Transitional Grace
Today is a day of big feelings.
Tomorrow, I have top surgery. Right now, I am swirling with all the emotions of that reality. The feelings are overwhelming, probably fueled by the fact I had to stop taking estrogen weeks ago after having it in my system for the last four years. Nothing like a hormone crash right before surgery.
I am feeling gratitude, fear, relief, disbelief, joy, and awe that this is really happening.
In 2010 I ran my first marathon and remember standing at the start line I kept repeating the line out loud, “holy s**t, this is actually happening.” That is how I feel today.
This feels like a threshold.
It feels like I am stepping into something I never thought was possible. I can remember not that long ago looking at pictures of trans women on social media and thinking none of this would be possible for me. I never imagined that I could have long hair and painted nails. Something like top surgery felt as realistic as winning the Boston marathon. Something I would love to do, but not in the realm of possibility for me.
I lived with a quiet, persistent fear that if I stepped into my truth, I would lose everything. That the church would turn its back on me. That my family would not understand. That I would have to choose between authenticity and safety.
That fear was real. It shaped how I moved through the world.
And yet, here I am.
This may be the last major step in my gender transition. That carries its own significance. Not as an ending, but as a metamorphosis that has been unfolding for years.
My family did not disappear. My sons have been my greatest allies and even my mom responded to a picture of me wearing implants by saying how nice I looked.
The church did not universally reject me. In many places, it opened its arms wider. Today I have become one of the leading voices for Trans justice in the global denomination. I’ve published one book on transgender faith and have another on the way.
There is a part of this journey that I can hardly put into words. Eighty-three different people donated to my gofundme. People who gave what they could so that I could access a surgery my insurance would not cover. Eighty-three acts of grace.
This is not just fundraising. This is community.
This is people saying to me, your life matters. Your wholeness matters. You matter.
This surgery is not something I am doing alone. Even though it is my body, my decision, my journey, it has never been just mine. This is what it looks like when a community journeys together. When people celebrate one another. When they refuse to let someone carry the weight of becoming on their own.
What I am stepping into tomorrow has been made possible by grace. Not abstract grace, but embodied grace. Grace that looks like a donation notification. Grace that looks like my phone blowing up today with words of encouragement. Grace that looks like someone not only choosing to stand with me, but taking action to help me grow.
I am overwhelmed by that.
This moment is not just about changing my body. It is about witnessing what is possible when fear does not get the final word. When we give God the space to move. God loves me too much to have left me in my self-loathing but has worked through community to make transformation happen.
Every Sunday at Church for All People we say God loves us just the way we are and God is not finished with me yet. Today, that statement is everything.
In scripture, grace is often described as gift. Something unearned, something given freely, something that transforms us. I am seeing that so clearly right now. Every person who gave, every person who supported, every person who is praying for me, they are part of that grace.
They are part of my becoming.
So today, on the eve of this surgery, I am holding all of it. The past version of me who could not imagine this. The present moment that feels almost too big to fully take in. And the future that is opening up on the other side of tomorrow.
In this moment, I am giving thanks.
Thanks for a body that has carried me this far. Thanks for a community that refused to let me walk alone. Thanks for a God whose grace keeps showing up in ways I never could have predicted.
Tomorrow, I step into something new.
Today, I pause here.
In awe.
In gratitude.
In the presence of a grace that has brought me all the way to this moment.
This is not the completion of a transition, but the beginning of living fully into my givenness, into joy.
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