Two souls languish in disappointment. One prays desperately that his child’s heart will somehow match his form. The other prays that somehow finally that her form will at last match her heart. Both will find out that it’s not about what, but about who we are.

---

---

Rachael sat down and hugged Jordan quickly, as if a lingering embrace would hurt the girl sitting on the couch beside her. Too much worry and not enough faith, she felt, but the girl was fragile and struggling to keep from crying as it was. You know the feeling that you can hold it together until someone puts a hand on a shoulder; the shrug that says, if you keep it up, I’ll have no choice but to feel safe enough to fall apart. Rachael was mostly right in her assessment; the girl was very fragile, but she broke off the embrace too slow to keep the girl from sobbing anyway.

“Jordan? Honey? Please….let me…” She went to pull the girl closer, but was met with another shrug and hands that extended to hers, shaking and pushing her away.

“No…leave me….you can’t help…no one can.” The girl cried, leaving Rachael feeling helpless but still undaunted. She pushed the girl’s arms apart and pulled her close. Jordan flailed a bit before giving in entirely as she wept into her big sister’s shoulder. Rachael stroked Jordan’s hair and kissed her cheek.

“I’m so, so sorry, honey. We’ll find a way…really.” Rachael really wanted to believe that, but even she felt discouraged, and rightfully so. Some things can take more time than we like. And some things can take more time than we can afford. But in this case, it was going to take more time than Jordan had, since every test and exam and estimation and reluctant assessment said that Jordan would remain sadly unfulfilled in her quest to gain that final aspect of her transition before she succumbed to the disease that ravaged her body.

---

Open Door Fellowship, Cherry Hill, New Jersey

Daniel tossed his Bible on the desk in his study and flopped on the worn leather couch that was jammed into a corner of the small room. He kicked his shoes off and turned to the back of the couch and laid his head on the armrest. He had just started to drift off when a knock came at the open doorway.

“Pastor Dan? Your wife is on the phone.” Marnie said as she leaned in and slightly around the tall bookshelf.

“Oh…ohkkay…” He said groggily. After twenty hours at the hospital, he was completely spent. He and several church folk had been praying all night for a kid from their youth group who had strayed enough to drink and drive; the boy succumbed to his injuries along with his two best friends. Daniel swung his legs off the couch and practically staggered to the desk where he noticed all four lights blinking on the phone. He looked up and widened his eyes in question.

“Oh…sorry. Line three.” Marnie shrugged and laughed softly. Daniel picked up the receiver and hit the button.

“Hi hon….no….I’m sorry. No…He didn’t …. No…his family was there, so we prayed and talked. I’m supposed…yeah … Friday… no, it doesn’t make sense, but God….yeah…I’m going to grab a quick nap and then I’ll be home…yes… I love you too.” He hung up the phone and shook his head. So much pain inflicted in one moment. The family had already lost their older son to a roadside bomb in Falujah several years before and had held out so much hope for their remaining child. Funny, but it was so hard for Daniel to even think the word ‘son,’ without feeling angry and disappointed at God.

“Dad…Can you…you got some time?” The boy leaned into his father’s office doorway and waved; almost an apology for disturbing him on a ‘study day,’ but it couldn’t have been too intrusive since Daniel did have his door open.

“Sure, sport. Come in.” His son stepped inside the office and it seemed to surprise Daniel when the boy pulled the door closed behind him. He sat down on the couch instead of the chair at the desk across from where Daniel sat. Daniel pointed to his own head and then Jordan's; he'd been after him to cut his hair. The boy sighed and nodded before speaking.

“Mom said you’d probably be takin’ a break right now so I took a chance.” The boy picked up the crocheted pillow off the couch and cradled it in front of him like a teddy bear. Daniel nodded at the boy and got up and walked around and sat in the other chair facing his son. The boy clutched the pillow tighter; not the actions of a fifteen year old teen, but Daniel was already used to the boy’s different behavior; at least from his perspective. By now he had expected him to take a more ‘up-front’ role in the church youth group, but the boy preferred playing his violin on the youth worship team; a support role to be sure, but valued by most of the folks in the church….most.

“Something bothering you?” Daniel tried hard; he really did, but several years of frustration over what he perceived to be an increasingly difficult challenge as a parent. His fears were almost well placed other than that he had nothing to fear, and what did concern him was really all about him than about about his son. His brusqueness served only to cause the boy to become more guarded, which in turn evoked an impatience that no one other than his son seemed to experience.

“Come on. You know you can tell me anything, right?” He smiled, but his eyes gave away his disappointment.

“I can tell you anything,” the boy thought. “But will you hear me?” He turned slightly away and faced one of the two bookshelves that framed the couch. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the icy cold waters of his father’s impatience and disappointment.

“I’ve….I’ve got to talk to you Dad,” He sighed and breathed in a deep breath as if he was about to sink under the weight of his own self.

“You said that.” The boy had observed his father talking with members of the church; a word here or a prayer there seemed to be reserved for them, but the impatience seemed to almost grow exponentially with each passing day as the boy careened down a hill toward a future not of his own making. Neither he nor his father realized that the future had already been crafted by someone with both of their best interests at heart.

“I…” He looked into his father’s face; an expression that shouted, “come on, I haven’t got all day.” He arose suddenly, tossing the pillow toward the couch; it bounced off and landed at his father’s feet.

“Ne….never mind….It’s not that important…we can talk at home.” If that wasn’t enough, his father followed him to the door and spoke to him as he exited quickly; completely missing the boy’s frustration and sadness.

“Then why did you interrupt me? Son?” By now he was pretty much talking to the boy’s back as he hurried out of the outer office, pausing only long enough to wave weakly and say, “Love you!” A moment later he was gone, leaving his father to wonder what had just happened. In truth, his father kept looking at moments with his son almost as events rather than choices the two of them continued to make.

Nothing ‘happened’ except his inability to treat his son as kindly as anyone else. They say you can never be disappointed unless you have expectations. Daniel had many expectations of his son; many of them reasonable and normal from a parent’s standpoint. But one huge expectation was going to be thwarted as Daniel would find out that evening.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror; naked and ashamed. Her hair had grown down to almost collar length, but even if it had fallen down past her shoulders, it still would have done nothing to help her feel good about herself.

“You’re…evil!” She frowned as her image seemed to agree all too readily to her self-assessment. She pulled on a plain terry robe and walked into the bedroom. Her Bible lay open on the bed, face down. She glanced at her reflection in yet another mirror. This one was hung over her dresser; twice as large as the bathroom mirror but the condemnation seemed to be exponentially painful. She pulled out some sweatpants and a tee shirt. Putting them on, she took one last look at herself before falling onto the bed in tears.

---

That evening...

“Would you go talk with our son?” Paula said as Daniel sat down in the living room and turned on the news.

“I just got home, Babe….can’t it wait?” He snapped. She walked into the living room and stood with her arms folded in front of him. She shook her head with a slight frown, but she remained calm. It was her fervent daily prayer that Daniel would somehow make a connection with the younger of their two children. He had already pretty much driven away their daughter; not in the physical sense. Rachael was still living at home while attending the local community college, but her relationships had seemed to gravitate more to her friends at school. She stopped going to the college and career group at church when her father pushed her to assume more responsibility, and the father/daughter connection seemed to be slowly slipping away.

“He and I had a talk, and he needs to tell you something, but it can’t be between innings of the Cubs or sandwiched between counseling sessions or your sermon prep!” Her voice remained calm, but she shook her head. He sighed a self-pitying sigh, causing her to lose a bit of her serenity, as she called it.

“It’s important, Daniel! Not that it should have to be. He’s your son, for Christ’s sake!” She snapped at him. His frown drew her further away from her desired demeanor. She glared at him.

“Don’t you even go there! And yes, Daniel, it is for Christ’s sake. Fathers…don’t exasperate your own damn kids!!!!” She turned and went back into the kitchen, speaking in some Sicilian dialect under her breath. Daniel sat up and leaned forward, but no further. Paula walked slowly back into the living room.

“Not that it should matter, but he’s been crying since he got home. If that doesn’t warrant your attention, just pretend he’s someone else’s kid. The way you’ve treated him the past three weeks, he might as well be anyway. I’m going for a walk, and when I get back I expect the two of you to be talking like old friends down at Finnegan’s on a Saturday night, capiche?” She stood by the front door with her hand on the doorknob; she said nothing more, but the look on her fact spoke volumes as she pivoted and walked out.

“Hey sport.” Daniel smiled meekly. The boy looked up from the book in his hands; a Manga book with a very colorful cover. His face was puffy and his eyes were red.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make time for you this afternoon. I was wrong.” Daniel did make room for apologies in his daily routine, but his son and his daughter rarely heard them even if they were due more frequently than anyone was willing to admit.

“I ….I have to tell you something.” The boy looked down at the book; more out of shame and embarrassment than interest.

“Go ahead.” Daniel nodded. For once, the expression on his face seemed to indicate a willingness to listen, which only served to provide an even deeper disappointment once the boy finished talking. The boy took a deep breath; that plunge into icy waters again.

“I…Mom and I talked about it.” He hoped that the mention of his mother might serve as some sort of endorsement for what he was about to say. She had offered to be with him when he spoke with his father, but allowed his need to please his father one last time to talk her out of being there. It was a mistake that all four family members would grow to regret.

“I…went to see Dr. Elias today.” Daniel had never needed to visit anyone other than the family physician, and his son’s words puzzled him. Dr. Elias was an immunologist who practiced in the same office as his wife; Paula had been dealing with chronic fatigue and other issues for the past few years.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” For starters, Daniel’s question was wrong, since it immediately put the onus on the boy to explain himself rather than talk with his father. And it was also wrong because he mistakenly assumed it was Dr. Marcus Elias instead of his wife Sonia the endocrinologist. The boy shook his head, wondering if he could make it through without breaking down. So far, he was doing alright under some very challenging expectations. He continued.

“Nothing is wrong, Dad.” The boy hadn’t meant to snap at his father, but their communication was such that he felt frequently that his father was just interested in solving problems than hearing his son’s heart. Daniel shuddered a little at the boy’s words but leaned closer and put it down slightly.

“I’m sorry….what did you want to tell me?” It would be the last time either of them heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ escape Daniel’s mouth for a very long time.’

“Not…not Dr. Mark, Dad…Dr. Sonia.” The boy looked away. Diabetes didn’t run in the family and Jordan appeared to be very healthy, which led to the confused look on Daniel’s face. The boy swallowed hard, anticipating and answering the implied question, ‘Why Dr. Sonia?’

“I….I’ve been seeing Dr. Pine.” He paused, fully aware that his need to see his sister’s psychiatrist would evoke even more confusion and questions; questions that didn’t come as Daniel had a very dim view of ‘Godless psychiatry,’ as he and some of the church leadership had described his daughter’s help.

He hesitated, hoping that the next words, even if they didn’t convince his father of the truth about his son, would at least not evoke an angry storm of protest. He was right on one count and wrong on the other, which sadly needed just the opposite reactions.

“I’ve….Dr. Pine and I talked….” His face grew red and hot as his father’s expression grew more unwelcoming with each syllable, but he continued; bravely but futilely trying to help his father know who he was….what he was….. what ‘she’ was?

“I’ve ….Dr. Pine and Dr. Sonia have….. I’ve got a gender identity disorder, Dad.” He winced as his father frowned; expecting an angry outburst which never came. Daniel sighed deeply and smiled.

“It’s okay, Son. It’s okay.” The boy dropped his guard at his father’s conciliatory tone until the look on Daniel’s face changed. Welcome and comfort transformed in a heartbeat to a familiar look; the ‘let’s see what we need to do to fix this’ look. The boy needed understanding and what he was facing instead was repair for a problem that didn’t exist.

“You just need to pray harder, kiddo. I should have spotted this a long time ago. You’ve always been soft, and I took it for granted that you’d toughen up. I’m so sorry I let you down.”

“But Dad….there’s nothing wrong,” the boy began to protest, but his father cut him off.

“Oh yes there is. That disorder you’re talking about…it’s just another form of attack on this family. Gender disorder….You’re a young man. I know that whole thing about development and such, but it’s not Biblical at all, boy!” His words almost sounded like a rebuke to his son as much as to what the boy had just confessed. As if he was the problem.

“No.” The boy jumped off the bed and stood in front of his still-seated father; his fists were balled in frustration and his eyes had already begun to return to the crimson pall of only minutes before. Daniel put his hand up in caution.

“What? Oh, no. Don’t you take that tone with me.” Daniel took an utterly frightened boy’s sad and tragic tone entirely the wrong way.

“This is rebellion, plain and simple. Your books….your music… “ He might as well have said ‘you.’ Daniel stood up and the Manga book that the boy had been reading spilled off the bed and onto the floor. A book about a young man…some Asian-like character he assumed…that looked like a teenage girl, from what he could make out. He picked up the book and tore it down its worn spine and threw the pieces on the floor. The boy took a look at his father and whatever love might have been behind Daniel’s eyes had been replaced with anger and, even more so, fear.

“No, Dad…no.”

It had finally reached a point of no return; not for the boy’s frustration or his father’s rage, but for the overwhelming flood of hopeless grief as he realized he would never be the same in his father’s eyes again. He burst into tears and ran down the hall and out the front door, passing his mother in the doorway. She went to speak but he had hopped onto his bike and was down the block and away before she had the wherewithal to utter a single word other than a weakly breathed, “Honey? Jordan?”

Daniel walked slowly down the hallway only to be met at the end of the hall by Paula; her arms were folded and she was looking away. As she turned, he could see her face was red and her eyes were filled with tears. She opened her mouth to speak but shook her head instead. The look on her face seemed to plead with Daniel,

"How could you? You..."

He went to reply to her stare and she shook her head once again before she headed for the front door.

"I'm going to go look for our son. Are you coming?" He stood and said nothing, his head turned slightly to avoid her gaze.

"Matthew Seven, Dan...look it up," she said bitterly before she walked out the door and was gone.

You parents–if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him

.

Daniel sighed; he needed no Bible to know his wife's meaning. He put his hand to his face and began to weep.

---

Two weeks later...

“I don’t care!”

Daniel glared at door, as if somehow magically all would change in an instant and his children would come running home, repentant and willing to obey. ‘I don’t care’ often means something entirely different. Daniel cared, but not in the sense of caring about his children. He cared that they did and said and acted exactly as he expected; an awesome request for even the most compliant of kids. That they had lives and beliefs and hearts that belonged to God long before they entered his life didn’t cross his mind. That they had souls that were who they were instead of what he expected never dawned on him. Paula shook her head and bit her lip.

“But Dan…come on…” She pled on behalf of the two in the family who had no voices.

“What, Paula? What do you want me to say? It would be hard enough to deal with this…” He nearly swore; God forbid he actually behaved like a father for once.

“I don’t believe it for one instant, but let’s assume for argument’s sake that I do!” Arguments instead of persuasion; being right was more important to him at that point than having the respect and love of his two daughters. Or at least his two children.

“Let’s just say this genetic stuff actually is acceptable…what your friends call science!” He said the word with such disdain that Paula fought the urge to ‘roll her eyeballs’ in frustration, but that might add fuel to the fire.

“He’s been tested for all that, and they found nothing, Paula. NOTHING!” He practically spat the word at his wife.

“So there goes your proof! He’s a boy and that’s that! So defend him all you want, but it’s so wrong!” He took a breath and went to finish but Paula cut him off; her face was red and hot and her eyes had teared up.

“What, Daniel? Sinful? Say it! Say your child is sinful for wanting to be whom GOD…yes, Daniel, whom God created her to be! Open your damned eyes and look at your children. Have you ever known a more caring or giving or loving person than Rachael? And yet you push her away with every breath you take; inhaling so as to shout at her with impatience and rejection. She’s your daughter, for Christ’s sake!” Daniel went to speak but Paula’s look shouted , ‘Don’t you dare!’

“And Jordan? What has….” Her voice trailed off; she resisted the urge to say ‘she’ even though it screamed at her from inside.

“Jordan has been different since birth!”

“Oh, come on, Paula. He’s athletic and he likes all sorts of stuff that boys like.” Jordan was athletic, but so were most of his friends; boys and girls alike. And yes, he did like science, but so did every girl in his biology class save for two who took the course to qualify for college. It mattered little to Daniel that a woman confirmed the structure of DNA or that Sally Ride went into space. That Marie Curie discovered Radium… nothing would disuade him from his own truth.

“Yes…but…” Paula paused; enough appeasement!

“SHE loves painting and music….and before you go there, think about Manet and Bizet….” Men composed and painted, didn’t they?

“Oh, dear God in heaven, Paula. He’s a boy, and that’s that!” An edict issued ex Cathedra; no argument once the resident theologian issued his decree.

“You win, Daniel. I won’t argue with you again.” He almost gloated until she got up and put her hand to her face in a futile effort to wipe away the tears.

“I’d invoke….Lysistrata, but there’s no need to.” Paula had been accused of withholding relations just to prove a point. Daniel didn’t get it that when he was being so angry and stubborn he made himself unloveable. She loved him in her heart, but she found it too hard to get close to him when every word out of his mouth pushed his family away.

“I’m taking Jordan to a specialist tomorrow, and if you decide to support her, fine. We would welcome a return of the man whom I learned to love and the father of our children. But either way, if you choose to stop me, I’m not going to stand for it. You’ve managed to squander away the adoration of your family; don’t push any further or you’ll lose all of us altogether!”

“But….You can’t!” There’s a point in every foolish argument that seems to be the defining moment between being merely foolish and being nearly irretrievably stubbornly unreasonable. Daniel zoomed past that point into utterly senseless.

“What will the church think?”

Paula stood by the kitchen door; her fists balled into a hopeless anger as she burst into tears. Speechless other than a curse only her grandmother would have understood, she opened the door and walked out; slamming it behnd her enough to break a couple of the panes of glass. Daniel stood up and walked to the closet and grabbed the dustpan and brush and began cleaning up the glass. It would be quite some time before he was able to pick up the pieces of his shattered family. A moment later Paula stood in the doorway again; the look on her face was less sad and decidedly more than merely angry.

“You’re …” Paula grabbed her left hand with her right and squeezed; she wanted to slap him…hard. She shook her head and walked up to him and did something odd; she kissed him full on the lips, holding his face with both hands. It wasn't a death that the kiss portended, but merely a caution, if somewhat melodramatic. Paula's face was red and hot.

“Never again, Daniel. I love you. I want you to leave…now. I need some space and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one going anywhere.” She said it firmly; her efforts to stay calm nearly failed until she turned away. He went to hug her and she shrugged her shoulders; turning her head from side to side to avoid a kiss.

“Get the hell out, Daniel, while I’ve still got some semblance of care for you. Don’t…” She pulled away and turned to face him.

“Don’t you dare come back here until you’re willing to actually care about your family. I’m going for a walk, and you better be out by the time I get back.” She turned and walked out the back door. Daniel stared out the open doorway and watched as she turned around the side of the house and was gone.

---

A few weeks later...

“I hate him!” Jordan sat on the couch; her knees pulled up and her arms folded tightly around her legs; she rocked slightly and shook her head repeatedly as if to argue with fate. To argue with a non-descript generic condition seemed so much easier and less painful that to look upward and argue; she didn’t mind tempting fate, but she felt uneasy and ill-equipped to argue with God. She needn’t have worried; God was totally on her side for this apart from her decidedly understandable assumption of victim status. Fortunately her mother loved her too much to allow her to wallow in self-pity.

“I know. I’m not terribly thrilled with him either,” Paula laughed softly, but the half-frown on her face indicated a mood somewhat removed from humor.

“Between you and me and Rachael, we’ve got a huge grudge going, honey, and I don’t think it’s all that productive.” Her laid back approach seemed to coax the girl, and Jordan spoke; first in a whisper, but a bit louder at the end.

“It….I don’t know how much more I can change for him….Mom….this is who I am….Why can’t…” She paused and bit her lip; ever the obedient and willing child, she felt lost and abandoned even with her mother and sister beside her.

“He hates me…why does he hate me?” She shook her head. Paula sat down next to her and hugged her.

“He doesn’t hate you….” Paula thought for a moment; she was convinced of what she was about to say, but she felt insecure about how to communicate it. Rachael ‘rescued’ her as she walked into the living room and sat down on the hearth of the fireplace.

“He loves you the way he sees you. It’s not really loving that much…but he does care.” Jordan stared incredulously at her sister.

“He wants to be a good ‘Christian’ father. Good Christian fathers don’t raise transsexuals, so naturually it has to be your fault.” Paula added. Her expression let Jordan know it was an opinion held only by Daniel. She touched the girl’s knee and Jordan winced; parents betray, don’t they. Paula looked at her again.

“Jordan? Please? You know I don’t feel that way, right?” She was saying it, not as a defense, but for Jordan’s benefit and encouragement. The girl nodded almost reluctantly; wanting so much to believe her mother, but feeling almost incapable of trust after her father’s rejection.

“Mommy loves you for who you are…so do I. And I think….no….I want to believe that Daddy will too, if he really thinks about it.” Rachael looked over at her mother and tilted her head, seeking approval. Paula nodded.

“I hate to be trite about this, but all we can do at this point is pray, okay?” Jordan hardly trusted God at this point, but recalled enough of her faith to trust her mother to trust God for her. She grabbed her mother’s hand and prayed haltingly.

“Dear God…please let Dad…. See ME? Please…?” She put her head down and repeated it a few times like a mantra before disolving in tears.

---

Several weeks later; a visit to the dermatologist...

“How long have you had this rash on your face, Jordan?” Dr. Phillipousis tilted her head slightly while examining the girl’s face. A red band stretched from one cheek to the other across the bridge of her nose.

“A while… “ She put her hand to her face but pulled it back as the dermatologist leaned closer.

“It’s not acne…. More like a systemic rash. I’d like to run some blood work, just to get to the bottom of things so we can get it cleared up, okay?” Jordan nodded and the doctor scribbled some instructions on her script pad.

“Get this done in a couple of days, okay? No eating after midnight and have them send your endocrinologist a copy as well; I noted that on the script, but mention it to them when they draw the blood.

“Okay. Is it serious?” Jordan had been dealing with too much rejection to begin with between her father and the church youth group. It was a wonder that Daniel had kept his position as care pastor considering the ‘rebellion’ he faced from his ‘son.’ The church stood by him in his time of need, with several of the church wives reaching out to Paula; unsuccessful to date, but they prayed that she’d come to her senses. It was probably a good thing that none of the women who called her knew any Italian.

“Oh, all rashes indicate something other than just a problem with the skin, honey. Don’t worry; it’s probably something we can treat with antibiotics; we’ll get you good as new in no time."

The phrase was particularly painful; even with an okay from her psychologist, her other doctors preferred to have her wait until after graduation and all of them hoped that she would be fortunate enough to have her father change his mind and support her. Still, it was better than most ; pre-operative at just past her sixteenth birthday, she had all the time in the world, as her doctors reminded her. No one knew then just how wrong they were.

No test or temptation that comes your way is beyond the course of what others have had to face. All you need to remember is that God will never let you down; he’ll never let you be pushed past your limit; he’ll always be there to help you come through it. I Corinthians 10:13 The Message

---

A few days later

Paula sat on the couch staring at the bowl of soup on the coffee table; she was left with no appetite after yet another phone call with Daniel that yielded no fruit whatsoever and just added to the problem. The church took no position publically, but the treatment his family received was anything but loving; Rachael had stopped going altogether and was attending a church along with her girlfriend’s family. Jordan continued to attend, but the treatment she received left Paula angry and saddened at her daughter’s lack of support. The phone rang.

“Hello? Oh… Come in? We have an appointment…the doctor needs…okay.” She hung up the phone and looked down the hall.

“Jordan… We need to see Dr. Phillipousis this afternoon…honey?” She waited a few seconds and heard no reply.

“Jordan?” She got up and walked down the hall to Jordan’s room. Jordan was sitting at her desk; her laptop was open, but turned off. The girl stared at her reflection in the darkened screen; she didn’t seem to notice Paula’s presence.

“Jordan, honey? What’s wrong?” Paula tried to hide the concern in her voice, but the phone calls seemed to set her on an anxious edge; especially with the urgency of the doctor’s request.

“Mom…look at me.” She turned and her face displayed a very worried and even sad expression, along with a darker, butterfly shaped rash that spanned her face across her nose. Paula let out a gasp. The girl stood up and went to walk toward Paula but stumbled slightly; her movements seemed stiff and restricted.

“My whole body hurts, Mom…what’s wrong?” Her body wasn’t trying to make another statement of rejection against an already too saddend self, but nevertheless, something inside her seemed to reflect that same rejection she had gotten from her friends and even her father. She stopped short of falling down, catching her balance as she grabbed the back of her desk chair. Paula rushed to her side and embraced her.

“Mom…I don’t feel so good….” She would be sorely pressed to say which hurt more; the pain in her body or the ache in her heart, but either way, Jordan was hurt…badly, and she needed the strength that can only come from knowing she was loved. Paula rubbed her back and walked her to her bed. As the girl lay down, Paula gave into the moment; a mother can only be so strong herself without resources. She lay down beside her daughter and began to weep while holding the girl tightly against her breast.

"I know, baby...I know..."

---

Weeks later...The office of Dr. Nancy Rosenberg

“Jordan?” The girl had been staring at the artwork on the wall before returning her attention to her doctor.

“I know this is hard for you to hear, but we… Let’s just see how things progress. We’re not stopping anything, honey, but we have to consider how your body is dealing with the Lupus, okay?” Yet another doctor in another office in a long line of medical intervention. It had been six months since her initial symptoms, and things hadn’t gotten any better in all too many ways. Daniel had reached out to her in a manner of speaking, but it was only to express his regret for her health; he still refused to acknowledge that he had a daughter instead of a son, which left her feeling less secure than before.

“I feel fine.” She lied; and not at all convincingly. Paula gently squeezed her hand.

“Since we’ve seen no adverse effects, we’ll continue with the treatment, but….” Nancy’s voice trailed off. Both Paula and Nancy had struggled how to tell the girl that her condition was deteriorating rapidly; most patients respond reasonable well to to treatment, but it wasn't the case for Jordan.

“It’s not fair!” Jordan shook her head as the tears cascaded down her face. Not a complaint so much as a lament or even an appeal to fate or deity over what was beginning to look like the irretrievable loss of a dream. She looked down at her lap before biting her lip. It wasn’t so much that she hated what she still had; she didn’t despise her male form but instead feared that she would never obtain the form she wished would prove once and for all to her father….justifying what needed no defense.

“We all want to see you safe, honey.” Nancy was as tenderhearted and marginally unethical to some as they come. She stepped around from her desk and knelt down in front of Jordan and Paula. Holistic to her meant a lot more than some in her profession. She gently placed her hand on the girl’s knee and tilted her head in request. Jordan’s head was down, so Paula nodded on both of their behalf.

“God… please keep Jordan safe and help her get better. Give me the wisdom to treat her in the best manner possible and give her and Paula and Rachael peace.” She paused and looked at the empty chair next to Rachael.

“And please help Daniel see what a precious child he has?” She shook her head at the mention of the girl’s father; even the most powerful and wisest of deities would find convincing a man filled with stubborn pride and ignorance a daunting challenge.

---

At home, a few months later...

Rachael sat down and hugged Jordan quickly, as if a lingering embrace would hurt the girl sitting on the couch beside her. Too much worry and not enough faith, she felt, but the girl was fragile and struggling to keep from crying as it was. You know the feeling that you can hold it together until someone puts a hand on a shoulder; the shrug that says, if you keep it up, I’ll have no choice but to feel safe enough to fall apart. Rachael was mostly right in her assessment; the girl was very fragile, but she broke off the embrace too slow to keep the girl from sobbing anyway.

“Jordan? Honey? Please….let me…” She went to pull the girl closer, but was met with another shrug and hands that extended to hers, shaking and pushing her away.

“No…leave me….you can’t help…no one can.” The girl cried, leaving Rachael feeling helpless but still undaunted. She pushed the girl’s arms apart and pulled her close. Jordan flailed a bit before giving in entirely as she wept into her big sister’s shoulder. Rachael stroked Jordan’s hair and kissed her cheek.

“I’m so, so sorry, honey. We’ll find a way…really.” Rachael really wanted to believe that, but even she felt discouraged, and rightfully so. Some things can take more time than we like. And some things can take more time than we can afford. But in this case, it was going to take more time than Jordan had, since every test and exam and estimation and reluctant assessment said that Jordan would remain sadly unfulfilled in her quest to gain that final aspect of her transition before she succumbed to the disease that ravaged her body

---

A chance meeting at the supermarket parking lot sometime later...

“Daniel…” Paula wanted to be cold and aloof; her need to be angry seemed to fail her, and all she felt for her husband at that point was a vague recollection of love mixed with pity. He smiled weakly.

“How are you?” A nice enough request; it seemed so incomplete since it hadn’t been just the two of them for over twenty years.

“I’m tired, but I’m doing okay.” She was going to add an abrupt lecture about his children when Daniel surprised her.

“I…I’m sorry.” Simple enough, but profound since Daniel had hardly ever apologized. He put his head down and shook it; a self-recrimination long overdue and not a moment too soon. Paula wanted to rush to his side and hold him, but while old habits do die hard, they still expire without practice and careful tending. She resisted the urge to move as he stepped closer.

“I’ve…I’ve resigned as care pastor.” He looked at her for a response. She squinted; looking for some ulterior motive. She thought of several but missed the one he held.

“I was wrong in so many ways. I hurt you. I hurt Rachael. I hurt Jordan.”

“What does that mean, Dan…. How did you hurt your children?” She wanted to say ‘daughters,’ but better to let him omit that and then correct his misperception once again. She bit her lip at her lack of faith and spoke softly.

“I’m sorry, Dan. Go on…”

“I don’t pretend to understand all of it; how it all fits together or doesn’t at all.” He looked around nervously; it wasn’t something he was used to — admitting a weakness. She gazed at him with her arms folded; a need to be convinced even as she still wanted to believe he had changed.

“All I know is that I love you and them and I am so sorry I haven’t…. I haven’t been Christ-like. I don’t deserve to….no…that’s not what I want to say.” He shook his head, almost furiously as he pounded his hip with a closed fist in frustration. Paula unfolded her arms, but didn’t have any idea what to do next. It came to her on impulse, and she stepped closer and grabbed his hands; holding him at arms’ distance.

“I remember when I held Rachael for the first time. She was just so beautiful. And Jordan. What changed to make them less….it wasn’t them.” He blinked back tears. It had to be all about Paula and Rachael and Jordan.

“I have a wonderful…I had a wonderful wife and two beautiful children. I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize how much more important you and they are than what I believe…..what I believed.” He paused and she went to interject but he squeezed her right hand gently and smiled while shaking his head. She held off, and he continued.

“I’ve prayed about it, and I spent some time counseling with the pastor from Rachael’s church. I don’t know what I believe, but I still believe with all my heart that God loves us and that has to be the most important part of my faith.” He tilted his head and she squinted in anticipation.

“What are you asking, Dan?” She wanted to kiss him right then and there, but even that would be short-circuiting the process. And she was more than a bit premature anyway.

“All I’m asking is for you to forgive me.” He paused and sighed.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me on their behalf. That’s my responsibility, and I had to let them know how sorry I am for their sake, no matter what happens. I saw Rachael the other evening...” Volumes of Italian expressions flashed in Paula’s head as she searched for just the right words. In the end, she settled on her native tongue.

“Thank you, Dan…. I….I forgive you.” She put her hand to her face and began to cry; some tears fell from sheer exhaustion and frustation over the loss of so much valuable time; he didn’t know, and wouldn’t unless Jordan told him. Some tears fell from the relief of knowing things had indeed changed in his heart; everything he said rang true.

And some tears fell from the love she had never lost for her best friend ever. She shook a bit as he stepped closer and held her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her, but that would be for another time, if at all. That she forgave him and that there stood no barrier between them was more than enough. He squeezed her shoulder with his left hand; a long-abandoned gesture that sought and received welcome as Paula wept in his embrace.

---

A few days later...at home...

“Can I come in?” The voice was too familiar and altogether unwelcome and at the same time desperately needed. Jordan looked up to see her father standing in the door way. She shrugged her shoulders. Rachael was sitting in the futon across from Jordan's bed. She got up and walked out of the room, but not before touching her father's shoulder gently and smiling. He turned to face Jordan.

“I…” He began to choke up; it was hard to see him…hard to see her, he reminded himself, looking so frail.

“Dad?” Jordan looked at him and smiled weakly; it was something she had anticipated even before her mother told her. She nodded and pointed to the chair next to her bed. He sat down but looked away in shame; how much time had been lost foolishly.

“I….” He struggled with the same word; wanting so badly to make amends that were not possible. He began to cry softly and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. It was the first time in a long time that Jordan had seen her father cry. She reached over and touched his arm softly.

“Daddy?” Something she hadn’t said in years. He turned and saw that she was smiling through her own tears.

“I forgive you.” He shook his head; in denial and wonder and utter gratitude. She touched his arm once again and he pulled her hand to his face and kissed it before disolving in a sea of tears; the same ocean of loss and regret transformed into renewal as they both wept together; father and daughter united for the first time. A few minutes later she looked up and noticed that he held a book-shaped object wrapped in paper decorated with bunnies and ducklings of all things. She squinted and looked a bit askance.

“Oh…this is for you.” He held it, looking down as if to pray that it would mean as much to her as it did to him. He handed it to her and nodded. She pulled off the paper; revealing a pink background with the words “Our Little Girl” written diagonally across the cover. It was similar to one she had held countless times; going from birth to five. She looked at it and tilted her head and he nodded once again, using his hand to gesture for her to open it. Each new page held something old and familiar, but in a completely and wonderfully different context. Dan had taken all of the pictures from Jordan’s old baby book and inserted them into the new one; no difference in the photographs, but new captions. Each entry used the words ‘she,’ and ‘her;’ where before the captions spoke of the baby boy that Paula and Daniel had brought into the world, instead it was all about their little girl.

Where once the tableau of their younger child’s life spoke of the son and brother, now each picture was described by ‘daughter’ and ‘sister.’ Nothing new as far as the pictures were concerned other than the inclusion of one photo Dan had managed to come across when he compiled the new album. A picture never before displayed took a place of prominence on the very last page. Two little girls sitting on a pony at a town carnival; not their town, of course, but someplace where no one knew the two of them save for their mother. Rachael and Jordan smiling at the camera; a picture that Dan had hated the first time he saw it and now a picture that was a reminder of the blessing of God. Two little girls that he finally came to accept.

“Is it too late?”

He struggled to get the words out. Jordan looked at him with a tearful smile. She shook her head no and sighed; frustration and sadness would never go away completely for either of them nor for Paula or Rachael since in some ways it was too late. But along with the loss would come a redemption of sorts; a requiem of the heart for dear ones who realized life and God and family lie not in what they do or even what they are, but whom they are. That in the ways that truly matter, it's never too late.