I wish I had been a boy

20130312-094208.jpgI read a terrific blog this morning, and here is the link (hope it works). There has been so much in media, lately, about sexual identification and transgender, it made me took a little on my own experience. Here is the link to that other blogger’s excellent post.


Here are my thoughts, expanded since I posted on FB this morning.

I wished I was a boy often as a child. I felt that a boy’s life might have been easier in my world. I was supposed to be Jack, my mom and dad’s late in life “surprise” in their forties, and after they had four children nearly grown up. Since my dad retired before I was five, I spent a lot of time with him those first few years. I felt I would have gotten a lot more approval from my dad if I had been a boy, My father respected his sons; his daughters (and wife), not so much, and me, the least of all. He could hear the identical idea from a woman and disregard it, but if a man suggested it, he’d listen, at least. My dad was very old school. Partly, the problem was that I have some similarities to my dad. If he was antagonistic, I wouldn’t back down. If he yelled at my mom, I’d try to protect her (and made things worse for both of us, looking at it retrospectively). I didn’t like how my mom just took the verbal abuse and wasn’t cherished or respected by her husband. I know there was much more to their relationship than that, but this was with the eyes and understanding of a child.

I remember I wished I was a boy so I could answer back to the bullies in life, the injustice that which, even as a young child, bothered me. I wanted to be able to be the Knight on a white horse, instead of the helpless Princess. As a girl, I never ever considered the idea of physically hurting someone, I wished I was a boy, so that I might be able to MAKE someone listen, and make the bullies regret their actions. I think society then accepted more that “boys will be boys”. I felt it wasn’t fair that girls didn’t get the perks that boys did.

Most of the kids nearest my age in my neighborhood were boys and I envied their easy camaraderie and how they got along. I always felt like an outsider looking in. I loved riding my bike, adventuring in the woods, and playing outdoors. It was definitely a hands off childhood. I pretty much raised myself, Range Free Parenting at it’s worse. In school, I had pretty short hair from around second to fifth grade, which was around the time things started going south. I knew I was different than others. I knew my home life wasn’t like other people, and I felt like I was on my own. I only vaguely remember school during those years, only that in third grade there was a teacher that ridiculed and made fun of me in front of other students and it was bad enough that I remember the school counselor seeing me a few times, which must have been a pretty big deal in those days, but I had no clue.  It wasn’t that I disliked school – I loved reading and devoured every horse book in the library – but they lost me at fourth grade math. I wished I was a boy so that I could have been good at math and science. That maybe would have made me able to become a veterinarian or physical therapist. Back then, boys were just better at math and science and sports than girls. My dream job (until I got taller than 5’5) was to be a jockey. Since I didn’t have the build, that was an early disappointment.

If I had been a boy, maybe I wouldn’t have directed my insecurities inward where I almost destroyed myself in my depression of not feeling good enough, feeling flawed, and unworthy. Sports might have been a way to be a confidence builder even as a girl, but sports didn’t come easily to me. I wasn’t physically talented.  I played soccer for one season, and swimming for maybe a year, but wasn’t that good. I skied in Junior High, but that was expensive and my parents didn’t encourage it. Really, they didn’t encourage me to do anything, except in vague grandiose terms, like “You can do anything you want to”, but never followed up with any structure on how to start. I became a frustrated perfectionist, a natural procrastinator, and a dreamer rather than a live(er). They didn’t continue to encourage me to stick with anything, not even piano lessons. I never learned how to do anything REALLY well, except escape into reading.

As a girl, I developed early, and because of my need for approval and desire for connection, I became a target for a 17 year old boy (weirdly immature, himself, but he had a cool ’67 Mustang!) when I was 12. So, at that age, I had my first kiss (ewwww). That started a whole new set of negative spiraling which lasted a good many years. I wasn’t comfortable and had no support on being a person with a physical body. I just felt like a bad girl. I didn’t like who I was as a girl, and wished I could have been a boy – that I might have done better. Over the years, my depression and eating built walls of fat that kept me from acting on any of my sexuality, so in essence, I became like one of the guys.

I had many good guy friends over the years, and since I hung out with guys that had NO interest in a fat girl, I was able to have good friendships. I was their matchmaker (in more than one case), encourager, supporter, and buddy. Being able to relate to guys helped me to be more confident that as a person, I was fun to be around. They just accepted me with my quirks and loved me the way I was.


One of my good guy friends (thanks Ron) helped me to really start to see that who I was, and the road I had traveled wasn’t a mistake. September 5, 1990, I spent some time and rededicated my mess of a life to Jesus Christ. It was a long road, with some huge boulders to climb. In 1998 I was amazed to find out that my Father God saw me much differently than I saw myself. I went through a long counseling period in 2001/2002, when I finally learned how to see myself as a Victor rather than a victim. There have been many ups and downs and setbacks and disappointments, but I am glad that God made me who I am. I found that I was treasured before time began and God made me who I was on purpose. It is still my job to become the best Jill I can be. I think it will probably take the rest of my life to do that, but it’s Christ in me who can do the impossible.

I have gone from wishing to accepting and now to enjoying. It has been a heck of a journey. But I agree with that other blogger – God made me perfectly, and though I am flawed in my humanity, my journey has been worthwhile.


Seeking the Kingdom on Earth


I know that Christ asked people to seek the kingdom of God. Seeking is a process I need to adhere to in order to be a follower of His Way.  Just like his twelve disciples were people that lived with him, ate with him, walked with him and watched the Master to learn how he approached situations, how he gave comfort and healing to others, and how he served, I need to read and pray and most of all listen. James 1:19 nails it, “Be Quick to Listen, Slow to Speak, Slow to get angry.”

I am struggling with habits destructive to change, however, I keep running into myself. A few weeks ago, I was journaling and heard a speaker on Focus on the Family that was the author of a book called “The Silent Seduction of Self-Talk.” Her name is Shelly Beach. She stated how she realized how so many of her underlying thoughts, below the surface of her consciousness were directly opposed to becoming healthy or passionate for God, even though she was busy living for him, even in full ministry. I struggle with thoughts and habits that are directly opposed to life-affirming responses to God’s promises and that are opposed to seeking His Kingdom.

Grace is unmerited favor that we can never deserve. God uses grace in acting in our life to do what we can’t do on our own and I need to own that, breathe it in deep and get real in it.  Living Life with Jesus day by day and shutting up to listen are such hard and yet vital things for me to take on this year. Practicing the meditation of listening for God whenever I am breathing and being still while still living in the day to day are where I am stumbling forward. We are commanded to be still, but I judge myself when I don’t get enough done or feel misunderstood or called lazy. Still I must look ahead or I will fall behind.

I wish so much that there were a magic bullet or pretty sparkly pill that could fix me in all my messiness or craziness but God doesn’t make the journey that way. In humans, we have an intense desire to achieve and yet our self-will, fallen since Adam, wants the easy way and quick fixes.

There is no quick fix and no easy way. After cancer, I feel even more mixed up and lost than before, and with more issues, but God is with me, I do know that. And…. I am not the only one. This woman’s article that my niece posted is so much of what I have seen, even down to the post chemo issues medically.


Wow, those cliffs look high!

Wow, those cliffs look high!

Wow, those cliffs look high!

I can not go up on my own, I can not go down, either. I am faced with a decision: Do I trust God or panic?

“With God, all things are possible” is the Word’s response. I have the choice – do I listen to the negative thoughts and voices that are the familiar ones or do I leap out into the void (for all I know) of hope. I will HOPE. I can believe. I choose faith. I choose to believe the positive things about me and my life.

I believe (note present tense) my best days are ahead of me; my future is far from over, God’s plan for me is the same that He has always had, I am not the author and finisher of my own story.

I have always wanted to write stories, however, I have had an unfortunate lack of mental discipline in the past. Sticking to one subject, one idea, one voice is difficult and with ADD in spades, I have more inspiration and shiny objects than can get me off topic than imaginable.

Blogging, for me, is a way to get things out of my head and into the open. I then, perhaps, can avoid my enemy of overindulging in verbiage. Yes, I am back 19 hours later to confirm that verbiage is a word. That question in my head lead me off into many other directions – including the ‘oh shoot, it’s later than I thought, I need to _____________.’

OK, I’ve lost my compelling need to blog for the afternoon. This is it for today. The JOY of the Lord is my strength. From Nehemiah.

Focus on the Season


I’m in a new season right now. I’m believing for great changes, but, as I posted last, it’s a process. I’m certain that God has many promises he has not yet fulfilled through me, and that he has created me with giftings that I can use to be creative and bless others. I know my season includes being quiet, listening and waiting on the Lord to specifically have the right word at the right time with the right heart. I know my giftings include encouragement, mercy, and hospitality. These have been fallow the past few years in my struggles with cancer and depression and illness, but, they are still there. As Pastor Stone always said, and it says somewhere in the book, that ‘God’s Gifts are Irrevocable.” A lot of problems occur because when I don’t have things flowing out from me, there’s nothing able to flow in. I have a picture in my mind of some standing water that’s gotten muddy and there have been dead leaves falling in it, and maybe some algae growing. That’s not supposed to be the way my gifts operate. The way I have had prophetically been spoken of is that the well that the enemy stopped up by making it muddy and filled with rocks and nasty water will be opened up so that I can overflow in blessing to others. I think that one of the reasons that I’ve had so many difficult battles in my life is that my heart has always wanted to be used to minister. Misguided or off-course, it’s always the intent and desire of my heart that I’ve had all along; that I would show fruit in my life that could be used to bless others and glorify God.

In looking back so far, I can’t point to any particular season and say it had a lot of fruit and that has been a frustration to me. I have had times where I knew God was using my feeble efforts and I knew it wasn’t because of me, maybe more likely in spite of me. But just as I came and lay my small offering before the Lord, he was able to do miracles with it. I also know that I may only be seeing the backside of the tapestry, partly finished, with all my knots and threads that are uneven and mismatched. I won’t see the completion until my race is finished. I hope that I will show myself approved by his Grace. Thank God that his mercies are ‘new every morning’. I love the recent song by Matthew West that talks about wishing and getting over it to move on into “Day 1 of the Rest of My Life”. Please, I hope that I don’t sound overly spiritual or holy. I’m certainly not. I have a lot of things that are in my head that haven’t made it out of the muddiness and down into my heart. The difference is that right now, I am choosing to believe and live in faith – after all, faith is what we have before things are seen. I will continue to hope and pray.

My list of accomplishments has been short – probably because of a lot of stubbornness against authority. I felt, from a young age, that I had to take care of myself or no one else would. That was before I met Jesus but I carried it on past my salvation. I know I mixed Him up with my natural father, and then had 9 years of a legalistic, judgmental and at times hypocritical church background. I know so many were hurt during the 80’s by what happened at the church where I accepted Jesus as my savior. I also had so many experiences that left me in no doubt that God was real and Jesus truly loved me. I just didn’t think he liked me very well because of my bad decisions. I left the church when I went to college and experienced the ‘distancing’ of many who I had loved and admired and knew as friends. I know, now, that I certainly wasn’t any better off on my own and others also had old scars from that time, too. By the end of my 6 years of isolation, I’d made a big mess of my life, but my friend Ron brought me down the Romans Road and I gave the mess back to Jesus. I keep doing that every time I think of it, because I still have a heavy handed tendency to take the reins of my will back, even when I think I’m submitting to His will.

In any case, I’m certain only of his love for me and that he planned me, knowing my every decision and every hearts’ cry and fear and pain and loss. He also knew my joys and enthusiasm, my spontaneity and impulsiveness that makes life so very interesting (at least if you are living in my head.) The name, Jill, means youthful heart, and I think I’ll always have it. Like Peter Pan, who never wanted to grow up, I believe there is always another adventure, place to go, people to meet, and I’m ready to go follow Aslan Further Up and Further In.  I’ve been tenacious, at least I’m told that I am. Perhaps it’s just that I don’t know any better. But, I do like to think of myself as young at heart. Ya Gotta Live my mom and Auntie Mame used to say.

Lets be honest here, I didn’t mind growing up in some ways – I certainly wouldn’t want to go back. But… I think that there will always be in me a child-like wonder in enjoying things that other people might think of as silly or simple. Escaping in my imagination has long been a…well…an escape, but, it also gave me a ton of ideas and thoughts that I just love bouncing against each other.

A friend of mine recently gave me an assignment that I believe was from the Lord to help. Instead of thinking of so many things to share, perhaps I can focus on praying for the ‘one’  thing that will minister and help the most. My ADD and child-like quality of excitement about ideas makes it difficult to focus, so I find I struggle to express myself and end up using too many words. I need to be like an arrow sent out with my words, so that I can hit the mark that my Lord has for me as a target.

“Just wait until you are through chemo, then you’ll feel better.”

IMG_0529Maybe for some, but that wasn’t my journey.

The school year following my marriage, my mom died, and having surgery was really tough. Work started feeling more and more like a war zone with an increasingly nasty, unpredictable and vicious administration that left me feeling bullied and with PTSD type responses of panic and anxiety. Here’s the quick synopsis: After having surgery in 2012, getting sick with cellulitis, having rampant infection and necrosis of my wounds (which was a devastating experience), I got sick and weaker. After that, finding cancer just felt increasingly surreal which was in October 2012.

I had the cancer and did as I was supposed to do. It was Ovarian and had spread to the Uterus, or maybe it was the other way around, I really don’t remember. I had the hysterectomy, they didn’t remove my lymph nodes because they thought it was contained in the uterus and they pulled my ovaries.  To make things worse, post-hysterectomy, my hormone change threw me into a menopause that I thought I had already experienced. In 2007, my hormone levels were supposedly post-menopausal. I was officially through menopause. But, after the hysterectomy, I started having hot flashes and emotional responses. I talked with the surgeon who was my cutter and her response was that, “oh, those ovaries must have still being doing something, it happens to women sometimes.” That. Totally. Sucked. And, oh, since it was ovarian cancer, they needed to do radiation therapy and chemo. That, I hadn’t expected. I thought we were done with the hysterectomy. Nope. Not even close to finished.

Radiation was okay until the very nearly last one. That one burned like fire. I don’t think things have ever quite recovered. (Sadly, they also don’t really mention that nasty little possibility about some folks’ love-life post hysterectomy – it can hurt like hell! And, since I had cancer, Estrogen is/was out, so no hormonal replacement for me.) Just keeping it real, folks. Not a fun reality but working on it, or at least thinking about working on it.

As for chemo,  I briefly posted (can it really be two years ago since that started??) that the beginning of chemo itself wasn’t too horrible. I did have a ‘chemo headache’ migraine where my head felt too big for my skull. I also had a bit of nausea as things went on, but, that was nothing compared to my other side effects.  That’s where we are catching up from the time I last blogged.

During chemo, It just kept getting more difficult to function. I was repeating myself.  I started panicking. I felt depressed. I couldn’t focus on reading and was easily distracted. I also felt misunderstood, and emotional; when things went wrong and I thought I was being pretty logically reasonable I shouldn’t have had to be feeling like this…..ugh. Then my Oncologist let me know that ‘Chemo Brain’ is an actual real thing. There it was. I had it. The crazy thing – no one knows who will or won’t get it, and they don’t know how bad it will be or not, and they don’t know if the brain recovers or not, either. My reality was…nope. I felt worse after chemo was over. I felt disoriented and confused, like I’d lost a good portion of my brain cells, and slowly it dawned on me: When I had chemo, the poison that was running through my veins to kill the cancer also killed *a lot* of things that I’d been relying on in life.

Post-chemo my body kept continuing to crap out on me. My pain levels increased, migraines became even more frequent and my joints hurt. Additionally, my auto-immune system had decreased to nothing by the end of chemo and I had gotten a NASTY virus running through my system that left me with rampant diarrhea that continued even after the virus was gone completely. Gluten intolerance seemed ruled out (however I have heard since then that the blood test is not exactly accurate) and IBS seemed an initial consensus, but I’m still going through finding out any other reasons for it or maybe I have some sort of leaky gut or who knows what. My next colonoscopy and EGD will be this coming weekend. Who knows, it might be all nutrition choices, it might be a combination of things. But we shall see. In any case, I’m still alive and kicking.

Since chemo, I have permanent lymphedema. I have compression garments, I have the Flowtron machine with the thigh high booties, I sleep with a triangle wedge to keep my legs elevated, but I still have it, plus, half the time I can’t sleep and never without some kind of med. Other side effects of chemo are that I had nerve damage and increased pain from arthritis, back pain, neck pain, and muscle swelling. Migraines are continual, and if my head doesn’t hurt, something else does. If I exercise, I pay for it. But I still need to. My bones are getting weaker every year and weight bearing exercise helps prevent further incursions of osteoporosis which I already have in my wrists as well as my hip and spine. Speaking of hips, I have right hip plus knee pain. Half the time my fingers get numb as a result of neuropathy.

After chemo, I felt punch drunk after a few too many hits. I felt like Rocky with my eyes swelled shut, beaten up yelling, “Adriaaaan”, but I didn’t experience the immediate comeback planned in the script. This was not a make believe movie scene. I was down and out for the count, l  felt like a total and complete failure who didn’t know who I was, compared to who I used to be, but still better off than who I used to be before that. I still believed that God was in control, but I was getting pretty tired of myself. After chemo, I felt so tired, fat, and depressed. I had fear and loathing of what I was becoming or falling back into, depending how I looked at it, and  I felt about as smart as a snail. I talked too much, I went from high to low in seconds, and started basing my self-perception on how I felt others were viewing me. In a word, the past two years were hell inside of me. All of my negative self-doubts circled about my confused brain, aided by the attacks of the enemy of our souls who, like a vulture, circles ready to steal, kill, and destroy whatever he can.

But God.

God has brought friends and angels in ways that he shows me he cares for me. Last August I was feeling particularly low one day. I went and talked with someone at church asking for prayer and I remembered leaving feeling like an utter and complete failure. Not even ten minutes later, a friend, Kat, whom I’ve not spoken with in years called me, and said, “Jill, God wants you to know you are NOT a failure.” That was an amazing encouragement for both of us and sustained me for weeks.

I know God loves me and he hasn’t given up on me. I am 50 years old and still learning. I have learned that I can choose the thoughts I allow access to my brain. I am NOT my thoughts. I don’t have to allow them all to shake around in my brain like a terrier shaking a squeaky toy.

I’m certain God dropped the idea of a service dog into my heart. My Oncologist and other doctors agreed a service animal would help with my disabilities. We got a mix of miniature Poodle and Wheaten Terrier. Harry was love at first sight for me and my husband. He wasn’t the cutest one of the three pups, but he wrapped us both around his paw with a lick and a snuggle. Thankfully, he is VERY smart, as well as adorably cute (even if his brother Joey was a tad, just a tad cuter, initially.) He helps me in a myriad number of ways. He picks up things when I can’t feel my fingers, brings in the paper or other things I point to, encourages me to get out and walk a little, helps me to open the door, to get out of bed, and while I was working on training him, he gave me a tiny bit of purpose and something else to think about. Harry brings love and contentment and joy to me. At times, I have felt the presence of God embodied by three furry bodies next to mine while lying on my bed, and felt him whisper to me how much he loves me. I have the simple joy of sitting in my backyard and seeing the dog and cat chase each other. Gracie and Harry are good friends while Thomas and Harry tolerate each other. My world has become very small. That’s ok. I’m enjoying it. The wind in the trees soothes me, the warm sun feels good on my “old” bones until the time of year when it’s a bit too hot for even this Seattle transplant. Yes, I know age is relative, and maturity isn’t my strongest point, but I do like enjoying life in all of it’s adventure. I’m just readier than I used to be to see Jesus as a part of the biggest adventure of my life. Further up and Further in. Until God wants me, Breathing is a good thing.

God is teaching me that his way is the reverse of a negative spiral which is my ‘old school’ way of reacting to things. I have to keep believing even when everything around me points to chaos. God says, “Behold, I am doing a new thing; do you not yet perceive it? I am bringing a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert.” I’ll take it. I know that God is true, he is faithful, and he is loving.

My whole idea for this blog was about being happy in moments by choice. It was to become healthy,  to embrace healthy living and thinking.  It’s been a long detour, but I think I am there again, to feel vulnerable, look at new ways of thinking and be real with uncomfortable things; to continue being real without whining or complaining or venting. I choose to be happy because it makes me healthy. I can be a positive influence without being a plastic barbie princess or a woe is me victim. I am a victor, not a victim. I am a daughter of the King and he sees me as precious.

I started going to Celebrate Recovery – a place for people with hurts, hangups, and habits. I started in October 2014, and then went back in November 2014 and have continued since then. I have met some other women who have faced obstacles with courage. Things can change. I can change. It’s not too late. I am looking for miracles. Inside me is more important than the outside of me. I want to be changed from the inside out which is the promise I have always been given.

I feel hope now. I am hoping that 2015 will be the best year in a long time. I am looking forward to progress, not perfection. I am committed to seeing fruit in my life. Maybe I can use my mess to help someone else. I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind but now I see. How precious did that grace appear, the hour I started to believe again. God has a plan for me. I believe it. I believe in him. The best days are ahead of me. It may not be different physically, but it can be inside me.

I’ll be back. I think writing helps. I know I have something to say. Hopefully it well help someone.