Ed makes an accidental discovery at work that challenges his ideology. Should he go to HR and demand that Carl act appropriately, at least while he’s at work?

Divine Intervention
By Melanie E. and Angela Rasch

I was in the company’s art supply room, searching for a ream of white, thirty-two pound copy paper I needed for an advertising piece for our upcoming sale.

Ten feet from me, in the same aisle of shelves, Carl strained to pull a large box of presentation folders out of a lower shelf. He had squatted down to get good leverage, exposing his underwear in the process.

He’s wearing panties!

They were light blue Fruit of the Loom hi-cuts. I’d spent an embarrassing fifteen minutes a few weeks back while pushing a cart through Target with my wife, Marge. In what had felt like an eon, I had learned more about Fruit of the Loom panties than I ever would have thought possible.

Carl’s my best friend. He’s the last person I would ever suspect of being a pervert. We’ve coached youth baseball together. He serves on the church finance committee with me.

Where did things go wrong for him? I thought.

My first inclination was to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

I’m a God-fearing man. My religious beliefs have served me well -- and will serve me well in the hereafter.

When the excrement hits the fan, I have my faith to fall back on. If Carl wasn’t my best friend, it would be simple. I would withhold fellowship from him going forward.

But he *is* my best friend. He’s a good person, and we share the same set of values.

At least . . . I’d thought we had the same values before seeing what he was wearing for underwear.

The Bible defines humanity as made up of males and females. “So, God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” Genesis 1:27.

There’s nothing in there about half-way genders. . .and Carl knows the Bible as well as I do.

What’s the deal? Should I confront him? Should I talk to HR?

“Carl, we need to talk.” I’d finally regained my ability to speak.

“Carl,” the speaker on the wall blared, “you’re needed in meeting room 287.”

“Sorry, I gotta jet outta here, Ed.” He bolted from the storeroom before I could spit out the stern words I had quickly prepared.

It’s 4:40. At 5:00 I’ll punch out and go home. I’ll pray on this dilemma and see what tomorrow brings.

***

That evening, after a delicious meal of burgers and fries from Culver’s -- delivered by DoorDash -- I isolated myself in our home office and pulled out my well-worn Bible.

I hadn’t burdened Marge with the news of what I had seen. At the moment, this is between Carl, me, and the Lord.

As I’ve done so many times, I thumbed through the pages and allowed the Lord to lead me to a relevant passage. I landed on Matthew 25:40. “And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’”

I shuddered. Transvestites are definitely *the least of these.*

I need to find a way to be tolerant of Carl’s weirdness.

The Lord is trying to tell me to be tolerant and give Carl the benefit of the doubt.

However, Carl’s wrestling with Satan for his eternal soul’s salvation. As his best friend, I have a duty to help him.

I thumbed my Bible again and came down on James 5:13. “Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up, and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. . ..”

I recognized the passage as the Prayer of the Faithful. I need to ask the Lord for his help.

I knelt and called upon God. “Dear Lord, my friend Carl has a need. Please see your way to help him find peace on Earth.”

Rising from my knees, I went to the rec room where Marge was watching real estate “porn” on HGTV.

“Marge,” I started softly, “something bad happened today.”

She turned to me with a look of panic. “We’ve been through a lot and come out okay. Whatever it is, we’ll make do.”

“It’s Carl,” I disclosed. “There’s no way to soft-pedal this. Carl was wearing panties today at work. I saw them when he bent over in the storeroom.”

“So?” She asked, her face expressing relief.

“For gosh sakes! Carl was wearing panties today! Light-blue, Fruit-of-the-Loom panties.” I had raised my voice. I didn’t want to shout at Marge, but she wasn’t giving the situation the gravitas it deserved.

She shook her head slowly. “Carl’s been wearing panties for almost sixteen months.”

“Sixteen months? We’re in the middle of January! You’re saying Carl’s been wearing panties since the beginning of October -- more than a year ago?”

“That’s right, Hon,” she said soothingly.

“How? What? Why?” I sputtered.

“It started with Halloween costumes,” she explained.

“How can dressing up like the Flintstones and the Rubbles cause Carl to wear panties?” I had been Fred, and Marge had been Wilma. Carl and Georgia were Barney and Betty Rubble. “I made a pretty good Fred, and Carl’s short enough to look like a good Barney. You and Georgia were sweet Bedrock beauties. All we needed was a Bam-Bam and a Pebbles.”

“That was this past year,” Marge corrected. “Carl started wearing panties the year before that. You were Ken, and I was Barbie. You were a very handsome Ken. . .*much* more handsome than Ryan Gosling. Remember? Georgia and Carl went as Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy.”

“I remember,” I acknowledged. “Carl won first place as Raggedy Anne. You and Georgia worked with him for weeks on feminine mannerisms and posture. That Raggedy Anne costume was a little racy. Raggedy ‘French Maid’ Anne costume would be a more proper name -- with its puffed-out, skimpy skirt, and that real-hair, red wig. Most of the people at the party who didn’t know Carl assumed he was a woman. Georgia was cute as Raggedy Andy in boys’ clothes.”

“Carl was wearing panties under that short skirt.”

“Are you trying to tell me that for the last... over a year... Carl’s simply forgotten to take off those. . ..” I shook in disgust. ". . .panties? I’m not buying it.”

Marge shook her head. “During the process of getting ready for that Halloween, Carl had a talk with Georgia and me. He told us about his gender dysphoria.”

“What’s gender dysphoria?”

“I’ve been studying it a bit. It's when someone's gender identity and their physical sex don't match up.”

“What do you mean by ‘gender identity?’” I asked.

She bit her lip. “Carl’s gender identity is female. That’s what he fundamentally feels his gender is.”

That’s crazy talk! I thought. “We are what we are,” I argued.

“Yes, we are,” Marge agreed. “And Carl identifies as a woman.”

A light bulb went on in my head. “So, all those weeks when you and Georgia were teaching him how to talk and walk and things. . .that wasn’t just to win the Halloween prize.”

“No,” she admitted. “We were teaching her life lessons.”

“‘*Her*?’”

Marge simply nodded. “Ed, how long have you known Carl?”

“We met at work. We both started on the same day. Wiston Windows hired me to work in their design department using my mechanical engineering degree. Car has a sociology degree, and was hired to be a sales rep. We went through orientation and a year of management training together.”

“How long was that before you met me?”

I stared at Marge momentarily, remembering how amazingly beautiful she had been when I first saw her. She had officiated a recreational soccer game I was playing, and before that she had been a scholarship soccer player for the University of Minnesota. “Carl and I worked together for about three years before I met you. You and I went on two movie dates before you suggested I find a friend for your roommate so we could double date. Georgia and Carl hit it off at once.”

“Georgia was my best friend in college. We played four years of varsity soccer together.” Marge closed her eyes. “Our best friends mean a lot to us. You have to get your mind right about Carl.”

“I know. Today was a shock.”

“Maybe it would help if you would concentrate on why Carl’s your best friend.”

I thought for a moment. “I admire him. He was adopted by an elderly couple who were more like his grandparents. Did I ever tell you that Carl puts flowers on their graves weekly?”

“I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise me.”

I went on. “Carl is one of the gentlest human beings I know. He manages to be an excellent salesperson with an almost meek demeanor. I think the secret to his ability to sell so much is that he’s constantly seeking righteousness in every deal he makes.”

Marge smiled. “Remember when he discovered that one of the new workers in his unit was stealing from the company?”

“Carl was the only management team member – including me - who advocated mercy. It turned out the man needed money for an operation for his son that wasn’t covered by insurance. Wiston let the man go, but following Carl’s leadership, we then donated a substantial amount to the Go Fund Me account that Carl had set up to help pay for the needed operation.”

“Carl has a pure soul.”

I laughed. “Jake Wiston calls Carl our ‘Peacemaker.’ When the owner of the company recognizes that ability, it says something.”

I looked at Marge and remembered when my Dad had called her “a room-stopper.” Marge is as beautiful as she was as my bride. She’s never sick. Germs and other bad things never go near her.

***

I prayed for the next twelve nights, asking for the Lord’s intervention. Carl’s a good man. With God’s help he’ll see the Light and find what he needs.

***

I tried to move on with my life as normal and ignore the truth I now knew about my best friend.

It was rough at times. When we would coach I sometimes found myself watching him more closely, in case he tried anything with one of the kids like I had heard his kind liked to do. All I saw was the same man I had known for years, with the same gentle demeanor, handing out water and applying band-aids, and doing his best to encourage everyone to have fun, whether we win or lose.

I always struggled with that namby-pamby sentiment. I had grown up being told that you were either a winner, or a loser . . . and only one was acceptable. Carl had been the one to help me see the harm in that viewpoint.

Carl and Georgia were over for a barbeque, and he was helping me with the burgers. He'd brought a twelve-pack of brewskis that he and I would put a dent into while we watched Monday Night Football. The Vikings were playing the Packers, and neither one of us would want to miss even a single down.

I stood close to Carl while checking on the grilling meat. Much to my surprise, Carl was wearing perfume. It was subtle, but I detected the unmistakable scent of Amazing Grace.

I’d given Marge a $64 bottle of that feminine cologne for Valentine’s Day. She loved it, and we had a nice Valentine’s night. Dinner at the Eagle’s Club, then a drink at Curly’s Hideout. We even stayed up and watched a little of one of those Disney movies on cable.

But perfume on Carl? It just isn’t right.

After they went home, I checked my Bible. “A woman shall not wear a man’s apparel, nor shall a man put on a woman’s garment; for whoever does such things is abhorrent to the LORD your God.” Deuteronomy 22:5.

From Bible study, I knew that it was the only verse in the Bible that directly references gender-based notions of clothing. We discussed that passage with our minister. He said it had more to do with fraud and doing your duty than crossdressing, but I had my doubts.

That sounds quite specific.

Once again, I sat down with Marge. “Did you notice Carl’s perfume?”

She nodded. “I love Amazing Grace. Thank you for buying it for me.”

“But. . .should Carl be wearing it?”

Marge stared at me. "You seem upset. Is there something wtong?"

“It’s Carl,” I admitted. “He’s getting peculiar.”

“Peculiar?” Marge arched an eyebrow.

“You know. He’s been swimming a lot and has dropped a lot of weight. He’s downright skinny. He’s been shaving his body to aid his swimming. His bare arms look ‘peculiar.’”

“What Carl does with his body hair is none of your business, is it? Ed... you’re not ashamed to be known as Carl’s best friend, are you?”

Marge’s face has turned red.

“No! Heck no!” I said firmly. “I just wish he’d get a haircut and cut his fingernails more often.”

Marge shook her head. “You once told me that you envied Carl. Has that changed?”

I considered her question. “No. Carl can walk into a room where he doesn’t know hardly anyone, and within minutes he’s got down everyone’s name and knows pertinent facts about most of them. He cares about people and is fun to be around. How can you not admire that? But . . . what does Georgia think about the panties and perfume?”

“In college, Georgia was voted the happiest person on our soccer team. She and I have had dozens of talks about Carl. Her happiness has never wavered. She has done everything she can to support Carl’s needs. They appear more in love today than they’ve ever been.”

***

I prayed again that night, and each night for the next three weeks. “Lord, in your Divine wisdom, please help Carl obtain peace of mind to relieve his turmoil.”

***

The interoffice memo hit my desk on Tuesday at 11:30.

= Please note that the employee previously known as Carl Watko is now known as Brittany Watko, and the pronouns “she” and “her” are to be used to address or name her. Brittany will be using the women’s restrooms. Wiston Windows is committed to treating all our employees with respect and dignity. We have a zero-tolerance policy on discrimination, harassment, and intolerance. The company website can be accessed within the employee portal for resources and point-of-contact should you have questions. =

For Heaven’s sake! What has he done?

Carl was dressed in a woman’s business suit that fit the... curves?!... of his body, and a silk blouse with a large bow at the neck. His hair has been curled and styled.

He’s wearing a wig and make-up!

I took a half day of personal leave and left the building.

***

I called our minister from my car and got an immediate appointment.

He’s been with us for four years. We’re lucky to keep him. He’s had several attractive offers to leave us for bigger churches. He’s a great communicator and has shown terrific judgment.

“Paster Saylor,” I asked, after explaining what had occurred at work, “where did I go wrong? I prayed to the Lord, and now. . ..”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” the minister said.

“There was nothing mysterious about my plea,” I whined. “Carl needed heavenly help to find a route to spiritual peace.”

“Is that what you asked God to do? Did you ask Him to help Brittany find what she needed?”

It felt wrong for the minister to refer to Carl as “Brittany,” but I let it pass. “I prayed on it for over a month, every night.”

“Praying isn’t always answered in the way we think it will be. But in this case, it seems like God granted Brittany the strength she needed to come out and start her public transition.”

My temper was starting to kick in. I’d never felt anger toward a man of the cloth before. “How can you be so complacent? Carl’s lost to eternal damnation. This isn’t at all what I wanted!”

“Isn’t it?” He asked.

“Not at all,” I growled. “I specifically asked God to help Carl find peace on earth. Instead, he’s gone down a path of self-destruction.”

The minister shook his head. “From where I’m sitting, it seems like the Lord granted you what you asked for. I’ve talked to Brittany and Georgia. They’re at peace with their decision. I think she did the right thing.”

“What?” I sputtered. “The Bible is quite. . ..”

“The Bible is quite *gray* on transgender issues.” He shook his head. “Though, had you asked me nine months ago, I would have felt much different.”

I thought for a moment and felt my blood turn cold. “You mean after the Mason’s teenager committed suicide?”

“Uh-huh. It was nine months ago that Christina came out, and her family walked away from her. She couldn’t take their rejection. I spent weeks studying the transgender issue after her untimely passing.” A tear escaped from his eye. “I was less than helpful for her.”

“But the Bible says. . ..”

He stopped me with a raised hand. “The Bible has been interpreted by men, who have tried their best. But what if they’re wrong? Paul’s letter to the Corinthians tells us that we are bound to see truth in a way that is incomplete, a mere reflection. 'As in a mirror, dimly.' Corinthians 13:12. The Bible calls its interpreters to the awareness that even if ultimate truth about any subject isn’t always in our grasp, we can remain committed to trying to find it.”

“So. . .as a Christian, should I continue to give Brittany fellowship, and welcome her with open arms at church?” I asked in wonder.

“Most assuredly. We owe her the Christian response of tolerance. Matthew 22:39: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” He nodded. “We live in a new world every day. The Holy Spirit lives amongst us, offering guidance for us to consider.”

“But, Reverend, God doesn’t make mistakes.”

He smiled and patted my shoulder. “You’re right, God doesn't make mistakes. However, sometimes men and women make mistakes. They look at newborns and make assumptions about their gender that don't match the gender in that person's soul.”

I left the minister’s home that day a changed man -- looking for a new and enlightened future, and happy to have had the Lord’s ear when my best friend Brittany needed it.

The End