Post by Amber Marie on Nov 12, 2018 11:01:01 GMT 8
I get that organized religion has a problem reconciling with those who are different. History is rife with example of persecution. That is a flaw common to humanity. Still, if one believes in G-d, regardless of affiliation, one generally seeks ways to provide positive example, while seeking to treat others as we ourselves would wish to be treated. So being a person of faith, I greatly missed a connection with the Church. My mate and I are Eastern Orthodox, just so you know.
I was at a point where I was secure in my knowledge of self, my desire to act on the miracles and gifts that led me to this, the best and happiest moments of my life, and so I wrote about my life to our family priest, testing the waters and expecting nothing or rebuke. Still, I needed to do this both for myself, and as an act of faith to Christ.
I don't expect anyone to agree, and many may take a more militant attitude, but it was right for me. Below is the letter I wrote. I will add more about what happened after I sent it.
Dear Father,
I'd greatly appreciate both yours and the Orthodox Church's viewpoint on the following story. It's rather long and I apologize for that. I'm told I communicate like a story teller even though this story is a true one.
Once there was a baby born into this world who wasn't quite what it seemed. Outwardly, it appeared a normal boy, healthy, of decent size and weight. it had what appeared to be decent parents, a good home, good food, decent care, all the things one would expect. Even so, the baby was created flawed. As it developed in it's mothers womb, not everything went as expected. it's body clearly developed as it should, but it's brain developed on an alternate path. Whether it was the medicine it's mother took, a quirk in it's genetics, a slight disturbance in the timing of hormones, or a combination, the infant's brain remained female while it's body developed male. In addition to that, it wasn't just female, but autistic. These instances do occur, and close to 20 percent of transgendered individuals are on the spectrum.
In any case, this particular child, born before such things were commonly known, grew and developed as they always had. Difficulties affecting how the child interacted were common and handled simply as behavioral problems and dealt with using old fashioned methods. The child had problems being touched, problems with others, problems communicating, that were not addressed. The child grew learning to remain quiet, stay out of sight whenever possible. Even so, the lessons were difficult and often painful.
When that child was perhaps 3 1/2, it asked it's mother why it had to play with boys, why it couldn't have clothing like the other girls, why it's toys were so hard and violent? The mothers response was to beat the child. From that point, any question, any action not deemed boyish enough met the same response. The child learned. It learned never to trust. it learned that being alone was safe, being quiet was safe, being unseen was safe. The child hated it and lived in fear.
And so, the child learned a few other things. it learned to lock themselves away in the darkest corners of its mind. It learned to study others and act as expected. It learned it hated and feared a life alone, and it learned self loathing and rage. The child's father was a good man of the times, often gone for work, but patient when home. He taught the child to keep it's rage locked tight, he taught responsibility, duty, and the care of others as a human ideal. The child learned that as well.
The child's only light was a single girl who befriended him. With them, there was no boy or girl, just friends, playmates and co-dreamers in all but the child's awful hidden secret. Though they saw each other but rarely, each meeting was as the joining of two raindrops. The child learned of love and laughter from her and decided that was worth living for. Sadly, the girl had her own troubles and drifted away. The other child never forgot and kept it's one love safe in it's heart.
It realized that if it did not want to be alone, it needed to create it's own family, to build it's life as it grew up. So it happened. A daughter of an abusive father needed a way out and so the quiet raging man who trusted no one cared for another. The man contracted a marriage saying he would stay as long as he was needed, and so it was. children born, life led, the man gave all he was denied so his wife and children would not know such pain. All the while, a girl child cried in the darkest corners of his mind.
A time came, after 25 years, when the wife, no longer content with the quiet man and his chained rage, went off on her own. Due to a promise made to the man's long absent friend, they reconnected and spoke of that long cherished connection. They took a chance and came together. Sadly, the years had not been kind and they were both badly damaged. Yet still loving one another and having nowhere else to turn, they clung to each other even as they hurt and battered at each others hearts.
The man was tired. He was broken seemingly beyond repair. His rage always just under the surface rose every time he melted down. Only one day in seven did the couple not suffer during 12 long years. The man just wanted out. He spent long hours looking at a razor blade debating one final use. The woman cried, hid, died a bit more each day. The man was already dead inside. He had no faith and only promises kept him walking.
And now the tale takes one more turn. The man who couldn't interact with most others found social media distant enough to be safe. He connected with others on the spectrum searching for ways to cope, to try to be better. This started perhaps two years ago. it worked to a degree. His health improved, meltdowns and rage burn out occurred less frequently, giving more peace to the house perhaps six days out of seven, but it was just more work and he still wanted to die. An acquaintance on the man's favorite on-line site mentioned that she had been like that person, with rage, shut downs and the like, but that herbs she was taking had mostly cured her.
Eventually, she shared her secret. She was more like the man than he knew. This person was autistic, but also transgendered and the herbs quelled her rage and let her be herself. I suppose that the man took her story to be a last glimmer of hope. He had nothing else, had no more than endured, and so he decided on one last play, to use a common term, it was their Hail Mary. No offence meant as it was both like the football term for the longest riskiest shot to turn the game, and a true plea.
Perhaps it wasn't well thought out. Desperate attempts rarely are. He thought not of the girl in the box, but of just enough to be better. He had no thought of transition and simply felt that body changes were a price he'd gladly pay for any help, any relief. So, he began perhaps eight or nine months ago. at first low doses, then increasing until effects were felt. The rage of decades lost it's heat, it's fires ebbed and fizzled out. New emotions crept in. Happiness, love, patience, color and sound changed. Autistic symptoms grew milder and changed. laughter and tears entered the person's life. meltdowns decreased again to perhaps once a month and lasted hours instead of days. But at the high doses to do this? Other things changed. The person remembered who they were. The box could no longer hold and the corner was no longer dark. All the broken and rejected bits began fitting back together, and the person remembered.
The body began to change. Skin changed, limbs changed, form began to change. Outlook changed, and the walk to the grave became a walk towards light. The relationship with his wife, friend, mate, soulmate, changed as well. They forgave, they learned to trust again, they laughed and loved. life began to matter. The person threw away the razor blade that was kept in a wallet for years, and began to hope. That said, life and relationships are imperfect, and sometimes a person may forget the lesson of Solomon's ring.
On a Friday evening, not long ago, this person's spouse, who'd been so happy over the prior months said something that was misinterpreted. And, as can happen, a landmine, unseen by her blew up. She had inadvertently touched something so horrific in her mate's past, that they instantly melted down. Her anxiety over the trouble spiraled them both out of control and her mate tried to commit suicide. in actuality, the attempt was aborted, but the person was still picked up and spent five day's under doctors care.
Afterwards, the couple spoke more and began to heal. It turned out, that the spouse deeply loved the woman hidden in her troubled spouse, and wished to spend the rest of her life with all of her, the boy she played with, the man who protected and provided for her, and the woman who carried all the warm and loving parts so long chained and locked away.
If one looks at it, the person of whom I speak may be unconventional, and even disturbing and angering to some, but the person lives a monogamous lifestyle, dedicated to one woman and one family. While her faith may not be strong enough to survive on it alone, she believes that she is this way for a reason even if she can't discern it.
So Father, what do you believe is the Church's stance on an individual born knowing they were of one gender even if their body is of the other. What do they say when such a person has fought all there lives to fit where they don't belong and finally has to let go? What do they say when that person goes on HRT to begin living as their inner self says is right? What do you say?
Right now, my belief is that organized religion's particularly those of a more traditional bent, simply reject and condemn those people.
Am I wrong?
Father Sam's response was warm and questioning. So, my wife and I met with him for three hours. Now, I'll admit that I fall into the inbetween. I'm non=binary, but also transgender and far to the fem of center. Stilk, I'm very attracted to my wife and very monogamously dedicated to her. I'm ok with boy parts downstairs and at 60, don't have the dysphoric need for corrective bottom surgery. So, the Church can't complain about not button issues such as orientation or radical surgical alterations. To them, I fall in the cracks in a minority so small that they have no response. To them I'm straight and honoring my marriage. To me, I'm a lesbian trans woman honoring my marriage commitment to the woman I love.I guess their perception doesn't matter to me.
Just as modest dress is used so that our fellow parishioners do not have there minds taken from prayer, it is my choice to appear androgynous rather than outright fem. It is my choice, my gift to the Lord to mute my inclinations for a greater good. While I do wish to just be without limits, the limits I choose to self impose are my gift.
Today was my first Sunday there in two years. My wife and I received communion, prayed with others, and felt good about it all. I don't need to force others to acknowledge me. I know me and that's enough.I am convinced that the Lord knows me, loves me as he created me, and that too is enough. So as I continue to reintegrate, the spiritual aspect of my life is preserved.
This is my choice, part of who I am. I don't ask for anyone's approval. I can only say that if others learn to know and accept a transgender person praying with them, their attitudes may shift towards. A better understanding.
For your perusal with love,Amber
I was at a point where I was secure in my knowledge of self, my desire to act on the miracles and gifts that led me to this, the best and happiest moments of my life, and so I wrote about my life to our family priest, testing the waters and expecting nothing or rebuke. Still, I needed to do this both for myself, and as an act of faith to Christ.
I don't expect anyone to agree, and many may take a more militant attitude, but it was right for me. Below is the letter I wrote. I will add more about what happened after I sent it.
Dear Father,
I'd greatly appreciate both yours and the Orthodox Church's viewpoint on the following story. It's rather long and I apologize for that. I'm told I communicate like a story teller even though this story is a true one.
Once there was a baby born into this world who wasn't quite what it seemed. Outwardly, it appeared a normal boy, healthy, of decent size and weight. it had what appeared to be decent parents, a good home, good food, decent care, all the things one would expect. Even so, the baby was created flawed. As it developed in it's mothers womb, not everything went as expected. it's body clearly developed as it should, but it's brain developed on an alternate path. Whether it was the medicine it's mother took, a quirk in it's genetics, a slight disturbance in the timing of hormones, or a combination, the infant's brain remained female while it's body developed male. In addition to that, it wasn't just female, but autistic. These instances do occur, and close to 20 percent of transgendered individuals are on the spectrum.
In any case, this particular child, born before such things were commonly known, grew and developed as they always had. Difficulties affecting how the child interacted were common and handled simply as behavioral problems and dealt with using old fashioned methods. The child had problems being touched, problems with others, problems communicating, that were not addressed. The child grew learning to remain quiet, stay out of sight whenever possible. Even so, the lessons were difficult and often painful.
When that child was perhaps 3 1/2, it asked it's mother why it had to play with boys, why it couldn't have clothing like the other girls, why it's toys were so hard and violent? The mothers response was to beat the child. From that point, any question, any action not deemed boyish enough met the same response. The child learned. It learned never to trust. it learned that being alone was safe, being quiet was safe, being unseen was safe. The child hated it and lived in fear.
And so, the child learned a few other things. it learned to lock themselves away in the darkest corners of its mind. It learned to study others and act as expected. It learned it hated and feared a life alone, and it learned self loathing and rage. The child's father was a good man of the times, often gone for work, but patient when home. He taught the child to keep it's rage locked tight, he taught responsibility, duty, and the care of others as a human ideal. The child learned that as well.
The child's only light was a single girl who befriended him. With them, there was no boy or girl, just friends, playmates and co-dreamers in all but the child's awful hidden secret. Though they saw each other but rarely, each meeting was as the joining of two raindrops. The child learned of love and laughter from her and decided that was worth living for. Sadly, the girl had her own troubles and drifted away. The other child never forgot and kept it's one love safe in it's heart.
It realized that if it did not want to be alone, it needed to create it's own family, to build it's life as it grew up. So it happened. A daughter of an abusive father needed a way out and so the quiet raging man who trusted no one cared for another. The man contracted a marriage saying he would stay as long as he was needed, and so it was. children born, life led, the man gave all he was denied so his wife and children would not know such pain. All the while, a girl child cried in the darkest corners of his mind.
A time came, after 25 years, when the wife, no longer content with the quiet man and his chained rage, went off on her own. Due to a promise made to the man's long absent friend, they reconnected and spoke of that long cherished connection. They took a chance and came together. Sadly, the years had not been kind and they were both badly damaged. Yet still loving one another and having nowhere else to turn, they clung to each other even as they hurt and battered at each others hearts.
The man was tired. He was broken seemingly beyond repair. His rage always just under the surface rose every time he melted down. Only one day in seven did the couple not suffer during 12 long years. The man just wanted out. He spent long hours looking at a razor blade debating one final use. The woman cried, hid, died a bit more each day. The man was already dead inside. He had no faith and only promises kept him walking.
And now the tale takes one more turn. The man who couldn't interact with most others found social media distant enough to be safe. He connected with others on the spectrum searching for ways to cope, to try to be better. This started perhaps two years ago. it worked to a degree. His health improved, meltdowns and rage burn out occurred less frequently, giving more peace to the house perhaps six days out of seven, but it was just more work and he still wanted to die. An acquaintance on the man's favorite on-line site mentioned that she had been like that person, with rage, shut downs and the like, but that herbs she was taking had mostly cured her.
Eventually, she shared her secret. She was more like the man than he knew. This person was autistic, but also transgendered and the herbs quelled her rage and let her be herself. I suppose that the man took her story to be a last glimmer of hope. He had nothing else, had no more than endured, and so he decided on one last play, to use a common term, it was their Hail Mary. No offence meant as it was both like the football term for the longest riskiest shot to turn the game, and a true plea.
Perhaps it wasn't well thought out. Desperate attempts rarely are. He thought not of the girl in the box, but of just enough to be better. He had no thought of transition and simply felt that body changes were a price he'd gladly pay for any help, any relief. So, he began perhaps eight or nine months ago. at first low doses, then increasing until effects were felt. The rage of decades lost it's heat, it's fires ebbed and fizzled out. New emotions crept in. Happiness, love, patience, color and sound changed. Autistic symptoms grew milder and changed. laughter and tears entered the person's life. meltdowns decreased again to perhaps once a month and lasted hours instead of days. But at the high doses to do this? Other things changed. The person remembered who they were. The box could no longer hold and the corner was no longer dark. All the broken and rejected bits began fitting back together, and the person remembered.
The body began to change. Skin changed, limbs changed, form began to change. Outlook changed, and the walk to the grave became a walk towards light. The relationship with his wife, friend, mate, soulmate, changed as well. They forgave, they learned to trust again, they laughed and loved. life began to matter. The person threw away the razor blade that was kept in a wallet for years, and began to hope. That said, life and relationships are imperfect, and sometimes a person may forget the lesson of Solomon's ring.
On a Friday evening, not long ago, this person's spouse, who'd been so happy over the prior months said something that was misinterpreted. And, as can happen, a landmine, unseen by her blew up. She had inadvertently touched something so horrific in her mate's past, that they instantly melted down. Her anxiety over the trouble spiraled them both out of control and her mate tried to commit suicide. in actuality, the attempt was aborted, but the person was still picked up and spent five day's under doctors care.
Afterwards, the couple spoke more and began to heal. It turned out, that the spouse deeply loved the woman hidden in her troubled spouse, and wished to spend the rest of her life with all of her, the boy she played with, the man who protected and provided for her, and the woman who carried all the warm and loving parts so long chained and locked away.
If one looks at it, the person of whom I speak may be unconventional, and even disturbing and angering to some, but the person lives a monogamous lifestyle, dedicated to one woman and one family. While her faith may not be strong enough to survive on it alone, she believes that she is this way for a reason even if she can't discern it.
So Father, what do you believe is the Church's stance on an individual born knowing they were of one gender even if their body is of the other. What do they say when such a person has fought all there lives to fit where they don't belong and finally has to let go? What do they say when that person goes on HRT to begin living as their inner self says is right? What do you say?
Right now, my belief is that organized religion's particularly those of a more traditional bent, simply reject and condemn those people.
Am I wrong?
Father Sam's response was warm and questioning. So, my wife and I met with him for three hours. Now, I'll admit that I fall into the inbetween. I'm non=binary, but also transgender and far to the fem of center. Stilk, I'm very attracted to my wife and very monogamously dedicated to her. I'm ok with boy parts downstairs and at 60, don't have the dysphoric need for corrective bottom surgery. So, the Church can't complain about not button issues such as orientation or radical surgical alterations. To them, I fall in the cracks in a minority so small that they have no response. To them I'm straight and honoring my marriage. To me, I'm a lesbian trans woman honoring my marriage commitment to the woman I love.I guess their perception doesn't matter to me.
Just as modest dress is used so that our fellow parishioners do not have there minds taken from prayer, it is my choice to appear androgynous rather than outright fem. It is my choice, my gift to the Lord to mute my inclinations for a greater good. While I do wish to just be without limits, the limits I choose to self impose are my gift.
Today was my first Sunday there in two years. My wife and I received communion, prayed with others, and felt good about it all. I don't need to force others to acknowledge me. I know me and that's enough.I am convinced that the Lord knows me, loves me as he created me, and that too is enough. So as I continue to reintegrate, the spiritual aspect of my life is preserved.
This is my choice, part of who I am. I don't ask for anyone's approval. I can only say that if others learn to know and accept a transgender person praying with them, their attitudes may shift towards. A better understanding.
For your perusal with love,Amber
