J. John Eilers’ autobiography

A few years before my father died, my step-mom, Louise, encouraged him to write the story of his life.  Thankfully, he did.  He literally wrote it out, in longhand and in cursive.  The day of Dad’s funeral, Louise surprised each of us kids with a copy.

I have typed it all.  Often, Dad wrote in sentence fragments.  I turned them into proper sentences, never altering the sense.  At times, I struggled to make out what he wrote, but I believe I never lost track of what he was saying.  In a few cases, I have inserted notes to add insight to what Dad wrote.  Everything in [brackets] is my insertion.

Based on two of his comments, it appears that Dad wrote this in 2007.  He died in 2010.


By John Eilers

Joseph John Eilers

Born March 17, 1927

Claybanks Township

Oceana County, Michigan


I was born during the Depression and going to school was a big chore.  At five years of age you had also to do a lot of work.

The Pine Grove School—now the Claybanks Town Hall—had poor heat, four in my class, and about twenty-five total.

The Claybanks school now serves as so many do, as the township hall.


As soon as school was out for the day, it was walk about two miles home and start chores.  Sunday was the only time for play and visiting friends and relatives, or vice versa.

High School was a mile walk to the Montague bus.  Because of the war, farm work was a must, so up until I was drafted into the army I could only go three to four days a week, yet I had a B or better average.  Farm work was hard but had to be done.

The Eilers family farm.

Military Service

Right after my eighteenth birthday, I had to go to Detroit for an exam.  Shortly after, I was ordered into the service.  Into the Army I went.  From Detroit to Fort Sheridan in Chicago, to Camp Hood in Texas.  Everyone was homesick.  It was hot and a rough seventeen weeks of training.  One good thing was a special award from the state honoring me for my service as a 4-H leader.  When I was seventeen, and up until going into the Army, I was a young leader because no men were available.

After training, I was home for eleven days and then off to Europe.  That was tough not knowing when or if I would come back.  I went to Camp Pickett, Virginia, and then Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, and on to a boat, landing in Le Havre, France.

In service to his country.

When we were about to leave New York, I had a swelling in my neck and could not swallow sweets.  With luck, I passed my physical exam, but was sick as a dog half way across the ocean.  When I got to Le Havre, I was sick on the other side of my neck.  I thought I would die.  In the Army, you did not report sick.  I made it and later found that I had the mumps.

Before leaving Camp Philip Morris, they wanted thirteen of the tallest guys [Dad was 6′ 3″] for a special guard for General Mark Clark, a great guy, who was coming up from Italy.  We traveled through France and Germany, thirteen of us, and late at night arrived as I later found out in Vienna, Austria, fifty miles inside the Russian area, a total of five hundred soldiers behind the Russian line.

I got assigned to the police, I think, for a couple of reasons.  First, when Dad got out of the Navy, WWI, he worked on the Muskegon Police Force and, second, I was put on four Power Patrols working with the French, British, and Russians.  It was great work.  Colonel Knudsen was right under General Clark and took a liking to me.  I got to drive his Hudson, all decked out doing errands for him.  I was only a Tech Corporal, but he ranked me higher.  I had to be careful around the Russians.  I got to salute General Montgomery (British) and General Zhukov (Russian).  No big deal.

I left for home out of Bremerhaven, Germany.  I learned German and got along well with the natives.  In fact, they wanted to know where in Germany I had been educated—in Austria or Germany.

When I got back in the US, the Statue of Liberty sure looked good.  I went back to Fort Sheridan, Illinois, and was discharged.

Back Home: 1947

When I got home, along with farming I worked part time in the oil field in the area running a well dozer and everything else. [Oil had been discovered on the family farm, and was pumped for many years.]

I needed my diploma, so I went to school in the afternoon, from March to May.  I needed 1/16 of a credit.  My service picture is in the school today. [Dad is the only Montague graduate pictured in uniform, a fact we kids loved pointing out to our friends.]

I also started playing trombone in Muskegon, with a military band.  We played all over Michigan and in Canada.  I also played trombone in high school.

I married Ma [Floye Vogel Omness] in 1951.  We lived in Montague.  I worked the farm and she worked in Muskegon.  Jimmy was born in 1952.

Mom, in her twenties.

New Job

I was commander of the Rothbury American Legion.  Ma and I, Doc Gillan and his wife, attended a dinner at the Post, and Doc needed an emcee at the large alumni banquet.  I said anyone should be able to do that.  A week later, he called and said I was it, and could not back out.  I said okay, but how to get a babysitter would be a problem, because the banquet was so big that the sitters were all there, and he would have to supply me with one.  Doc said to go down the street and see Mr. Aley, which I did.  He asked how I was doing and I said that until something better came along I was fine.  His daughter babysat and had a great time.  A couple of weeks later, at a FFA banquet—I was FFA president—this Mr. Aley, who sat at the head table on stage, called me and said I should send to the city an application for the police job.  Floye and I talked about it and thought I should go for it.  I did have police experience in the service.  In Austria, I set up the postal service and police department, so I knew a little bit.

I hand wrote an application and sent it in.  A couple of weeks later, I was asked to attend a council meeting where five other guys got the same notice.  The interview went well.  I thought that if I got the job, that would be fine and, if not, that too would be fine.

A couple of more weeks later, Mr. Aley called and said I had the job; get ready to go to work.  I started on June 15, 1952.

The job was seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day.  Along with acting as police chief was the job of constable.  I summoned two juries in the township.

1957 saw the city superintendent leave for Du Pont [which had a plant just outside Montague].  I stayed and was promoted to city superintendent and also held the police chief job.  In 1958, I was out of police work completely.

I became chairman of the county building inspectors.  My farm background and training made the superintendent’s job easy.  I joined the Old Newsboys/Goodfellows in 1952, retiring after fifty years.  For Montague, I made many big improvements, including a big water job which included the building of Park Street to make another short route downtown.  Miss America 1961, Nancy Anne Fleming, was a lifeguard for me.  My son, Tom, rode on her parade float.

Off to Hart

The former Whitehall city manager, who went to Hart for the same job, was retiring.  He got a hold of me and said it paid really well.  I sent in an application.  They wanted a manager who was an engineer, but still hired me.  In Hart, I became president of the Rotary, built a new city hall, and set up the first fire district in Michigan (Montague’s was number two).  I was appointed county supervisor/commissioner and got the board off dead center.

After four years, I was approached by the Muskegon County Road Commission, to take the maintenance superintendent’s job.  They had been trying to get me for years.  Our house in Montague was available and school about to start. [Dad had built a two-bedroom house, quickly expanding it to four bedrooms; when moving to Hart, they sold it on a land contract to a young couple who was now getting divorced; Dad and Mom took back the house just in time for our return to Montague.]  I took the job.  In Hart, because I acted as the city clerk from 1964-67, I signed birth and death certificates, so I will be history for a lot of years.

Back to Montague

Hart was good, but we were glad to get back home.  I had built our house in 1954.  I put lots of hard work into it.  Now, we were home.

The house John Eilers built.

I served on the city council and as mayor pro tem, and started as maintenance supervisor for the Road Commission in Muskegon.  After seven years, the city leaders wanted me to come back as Montague’s city manager, to build a sewer system.  I did so in no time.

I was elected Chamber of Commerce president, and also chairman of the building improvement board, which I had gotten started, and at the same time was chairman of the county energy commission.  I got the old theater torn down and then moved into the present city hall when we sold the one that was on White Lake.  Ferry Street [Montague’s main downtown street] was redone.  The Ludington Bank branch closed and I was elected chairman of the Senior Center, which came about after a formal study.  The Senior Center went into the vacant bank building after I negotiated the sale of the building and got a grant to buy it.  Being downtown, the building was a great location for a Senior Center, and it is still going.

The Park Street extension was completed and a second water project was started with a grant.  The citywide sewer project was completed. [When Dad was interviewed by the Muskegon Chronicle, they quoted him saying, “They say if you can go through a project like this without turning to drinking or women, you’re doing good.”  Mom was understandably horrified.]

I ran for and was elected to the board of directors of the Government Employees Federal Credit Union.  I still am on the board.  I was commander of the VFW post in Montague, and then was appointed to serve with the Veterans Trust Fund Board of Michigan for Muskegon and Ottawa counties, serving as the board chairman for many years.

I spoke around the state on having formed the first fire district and then the second in Montague.  I succeeded at getting the law changed so these districts could be formed.

After coming back home, I served on the Shelby Hospital Board, and saw a large addition to the hospital.  My service on that board concluded when the hospital was sold.


In 1996, I ran for and was elected to the City Charter Commission.  The old city charter was revised.

When I retired in 1996, the one award I received was because of Congressman Guy VanderJagt, who had a flag flown over the US Capitol in my honor.  I don’t know of anyone else who had this honor.

I joined Christ the Rock food pantry and still serve going on ten years. [This was not Dad’s church—he was Roman Catholic—but, in retirement, he continued his life of service.  He was working in the food pantry when, at age 83, his hip broke, which a few weeks later resulted in his death.]  I also work for Whitehall Congregational Church food pantry.  I had lots of enjoyment with keeping up on my gardening, with the local papers featuring me. [When I was first married, and Dad got me started gardening, I happened to grow a huge watermelon.  Dad contacted the Montague Observer, which sent a photographer to my house.  I, with my young daughter, Erin, was pictured in the newspaper with our prize melon.] When I turned eighty, the White Lake Beacon did an article on me. [At Dad’s death, the Muskegon Chronicle did a very nice article on Dad.]



First off, let me say that we had a lot of family serve in the armed forces.  Dad and his two brothers served overseas in WWI, I served in WWII, and my sons, Tom and Dave, in the Navy, with Tom serving in Vietnam.  My brother, Russ, served in the Korean Conflict.
When Jim was born in 1952, he was just perfect, but then a sleeping sickness took its hold and left him several handicapped.  We had no insurance back then and loads of bills.  All were paid off.  Jim is in a home and is doing fine. [Dad and Mom had Jim put in a state home when he was five because Mom simply could not give him the care he needed, they now had Tom and Sue, and I was soon to arrive.]

Tom works for the City of Montague.  Dave is with Du Pont.  Sue is disabled.  Greg is a Lutheran minister.  Mark is a machinist.  All are doing well.

At Dad’s funeral, from left to right standing behind Jim: Mark, me, Sue, Dave, and Tom

Coming from a poor family, my brothers and sisters did well.  I became a chief of police and then city manager.  Francis was on the Claybanks Township Board and farmed.  Betty retired as Oceana County clerk.  Pat was a nurse.  Barb married a pharmacist.  Marilyn was a food caterer.  Margaret married a fruit farmer.  Russ worked for the Oceana County Road Commission.

After thirty-five years, in 1986 wife Floye died of cancer suddenly and I was left alone.  Louise [Dad and Louise married six months after Mom died] was just like Floye—a good cook and could handle finances.  I have been lucky.

Dad and Mom at their thirtieth wedding anniversary party.

I came into a second family as Louise’s husband died and left her with a young daughter, Allison.  Allison would have a son, Anthony—my buddy—and then a daughter, Paisley.  We somewhat raised Anthony for his first four or five years.  They, like my other grandchildren, are good kids.

Louise, three years younger than when she and Dad were wed. They enjoyed twenty-three years of marriage.

Now, the family is of an age where instead of baseball they are comparing illnesses and pills.  Me, too.

Over the years, I’ve had a lot of fun and also trying times, but have the best of family.


When I was about twelve, I picked cherries.  Those were long, hot days.  I made a total of about $15.00.  Sears and Montgomery Ward catalogs were used in the outhouses, so I knew them page by page.  I went through them and ordered a red and blue hanky, six pairs of work socks, a blue denim shirt, and a pair of blue jeans, all of which you can buy today.  Jeans bib overalls were just coming out, and Dad said I should have ordered them.  I could not wait to get the order; it was just like Christmas.

Next was Christmastime.  I was still age twelve.  St. John’s [the Catholic church near home] gave each kid a box of peanuts and hard candy.  They had a talent show, but no piano.  First prize was a one pound box of chocolate.  If I could win that, we would have a great Christmas at home.  I sang Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.  I won the chocolate.  The next week, St. James [the Catholic church in Montague] had the same talent show.  A five pound box of candy was the first prize.  We got there and a lady who played the piano introduced herself (she played the organ in church).  Because we had a piano-playing teacher in school, I felt a little at home.  We hit it off.  I won the five pounds of candy.  Now, we had a real Christmas coming up: six pounds of candy, plus each one’s bag of peanuts and candy.

St. John the Baptist Catholic Church, where Dad won the Christmas chocolate, and where he and Louise were married.

I note that Ma sang in the church choir.  And who played the organ?  This same lady who, over the years, was a great friend.  This experience helped me later on to play the trombone in school band.  The school superintendent, Mr. Oehrli, and I were the only trombonists.

I learned over the years that I could face competition and win, and the rest of my life proved so.

The next story in music was after I got home in 1947.  I met Bill Thoma, who moved into Montague from Muskegon, at a VFW meeting.  Muskegon VFW was forming a professional band and needed a tuba player.  Bill’s son, Tom, seventeen years old, played tuba, but could not drive.  I had no car, but Bill said I could use his, so Tom and I could go to practice.  I was not that good, but made the band.  I would leave Mrs. Thoma at relatives, we would go to practice, and then pick her up and go home.  Our band was the best in the state.  We played all over Michigan and in Canada.  I played until I got married in 1951.  I cannot believe it.

Getting lost overseas was one I will not forget.  We arrived behind the Russian lines—at Vienna, Austria—at night, and went to a bombed out building and slept.  The next morning, I was taken to a building and told to wait for someone who never showed up.  I was in a place where I did not know how to get back and I was all by myself.  How I got back to a place I had not seen in daylight, I will never know.  I did not know my outfit—we did not yet have a name, and I had no buddies or anything.  The next morning, I told the lieutenant what had happened.  This is where I met Colonel Knudsen.

I could be rich today.  When in Vienna, I had a worker who had been in a Russian prison, who was working to get back to Prague, Czechoslovakia, and whose family had been killed by the Germans.  They were jewelers, and had hidden many diamonds.  This man offered half to me if I would go into the Russian area in Prague and bring the diamonds back.  I almost did, but I knew that if I were caught by the Russians and found out I was a G. I. I would be killed.  I think about that, yet today.

When we started to get Vienna put back together, I was busy and had my own jeep.  Hitler took over Austria.  Many Americans were caught and could not return to the US.  CARE packages were being sent through the Red Cross to them, but they were not getting to the people.  My job, among many others, was to check this out.  I sneaked into the Russian area.  I was wearing a German POW uniform and I could speak German.   I found out the Russians were stealing the CARE packages.  I reported this.  I soon got a letter from some of the sick relatives and one of their families, who were thankful for what I did.  They offered me an all-expenses paid trip when I got home, to contact them.  They would meet me at home and we would go to Austria, where they would meet their relatives and give them some help.  I turned them down.  I had enough of overseas at that time.  I should have gone, and again probably be rich.

Some of the hard times in my life have been:

  • Jimmy getting sick.
  • Signing Jimmy over to the state, which meant that I legally was no longer his father.
  • Floye dying.

Good times:

  • My fine family.
  • Two wonderful wives.

People I met over the years:

  • President Ford.
  • Chairman Greenwalt of Du Pont; we became friends because he also was a gardener.
  • Michigan governors G. Mennen Williams, William Milliken, and Jim Blanchard.
  • General Clark.
  • British General Montgomery.
  • Famous Russian General Zhukov.
  • State Police Commissioner Joe Childs, who became a good friend.
  • Congressman Guy VanderJagt, a good friend.
Cheers to you, Dad!

The LCMS and transgender acceptance

I selected what I find is the worst possible word for the title because for many LCMS Christians “acceptance” evokes this reaction: “I will never accept transgender people as God-fearing Christians.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My chief complaint with the LCMS is that, overall as a synod, gender dysphoria has been judged as either a mental illness or a sinful proclivity, and transitioning a sinful response to it. While there are pastors and lay folks who are open to learning, even to recognizing gender dysphoria as arising from a real, physical condition, and transitioning as a medically viable option, the general sense in the LCMS is that those who transition willfully sin and thus are found ineligible for membership in LCMS congregations.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Acceptance” is commonly heard from LGBTQ folks and their allies.  It is synonymous with tolerance. The sense of its usage is that one consents to, is tolerant to, whatever a person says about himself, however he lives, whatever his take is on his situation in life, and no judgment will be taken in opposition to the person’s actions.

Because LCMS Christians hold a traditional understanding of God’s Word, and with how “acceptance” is used, it is largely rejected. I am reminded of the term, “born again Christian,” which is also largely unused by LCMS Christians. The term is correct—there is no such thing as a Christian who is not “born again”—yet, because of the wrong theology attached to it by evangelicals, it is mostly unheard in the LCMS. So it goes with “acceptance” in the transgender conversation.

For many in the LCMS, acceptance with transgender issues feels like support, which feels like caving in and giving up one’s theology. My best example is when Julie and I were received into membership in a LCMS congregation in 2016. The uproar among LCMS pastors was swift and vicious, and taken right to the top of the synod.

None of these, who called for our congregation and pastors to be kicked out of the LCMS, sat in on any of the meetings I had with the pastors. They did not inquire of the pastors as to these discussions, as to my answers, as to the pastors’ stance. They simply judged each person and the situation as sinful.  I know; I read their comments on several websites.

They made assumptions about things which were in violation of the Eighth Commandment, that we shall not bear false witness against our neighbor. Martin Luther explains this command wonderfully: “We should fear and love God so that we do not tell lies about our neighbor, betray him, slander him, or hurt his reputation, but defend him, speak well of him, and explain everything in the kindest way.” The reputation of our pastors, the congregation, and Julie and I, all were hurt. From the outcry, it seemed that no one was interested in learning anything from us, but only condemning us. Few of our fellow Christians defended us, or spoke well of us, or explained anything about this situation in the kindest way.

There are many unfair assumptions about transgender persons, including:

  • their actions are sexually motivated;
  • they live a lifestyle unfit for a Christian;
  • they all are part of a movement to impose their beliefs on others.

None of these assumptions are true about me.

Speaking only for myself, yet having had other Christians express similar things about their experience,

  • I have poured out my heart to many pastors, expressing how difficult is this malady;
  • how strongly I fought it;
  • how deeply I longed to remain living as a male;
  • how the last thing I wanted was to sin against the Lord or offend my fellow Christians, yet how weak I was against my gender dysphoria;
  • how thoughts of suicide constantly visited me;
  • how I truly thought I was going to lose my mind;
  • how I struggled to live a God-pleasing life because this led me to hate everything;
  • and how I feared that I would have to go on medication which, because it would be very strong in order to address my anguish, would leave me in a stupor, which would leave me a shell of a person and unable to fulfill any of my vocations.

I have explained how my studying has led me to be all but convinced that my gender dysphoria—and, I suspect, most cases of gender dysphoria—was caused by disruption to my endocrine system when I formed in the womb, which explains why talk therapy and repentance does not address it. I have provided all of the evidence I have accumulated, to demonstrate the science of this.

While I realize that this is challenging stuff, I do not understand the replies I have received from so many. Some simply dismissed what I said. Some were highly skeptical. Some returned to the various Scriptures which they had already quoted, such as “male and female He created them,” as if there have been no maladies of our sinful nature which could attack the uniqueness of the two sexes.

I have continued to demonstrate that I hold to all LCMS doctrine, and that my desire is to love the Lord with all my heart and my neighbor as myself. Because I cannot undeniably prove anything regarding my malady—and, my experience informs me, I am up against misinformation and prejudice—I am left on the outside looking in, as are others in the LCMS who share my situation.

Instead of being helped, we are shunned.

Instead of being heard, we are ignored.

Instead of being fed with the nourishing Word and Sacraments of Jesus Christ, we are starved.

Is this how Christians are supposed to act toward their brothers and sisters in Christ?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My experience informs me that most LCMS pastors find that gender dysphoria is a mental illness. I will now take them up on that assumption. One pastor said to me, “You wouldn’t tell a woman, who is anorexic, not to eat,” making that the correlative to my transitioning. Indeed, no one would encourage the anorexic to starve herself. However, if she were not able to conquer her malady, and she did, indeed, eat so little as to continue to worsen, even to hasten her death, no respectable pastor would kick her out of the church!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Here is what I do NOT want from the LCMS:

  • I do not want the LCMS to accept one’s being transgender as normal, the “God made me this way” which is argued by some.
  • I do not want the LCMS to cave in to the secular LGBTQ agenda.
  • I do not want the LCMS to alter one word of its doctrine.

Here is what I DO want from the LCMS:

  • I want the LCMS to recognize that gender dysphoria is a real, physical condition, suffered by Christians just as believers are prone to experience any aspect of our fallen and fractured nature.
  • I want the LCMS to accept that it has members who strive in right doctrine, who struggle with gender dysphoria, who long to be healed, to remain in their birth sex.
  • I want the LCMS to see that it is possible for a Christian to transition, to hate that transitioning was found to be the only solution to quelling suicidal thoughts and fears of insanity.
  • I want the LCMS to acknowledge and treat us as the equals we are in the Lord’s sight, every last one of us humans a fallen and fractured person, all of us unworthy of the Lord’s grace.
  • I want the LCMS to speak and act compassionately toward we who are burdened and heavy-laden, whom the Lord Jesus encourages to come to Him for rest.

This is how acceptance looks to me. It looks like Christians commiserating with their fellow Christians. It looks like working to understand, not judging and discarding. It looks like longsuffering. It looks like compassion. It looks like 1 Corinthians 13’s definition of love.

It looks like how God the Father looks at us—at ALL of us—through the work of our Lord Jesus Christ.


100 hours!

As I hit the landmark hour, I grabbed my phone and snatched a shot as Barb kept on going.

I made my way the twelve minutes north and west from my house and parked in the large-enough-to-hold-three-vehicles side of the driveway.  Making my way along the north side of the house, the part which contains Arborcrest, I entered to the familiar chime which announced my arrival.  As I grabbed a fun-size candy bar from the inviting bowl, Barb the Impaler appeared and greeted me with her cheery, “There she is!”

Easy for her to be upbeat, she wasn’t about to spend an hour of poke after jab after stab of an electrified needle pulling hairs out of her face.  No, that would be me on her table.  And, this day, we would pass the one-hundred-hour mark in our odd relationship.

The male face holds approximately 30,000 hairs.  My best estimate is that Barb has seventy percent of my beard cleared.  That would mean that she’s removed 20,000 or so hairs.  That’s 20,000 times she has inserted her needle, zapped the root of the hair, and pulled it out.  That means I can look forward to about 10,000 more.

Almost every week—usually on Tuesday, so that I can shave for church and then allow my now-sparse beard to grow on Monday and Tuesday, so that the hairs are long enough for her to grab—in one-hour sessions, Barb pokes and zaps and snatches a couple hundred hairs, many which leave me wincing and whining, and then I pay her good money for the experience.

Sadists and masochists got nuthin on me.

I recall the beginning of this long process, how after the first session I could barely see where she had yanked hairs from the tip of my chin; to when I could finger areas which were now smooth; to where enough were removed that I no longer had a five o’clock shadow and didn’t need to cover it with makeup; to where I am now, that I can skip a day of shaving and can run to the store without concern.

I set a goal of being done this calendar year.  If I don’t miss more than a few weeks, I should be close to achieving it.  After this, the hope is only to have to see Barb once every couple of months, to touch up where formerly dormant hairs have decided to once again grow.

I want to say that I will miss our time together.  Forgetting the pain which The Impaler inflicts on me, I can say that I will.  Barb is fun and funny, wise and kind and smart.  She could put her personality to work as a therapist or bartender, and excel at either one.  If a person has to go through a process as lousy as is electrolysis, what a blessing for it to be with someone whose presence you enjoy.

Two weeks ago, I asked her how many of her clients she enjoys, with whom she has good conversation as she works.  She said that about five percent are unpleasant, another five percent are always a joy, and the rest are neither here nor there.

Since I gab away every hour, I figure that I fall into one of the two five-percent extremes.

I was afraid to ask which one.

2016-03-01 13.32.48
This was March, two years ago, right after my article was published in Indianapolis Monthly magazine. http://www.indianapolismonthly.com/features/the-real-me/

How to tell others of your gender issues


Ready to boil over

You are struggling. You think you might have gender dysphoria, the ill feelings one experiences when biological sex and sense of self are in conflict. You have gone on the internet, searched the topic in every conceivable way. Your suspicions about yourself are continually confirmed.

Your conflict persists. It worsens. As you have read from others, at times you think you will go over the edge and become one of the 41% who attempts suicide, or you will flat-out lose your mind.

You need to tell someone. You want to tell the most important people in your life—parents or spouse, siblings or best friend, pastor or boss, and perhaps eventually all of these. This feels like an ocean to swim, followed by a mountain to climb, followed by a trip to Mars.

How can you possibly tell anyone that you might be transgender?

First tips on how to speak

Opening up about your gender conflict might be the most difficult you will ever do. When I began telling others—pastors were first, then my closest friends, then my children—after I explained that I had something serious to discuss, it took as many as fifteen minutes for me to begin. I said, often through tears, “Once I explain what’s going on, it could change our relationship forever.”

The first time I did it, I blew it. Clueless as how to begin, I told my close pastor-friend, “I’m a woman who is trapped in a man’s body.” He replied, “No, you’re not.” I set a terrible tone for the conversation which ensued.

Before telling the next person, another pastor, I worked to come up with an opening which would draw in the listener and not freak him out. I decided to put it into the form of a question: “What do you know about gender dysphoria?” It worked. I used it every one of the dozens of times I would broach the subject. Everyone asked, “What is that?” I replied, “Dysphoria means ill feelings. The person with gender dysphoria has ill feelings about his gender. I have struggled with this my entire life.”

Zero people freaked out. Every one of them was immediately engaged. I had their attention and, perhaps better, their concern. As I proceeded to tell my story, though I would go on to tell them things which would indeed trouble them, I had their concern and their sympathy for the lousy spot in which I found myself.

Know your audience

Before I became a minister, I worked in business. My job had me interacting with folks in every department. I often needed something from the department supervisor. I learned the personality of each, and dealt with him or her accordingly. One man reacted favorably when asked and not told, so I framed things as questions. With another, I was able to suggest things without fear of rejection. One man and one woman were opposites in that he was a goof ball and she was always serious, so with him I always had a joke at the ready and with her I kept it to the business at hand.

When you sit down to tell someone about your gender issues, it is vital to know how they are built. Traditional? Conservative? Open-minded? Judgmental? Easily frazzled? Empathetic?

Who is this person to you? What does this person know about you? How does he or she view you? How do you interact with each other?

My experience, and hearing the stories of many, has provided me much information as to how people in specific relationships receive the news of one’s gender conflict.

Parents: Dad and mom might take this news harder than anyone. No matter how old is their child, parents hurt terribly for their children. Add to the mix that, now, this person they always knew as a female or male might outwardly live as the other sex. As you want their compassion in this difficult time, it is vital to extend the same compassion to them.

Spouse: Hopefully, this is not the first you have spoken of gender issues with your mate, whether or not you have gotten married. Regardless, this is tremendously difficult for a mate to hear. Gentleness, patience, compassion—every reaction you desire from others—needs to be your reaction to how they hear you. Never raise your voice, especially if their reaction is to yell their objections. Verbal sparring never solves a problem and always makes it worse. Remember, this is the most important person in the world to you, and married persons are in the one-flesh union.

Children: You are the one to whom your kids look to as leaders, as guides. Nowadays, by the time they reach the teen years, young people are aware of transgender folks and might even know one, yet for dad or mom to reveal a gender conflict is immensely greater than to hear that a classmate is transitioning. Take it slow with them. Roll things out gently. Don’t act quickly, which would be very scary for them. My children would go through all of the stages of grief, at their own paces, over the first few years after I told them of my gender dysphoria.

Siblings: You’ve always been known by these people as a boy or girl, man or woman. Because you all grew up together, each of you might have thought you knew everything about each other. This big secret revealed can be shocking. I was such a regular guy’s guy, my brothers took my news very hard; my sister, with whom I share the same kind of personality, was shocked but then wonderfully accepting.

Pastors: If we are talking about a LCMS pastor, or any minister which practices a traditional theology, there is a good chance that he will hear you saying you are experiencing a sinful temptation. Thankfully, by 2018, many have learned that this is not about temptation to sin but a real, physical malady. If you find you want to tell your pastor, be clear with yourself as to why. You likely want to tell family members and others first, and even to have some allies before breaking this to your pastor.

Friends: The more open-minded a person is, the better she or he will receive your news, and exactly the opposite with those who are judgmental, and who don’t handle adversity well. Some of my friends embraced me, while others walked away.

Your boss: More companies now either have experience with a trans employee or have been provided information as to how to work with trans employees. Still, it is vital to consider the particular personality of the person with whom you speak. Before speaking with your supervisor, if you have a human resources department you likely want first to talk with the appropriate person there.

LCMS and similarly traditional Christians

The LCMS has a personality very much as an individual does. Where, say, the United Church of Christ is open to things and adopting new ideas, the LCMS is conservative, has remained traditional in its views, and is slow to act.

A common, modern American argument is, “Don’t I deserve to be happy?” This is often heard from those who want to transition or have done so. It does not play among LCMS pastors and lay women and men. Don’t say it.

Because so many LCMS folks view gender dysphoria as a mental illness, and transitioning as sinful, how you frame the topic is vital. My best experience is to keep this in medical/physical terms.

While I do not call gender dysphoria an illness or disease, I do refer to it as a malady. (Secular folks in the LGBTQ sector reject the idea of this as a malady. In the Church, things are seen differently and must be addressed as Christians see them, and then they will be more open to hearing about them.)

Christians of a traditional and conservative nature understand the nature of maladies, having a deep sense that Original Sin causes every form of trouble for us from within ourselves and out in the world. While I refer to the impact of Original Sin, I don’t frame the talk as to our sinful nature, because all that will be heard is that word, sin. I talk about our nature as being fractured and fallen—synonymous to sinful, but words which will be heard more in the realm of, say, one’s getting cancer.

When one reckons he has a malady, the next step is to diagnose it. Once it is diagnosed, one or more proper treatments can be considered.

In conclusion

This is where we currently hit a wall in the LCMS. Generally, the LCMS as a whole, and similarly traditional Christians, see gender dysphoria as a malady, but strictly a mental illness and one which creates a sinful temptation. While there are some who find transitioning a viable way to address gender conflict, these folks are in the minority among traditional Christians. Even more, those who are opposed are vocal about it, and they can be because that is the easy position to take in the LCMS and other theologically-similar church bodies.

I take care in how I write about this. While I generally believe a Christian may transition akin to how any person takes steps to heal a dreadful condition, I do not have all of the answers. This is a field where there are more questions and answers. So, what do I do? I land firmly on the Gospel. The Lord knows our hearts, our struggles, that no one has gathered all of the facts behind gender dysphoria. He loves us with a perfect love, which He proved by taking on our flesh, then carrying our sins in His death. This is how I proceeded with transitioning, even as it is my hope that no person ever has to find transitioning as necessary.

Before you speak with anyone, I commend you to be prepared. Indeed, by reading this you have done some good prep work. As much as I prepared, I still had to go through each step, consider each type of person I told, to get a full understanding of how things would go from there.

The best we can do is to know ourselves, to know our audience, and to know our topic. This won’t work, “Don’t I deserve to be happy?” but everyone will have compassion when they hear, “I’m trying to figure out how to get healthy.” Even more, with Christians, they need to hear from you, “I want to live a God-pleasing life, and handle this in a manner befitting a Christian.”

Finally, you can avoid a classic mistake. A trans woman tells how after decades of her gender conflict she determined that she was transgender. When she told her family members, she didn’t understand why after the first week they were still struggling with her revelation. What an unfair thought, that the thing which took you decades to grasp will be apprehended so quickly by your family!

The Golden Rule must always shine from us. The Lord be with you to treat others as you want them to treat you, whether you are the one revealing difficult news or the one hearing it.


LCMS Transgender Forum on Facebook

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What happens when you have two groups intersect which, for many, are as opposite as can be?  You wind up with one great, big clash.What happens when you have two groups intersect which, for many, are as opposite as can be?  You wind up with one great, big clash.

That is what has occurred between the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod (LCMS) and the topic of gender dysphoria and transgender persons.

Since 2013, when I began telling pastors about my gender issues, and then in the past three years since I went public, and finally began my transition, many things have come to light:

  • In 2013, almost no one in the LCMS knew anything about this.
  • As of 2015, the misunderstanding about this became evident.
  • At the same time, the idea of transgender persons as Christians in LCMS congregations has been soundly rejected by the majority, or at least the vocal ones, while a quieter number of pastors and lay folks have been willing to listen and learn.
  • Based on statistics, and experienced through the contacts I have received, there are plenty of people—easily, thousands—in LCMS congregations who either struggle with issues of gender identity, have gender dysphoria, might be or are transgender, or are family or friends with these Christians.
  • Many do not find it safe to speak or ask questions openly, but long to learn and be heard.

Recently, my friend, Colleen, asked me if I would be interested in administering a Facebook group, which would provide a safe place for LCMS lay folks and pastors, and for any other interested Christians, to ask their questions and discuss their issues.  I latched onto the idea.  LCMS Transgender Forum on Facebook was born.

The following section is from the About of the group explains the basics:

LCMS Transgender Forum seeks to be a safe place for Christians of the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod (LCMS) and for Christians who experience any of these: Gender Dysphoria, or any type of gender questioning; who might transition, are in transition, are striving not to transition, or have transitioned.  It is also for family members, and for any Christians, who strive to support and to come to God-pleasing conclusions about thorny issues.  In this vein, pastors also are welcomed.

This is a Closed Group.  This means that only Forum members are able to access posts and comments.  It does NOT mean that member identities are secret.  If you need to maintain privacy, it is suggested that you create an alias identity for this group.

If you share any helpful information you learn here, you will need to alter names and give away nothing which might reveal someone’s identity.  Use the same care for others as you would have them do for you.

That LCMS is prominent in the group title means that the Word of God is preeminent, LCMS doctrine is followed, and the Golden Rule is practiced.

All posts will be reviewed by an administrator before they appear.  The desire is not to restrict anyone, but to ensure that the rule of love is followed.  Please, debate away, be open and honest, find this a safe place, ask every question and pose every concern you have, and always being concerned for the welfare of the other group members.

Here are the rules for posting and etiquette:

1. All posts should be your own comments and questions regarding the Christian faith and dealing with gender dysphoria and transgender issues.  Acceptable links are articles and videos which serve to educate on these topics or which speak to what the poster seeks to convey.

2. Posts which will be removed include but are not limited to- those which are off topic for this group, that is, anything which is not related to the Christian faith and dealing with gender dysphoria and transgender issues;- selfies, memes, GIFS, “Thanks for adding me!”, and the like;- references to transgender persons which identifies them, unless they are publicly known as transgender;- profanity and the misuse of the Lord’s name;- requests for personal funding;- personal attacks, whether or not the person is in the group.

3. If you have issues with the group or one of the moderators, do not address them in the Forum.  Send a private message to the moderator or group member who is directly involved with the issue.

4. When you treat everyone with the kindness and respect which you desire from them, and use the Forum for learning and exploring issues pertinent to the Christian faith and dealing with gender dysphoria and transgender issues, every group member will have a good experience.

5. The group administrators reserve the right to remove anyone from group membership when they find the person unable to conform with the group’s guidelines.

If you would like to be a member, in Facebook search “LCMS Transgender Forum,” click on the page, then click the “Join” button.

Remember, if you would like to be a member but need to keep your identity private, you can set up an alias Facebook account.  If you do that, be sure to explain who you are in answering the questions which arise when you seek to join so that we know you are genuine and not spam or a bot.

We are just getting started, so the Forum currently has few posts.  Soon, Colleen and I will post pertinent items and, we hope, members will begin populating it with their questions and topics for discussion.

As stated in the About section, we want this to be a safe place for Christians to come to God-pleasing conclusions about thorny issues.  It is our prayer to be and do just that for the sake of many who are hurting, and for the LCMS.


Billy Graham

Billy and Ruth Bell Graham.

When I die, will the vast majority of people—even those who are not in agreement with me on serious issues—have found me to have used my life for the good of others?

No matter how you felt about Billy Graham for his Christian faith, it was mighty hard to find anything in how he lived to poke at him. Oh, that my reputation, that your reputation, give us as good a name as Billy Graham had because of how he lived.

Do this internet search: “Billy Graham scandal.” I just did. Nothing came up.


I expected nothing to come up.

The man lived the Golden Rule. If any stories come out about him, which show him to have been unkind, unfair, or even the slightest harmful in anything he did to or said about another human, I will be shocked, and will likely want the character of the accuser to be thoroughly examined.

Oh, but he was a fiery preacher in those days!

You know the basics about the man, the countless crusades he held, the millions who were positively impacted by the Gospel of Christ which he preached with vigor, and one US president after another who made good use of his counsel.

I admired the man. He modeled many things for me: How to live the law of Christian love, how to stand up for what I believe, how to be both a serious Christian and a good US citizen, and how to be a spouse and parent and friend and confidant.

The man transcended politics.

I admired the man because of these things, despite issues I had with his doctrine. I was sad the day I heard him say, on a morning television program, that he “hoped” he was going to heaven, because he hoped he had done enough. Sure, he was being humble, as he always was. Yet, I longed for the sure and certain hope which, thankfully, can be found on his website under the question, “How can I know?”

The website’s concluding paragraph is on the mark: “Don’t trust yourself and your goodness for your salvation. Instead, trust Christ and His goodness—for He alone is God’s way of salvation. When our faith and trust is in Him, we know we’ll be with Him in heaven forever.” Read the entire Q & A for yourself:

I don’t like talking about others unless I have direct information. Years ago, I read his autobiography. I was surprised to learn that he had been baptized three times. A tenet of the Christian faith is that one baptism is complete and sufficient. Even so, as he grew up and found his way in the Christian faith, his journey found him in this denomination and that, and to be baptized where he then found himself was what he determined to be necessary. Praise the Lord for His gracious understanding, that He is not a nitpicker with how we are not always able to precisely follow a straight path to a right practice of His Word.

If perfectly practicing everything in the Bible is the only way we can be children of the heavenly Father, we’re all doomed. Besides, what loving father would be that fussy? I sure wouldn’t believe in a God who only pokes and prods me to get it right, and condemns me when I make a mistake.

April 23, 1995, speaking to the mourners in Oklahoma City.

One doesn’t have to agree with everything about a person, to find that person agreeable.  Because I held doctrine as a Lutheran, I took exception with some of Billy Graham’s public proclamations. After the horrific Oklahoma City bombing, he preached at a general gathering. Sadly, in that bombing, nineteen children’s lives were taken. Billy Graham declared that they went to heaven simply because they were children. He said that because he held to believer’s baptism, and that God holds no one accountable until a person reaches an age when able to discern right from wrong. The theologian in me can never not hear teachings which are off the mark. Yet, even that day I beheld the spirit which he displayed, his compassion and concern, and because I knew these were genuine, I was pleased that he had been asked to speak for this event. Surely, many were greatly comforted.

Here’s the thing. Even a person such as Billy Graham was a regular human being. He was great in our eyes—he earned this distinction from his fellow man—even as he was no more loved by the Lord than every human on earth, and earned nothing so that he was God’s beloved child.

Even reaching age ninety-nine, Billy was a child to the Lord, His beloved son through faith in Jesus Christ.

Because of how Billy Graham lived what he believed, we found him to be great. Christians loved him. Atheists and agnostics and those who practice other religions could not help but admire him, appreciate him, and aspire to live as he lived.

There’s one thing on which we all can agree, that we leave the world better than we found it. That is my goal, for my life. I hope it is your goal, to help and improve and do good for the sake of your family and workplace and the various communities in which you are a member. That’s what Billy Graham did with his life, to the glory of his Lord Jesus Christ.

Thank you, Lord, for Billy Graham. Please, raise up another. We sure could use one right now.



The Supper Log

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My kids love to make fun of my supper log. Because I have a blog, they’ve dubbed it the slog. I let them laugh. Indeed, I laugh along with them, reveling in the genius which I pull off every week.

The idea was hatched many years ago . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I don’t know what to make for supper.”

The frustration fell from her mouth. The defeat was displayed on her face. The I’m-just-a-hamster-in-a-wheel-and-I-am-doomed-to-being-trapped-forever attitude emanated from her entire being.

My mom was as fine a person as one would find at keeping a house—spotless, despite five kids—making sure our clothes were clean—laundry day was every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—and feeding us—we sat down to supper five minutes after Dad arrived home from work. She looked out for our spiritual care—we were in church every Sunday, and in religion class all the way through high school—that we would grow to be respectable people—she answered every bad act of ours with the lesson we needed to learn—and saw to our physical health—our doctor and dentist and eye doctor could set their calendars by us.

Yet, for all of her organizational skills and concern to do things right and well, she never figured out the supper thing, how to keep herself from those moments when she didn’t know what to make for the evening meal.

I got married and, sure enough, my first wife experienced the same thing. I once suggested she keep track of our evening meals. Write them down, I said, and then you can look at the list and achieve two things: You can see how long ago we had a particular dish and then not make things either too close together or too far apart, and it could serve as inspiration, as in, “I completely forgot about that spiffy Spam loaf I made three months ago, and we loved it so much!”

She never did log our suppers. Suggesting the same to Julie, neither did she. As Julie took on regular work hours and lots of overtime, I took over more of the meals. I did not take my own advice.

And then I retired. And became the full time cook. And decided that I would not be defeated.

I began the supper log.

Every Monday through Thursday, it saves my hide.

Here’s how I use it. I do the grocery shopping on the weekend. Before I go, I sit down at my computer. I bring up the supper log. My stack of recipes is within my grasp, on the shelf next to me.


I scan the list of meals I’ve recently made, looking for the popular ones for any that it’s time I repeat them. These are things like chili and tacos—if I don’t make tacos every couple of weeks, there’s trouble brewing for me. If it is time for a popular item, I plug it in first.

As I continue to scan the list, I want to build variety into the week. Meals featuring chicken or ground beef are weekly items. Should a week have two of the same meat—say, tacos and hamburger casserole—I will split them up. In this case, I might place tacos on Monday—Julie loves the leftover taco meat for lunches at work—and hamburger casserole on Thursday.

I only have four days to address because on Fridays we always have pizza, and on Saturday we either dine at a restaurant or get take-out, and then Sunday suppers for me are popcorn, made the old-fashioned way on the stove, with Julie usually finishing off leftovers.

When I find myself stuck, with only three days filled in and finding other meals uninspiring, I like to find new recipes. Often, during the week, I had been searching for something new and am ready to plug into the supper log. Sometimes, I specifically am looking for a new chicken dish, or to find other ways to use vegetables—a recent cauliflower casserole was a nice catch—and do internet searches on these.

Doing this, new dishes which have added to our supper rotation are Chicken Bruschetta, Enchilada Pie (of which I have created my own version, and it is preferred by my family), and Corn Muffin Taco Pie.

Once I have suppers planned for each of the four days, I find the recipes, take them to the kitchen, and grab the grocery list off the refrigerator. I go through each recipe, look to see if I have what I need, and put on the list what I don’t. After covering the recipes, I scan the entire kitchen for whatever we need and envision the contents of the downstairs freezer, and fill out my list.


When Monday arrives, I am ready. More than ready, I am free from frustration, and I am excited for the day. I look at the supper log and figure out what time I need to begin cooking. For complex things, I plan which thing needs to come first. If something requires extra prep time, or needs to simmer for awhile, I don’t get caught off guard. If it seems that more than one thing needs to happen at a time, I ready everything I can beforehand, such as peeling potatoes, or getting all of the ingredients together for an involved recipe, or starting something that can be left midway while I go to something else.

I know, I know, many of you are busy at work and don’t have this prep time. All the more reason to keep the supper log. Planning your meals will allow you to be ready for your quick turnaround time, and keep you from the easy opt-out, yet another fast food meal, less than healthy and more bucks out of your wallet.

Lots of meals can be prepared ahead of time, and slow-cooker recipes abound. Other recipes take little time—tacos—not too much time—chili—but you have to be sure to have the ingredients on hand and a plan for that short window of time between arriving home from work and sitting down to eat.

It all begins with the supper log.  The slog.

Come, slog with me!