Can I be a 6 Foot Tall Asian Woman?

If I said I identify as a six foot tall Asian woman, would that make it so?  No, because I’m a 4’ll” white woman.

So then could I get a deep spray tan, then have surgery to stretch my legs and slant my eyes?  Most people would think I was nuts if I wanted to do that and tell me to get therapy.

Yet it is perfectly reasonable to support and encourage someone to pump their body full of hormones and mutilate their body in a false attempt to change their gender.

Medical professionals at Johns Hopkins have already classified gender dysphoria as a mental health issue much like anorexia (you know, when a person “identifies” as fat when they aren’t), which is why they do not perform gender reassignment surgery.

I think we need to support and encourage therapy and help for those with gender identity issues in order to bring their mind in sync with their body, not invasive, painful surgery to bring the body in sync with the mind.

 

 

God Counts Your Tears

Tomorrow will be my 10th Mother’s Day.  I am so thankful for my sweet children.  I think back to the looooong journey to get to this point.  Fertility meds did not work, so we started the adoption process. Then, for two years in a row. we were chosen two different times for a baby, but both birth mothers changed their minds and kept their babies.

I remember it like it was yesterdsy even though it was 1996 and 1997.  The one in 1997 was the worst.  I was so angry at God. The first time hurt, but I consoled myself that adoptions don’t always work out and it must not have been God’s will. The second time I was angry at God for allowing this to happen again.  I refused to pray or go to church.  I remember carrying out the baby supplies we had bought and throwing them in the trash and then walking back in the garage thinking how easy it would be to just shut the door and crank up my car. The pain would be over. I knew I would never have the nerve to follow through, but I still thought about it.

Today I am so thankful I held on a little longer.  God led us to a place and pretty much dropped a brother and sister in our lap.   I am so blessed.

To those who may be in pain this Mother’s Day, hang in there.  God counts all your tears.

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The House That Built Me

This is the house I lived in for most of my childhood years. I haven’t been inside in 20 years, but I have lots of memories….

where I had many sleepovers

where I put “Sun In” in my hair and laid in the back yard

where I sat on the front porch listening to music on my ’80s boom box

where I grumbled and complained about shelling butter beans

where my grandmother set fire to a dish cloth passing it over a candle

where we had family game nights on most Fridays

where I sat in the corner in “time out”

where my parents took prom pictures on the front porch

where I cried when the boy I liked didn’t like me back

where my friends and I practiced our cheerleading in the yard

where a lizard got in when we brought in the live Christmas tree

where my dad and his friend grilled hamburgers under an umbrella in the rain

where my mom yelled at me to do my homework

where I read under the covers at night with a flashlight

where I almost prayed for death when I had the flu and was throwing up for a week

where my mom gave me the “birds and bees” talk and I rolled my eyes

where I got a few spankings

where I got lots of love