home safely.

     I had just moved into my new house prior to our date so with all the unpacking and settling in, the next date didn’t happen for a while.

Katrina’s version
     When I first met Todd, I thought, wow, what a handsome man. He is a little short, though taller than me. The last man I dated was six feet eight inches. I had a little anxiety about meeting guys because my last relationship didn’t end well. That night, the anxiety quickly passed. Todd was different than my last relationship. He was easy to talk to and I found myself wondering if he was authentic. That was important to me. By the end of the evening, despite the chocolate chip muffin, I was convinced that I wanted to see him again.

     Though he called to see if I got home safely that night, I was very disappointed that he didn’t call me for a second date soon after that. I waited and waited for him to call, then I took control and asked him out.

Back to Todd
     Our second date was at the local Roy’s. Once again, conversation was so easy. Katrina was cute and fun, and I really liked her personality. And most importantly, she was genuine. I was really starting to like her and began to experience anxiety about telling her the truth on our third date.  
At the end of our third date, when we were close to her home, I told her the truth. I was direct. There really was no other way. So, I came out with, “I was not born male.” Though she had some gay friends in college, Katrina had been very sheltered and knew very little about the LGBTQ community, especially transgender people.
She asked, “What does that mean?” So, I explained very clearly that I was born female and was transitioning to male.  

Katrina’s response
     Todd was the first person to ever utter the word “transgender” to me. I had friends who were gay and lesbian, but transgender was a whole new concept. I remember asking what it meant, thinking at first, that he physically had both forms of genitalia, not realizing he was born one way and had transitioned to look like he did that day. It was too much to wrap my head around.

     Todd was always outwardly male to me. He had not changed so I did not feel like I had to make any decisions at that moment. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism to not address the big picture. The part of his story that impacted me most was his inability to have children. Being our third date, it was too early to even think about how his being transgender would affect the physical aspects of our relationship. I just knew he did not have the sperm to create a child if we wanted one. That night, I called my twin sister to begin to break the news to her but all I could get out was, “Todd told me that he can’t have children.” I did not tell her he was transgender.
During my business trip, I had time to reflect and evaluate what I wanted out of the relationship. My science background made me want to understand the facts first, then address my feelings later, so, I began to research about what it meant to be transgender. I think I compartmentalized the child-bearing part because I knew there were ways around it through adoption or having a donor.

     I was away from Thursday to Tuesday for a conference, returned home for two nights and then was off again for four days to be a bridesmaid in my best friend’s wedding. I saw Todd one night during my brief return home. While away, I found myself missing the person I had been dating. As we texted throughout my trip, I decided to take our relationship one day at a time. “Could I deal with it today?” I asked myself. Okay. The next day? Okay.
It was well into our relationship that we discussed his transition process, his past dating, his surgeries to that point, and what would be upcoming. That’s probably when it really sunk in that Todd’s transition would have a lifelong impact on our relationship. When the time came that we had to face the difficult stuff, I was in love with him and was committed to our relationship.

Todd
     Our relationship continued to grow and a year later, I realized that Katrina was “the one.” I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I proposed, and we were married eighteen months later.
We arranged for the pastors from the church we attended to do our premarital. They were very affirming and agreed to perform the ceremony in Katrina’s parents’ hometown.

Katrina  
     My family had really come to love Todd. They were thrilled he was going to be part of our family. However, I was so afraid that everything would change if they knew he was a trans man that I didn’t tell them before we were married.

     It was Thanksgiving, three years into our marriage, that we told my family that Todd was going to Serbia to have cosmetic surgery. The cost was prohibitive in the United States and our insurance would not cover it, so we had to go overseas. My mom heard “Serbia” and quickly did some research trying to find out more but she did not even consider that Todd was transgender. My family was still unaware.

     Todd’s parents came to Serbia with us to give support during surgery and after. His full reconstructive surgery required that we stay there for three weeks.

     Shortly after our return to the United States, Todd had complications from the surgery and was admitted into the hospital. It was then that my family admitted that they knew about him. My twin sister said to me one day, “You know that we know.” They had just put all the signs together.

     Every year my family goes to the beach together. The first year, my mom asked what the scars were on Todd’s chest. “Oh, he had to have some surgery.” I explained. They asked no more questions. I just wanted them to figure it out on their own.

     My family was hurt that I had not told them, not because Todd was trans but because they had known and loved him for eight years and we did not trust in that. “Why didn’t you trust us to know?” They asked. They love Todd and have adjusted well to the news and have become intentional about learning about the LGBTQ community.

Todd’s closing remarks
     This has been quite a learning experience for me. People have surprised me in their response to my story. I am thankful for my loving family and friends that have supported me through this journey. I spent a lot of energy trying to hide things in my life and it was a huge burden to carry. My loved ones gave me hope.

     God has worked in many unusual ways in my life that have reminded me of just how much I am loved by Him. When I was struggling with the hatred from the church, God showed up to remind me once again. The interesting thing about scripture is that Jesus never said anything about this issue, but He did speak about love and strongly chastised those who lived outside of it. God loves each of us.

There is so much more to Todd’s story. This is only an excerpt of his life. See the greater story in my book, Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community.

     There once was a deeply compassionate man who had such a heart for his country that he committed his life to bringing good mental health to those whom God put before him in the army. He married a wonderful woman who supported him in everything he did. They spent their lives moving their family from army base to army base where the man served. Early in their marriage, the man spent a year in Korea during the war, working at a MASH unit that provided support to those on the front line. The man and woman made many sacrifices through the years, but when they share of their army days, their eyes light up and they smile. The memories are amazing treasures…except for one.

     One night, during the man’s time in the service, a dear friend came to the man and woman to share a very deep secret. Brian had been a close friend of theirs for a long time. He was also a psychiatrist and worked closely alongside the man. The man and the woman often had dinner at Brian’s home, and they would return the favor by inviting Brian to theirs. They loved him. This particular night, Brian arrived physically beaten up and grief-stricken. He explained that he had been arrested during his time off and was asked by the army to retire early. No one really knew the details that led to such drastic measures but they did know this: Brian was secretly gay. Everyone knew he was gay, but they never talked about it because they believed it was the loving thing to do. They thought that helping him keep his secret was a means of protecting him. The man and woman lovingly listened to Brian as he shared about his life. They comforted him the best they could that night. Then, he went home and the three of them never talked about it again.

     Over the next few months, Brian went through the normal retirement process. His “secret” continued to be kept and Brian’s grief about his life grew into a deep despair. After the entire process of separating from the military was completed, one dark night, Brian took his own life. The man and woman were devastated as were all of Brian’s other friends. Their greatest regret was not talking honestly with him, hearing his story, and telling him how much he was loved by them and by God. From that point on, more than ever, they committed their lives to loving well those whom God put before them…especially members of the gay community.

     I have great admiration for my father-in-law and mother-in-law. They were always very kind and compassionate people. But, I never understood their position on same-sex attraction until I heard the story of Brian. God changed them the day Brian died. Their hearts grew a greater capacity to love.

     This story was told to me by our younger son, Jeremy, shortly after he came out. On hearing about Brian from our son, I swore that I would do whatever it took to love him well.

Prologue from my book, Who Do You Say I Am? Personal Life Stories Told by the LGBTQ Community

     My husband and I have always loved learning about and exploring new places.  We had heard wonderful things about the fine city of Seattle so, three years ago, we took a few days and went to see for ourselves. What we found was that Seattle is indeed a great city. It was a coffee lovers paradise! And, indeed, we are coffee enthusiasts.  There was not a street corner without a coffee shop of some kind. It was awesome!

     But like any city, Seattle also has its challenges. I remember being shaken by the large number of homeless people there. It was overwhelming and I struggled with knowing what to do with my feelings toward this heartbreaking scene. The young people hung together in small communities which was encouraging but the older homeless wandered alone on the streets. As we walked the city, I prayed that God would show me how to respond.

      After walking a while, we ducked into a shopping mall to sit in the atrium, read and sip delicious coffee. My mind wandered to a book I had been reading earlier, Life Together in Christ, by Ruth Haley Barton. There, she explained about the power of listening to others. Too often in our culture it is believed that adding our “two cents” to someone else’s story might possibly be an encouragement to them. The book shared that interjecting one’s own experiences into someone else’s story could possibly have an adverse affect and cause a person to feel diminished. I was surprised by this and began to really think about how this might affect my future interactions with others.

     As I sat and thought about this very powerful message, a homeless woman carrying several bags came and sat near me. She took out her newspaper and began to comment on the articles as if she was broadcasting the news. It was a little unnerving at first and everyone around her paid no attention. She just kept talking very loudly about things that did not make sense, mentioning Mao Tse Tung and Winston Churchill quite a bit during her discourse. It was very unsettling and I did not know what to do. Do I respond or do I pretend that I am not hearing her like everyone else? It just did not feel right to ignore her, so, I prayed. Then, I heard God speak, “Just look at her.” It wasn’t an audible voice but was spoken to my heart. I found myself thinking — Lord, I have managed to avoid her gaze in hopes that she would stop. This was a place of vulnerability to which I was very reluctant to travel. And God repeated… “Just look at her.” So, I did…right in the eyes. Her gaze was fleeting. She looked around as if there was a veil covering her eyes, but she often looked in my direction as if she knew I was watching. As she continued to talk about things that made absolutely no sense, I smiled and nodded my head as if I understood her, praying the entire time, “Oh, Lord, when will she stop?” Then, after about ten minutes of talking, she stopped as abruptly as she started. I was totally undone.  I signaled my husband to walk with me so we could debrief this experience, asking for his response to what just occurred. He had no idea what I was talking about. At first, I thought he was joking with me. I wept when I realized that this moment was just for me. It was God’s response to my prayer. “Help me to know how to respond.”

     I will probably never see that woman again, but God was doing something that day as I listened to her discourse. What she shared certainly did not make sense to me but the love of God was being expressed to her without my uttering a word. “Just look at her.”

     How have you experienced the power of listening? What’s your story?