Gratitude.

Gratitude is never something I’ve had to make much effort to feel.

I think it all started with my Dad reminding me over and over again for as long as I can remember — always be grateful for everything. You don’t and won’t ever deserve anything. It’s always a gift, everything is a gift. Don’t ever be ungrateful. I imagine I could do horrible things, find myself in a jail cell and have my Dad come to visit speaking to me through the glass on one of those phones saying “You better be grateful.” before he even said hello.

…

“Are you saying God made a mistake?”

This is the question. The question I’ve been asked a thousand times. The question I waited on when my son came out as transgender.

Our community is one bound in religious tradition. A church on every corner. While my own faith is complex, I knew I would need an answer to this question and it had to be a good one. No canned responses.

I didn’t have an answer at first. I had to let my heart rest on the idea. I had to take time to accept my son in my mind…

I find myself asking a question in my mind near daily anymore.

“Am I making peace or am I keeping it?”

My Mother was a world-class peacekeeper. She’d zip her lips and move along through anything. A childhood full of abuse in every flavor behind her, she knew the cost of speaking up. The shame of being the squeaky wheel, the voice that needed to be heard — another task on her Mother from one of her eleven children, the first born when she was only fourteen years old.

“Troublemaker” was the coldest insult in our home, one that stuck…