We lived in a small town in Indiana. My father had been drafted into the army while Mom was pregnant with me. When Dad finally came home from the service, I was 17 months old. I was afraid of this stranger who suddenly came to live with us, so I stayed out of his way. We never developed a close relationship.
Dad worked day and night to provide for us six kids, and I saw very little of him. Mom showered me with affection, and I loved her so much that I wanted to be just like her. For hours I would sit and watch Mom and her sisters put on makeup and fix each other's hair. They would paint their fingernails, and I would color mine with crayons. They thought it was cute. Soon I was sneaking into my mother's room, putting on her slips. I'd parade back and forth in front of the mirror, smiling at my reflection. Yes, people were right. I did resemble my mother, and I was delighted.
My cousin, James, was also molested by my uncle. He and I became good friends. His family's home was surrounded by woods, and we had many secret places to experiment with sex. These activities went on for years.
In grade school the other boys called me "sissy." I didn't even know what the word meant. But one boy, Eddie, became my pal. He had also been molested by a relative, and we talked about sex many times.
I hated junior high, especially gym class. All the other boys were athletic; I was puny and ashamed that I could not measure up to them. Above all, I hated the locker rooms because of my sexual attraction to the other boys. By my mid-teens, I was paying serious attention to my appearance. I let my thick hair grow long, and often studied myself in the mirror. How lovely, I thought. I wish I were a girl. Maybe I am.
A voice inside me seemed to agree. "Yes, you are, Michael. You are really a girl trapped in a boy's body." The more I studied my reflection, the more convinced I became that I was really a girl.
One day at lunch, I slipped away from school. With my lunch money I bought a bracelet, earrings and lipstick. Later I went out and bought a lacy, frilly top, some eye-shadow and blush. At first I was only playing "dress up," but this very soon turned into serious business.
Whenever my folks were away, or late at night after everyone was asleep, I would dress up. Then one day my sister walked in on me. She was shocked and told my mother. Mom confronted me: "Mike, are you gay?"
I avoided her gaze. "No."
"Don't lie to me. I'm your mother."
Finally I blurted out the truth. "Yes, I am gay and I'm proud of it!" Then I told her what my uncle had done to me when I was five years old.
"Mike," she said softly, "we can get help for you."
"I don't want any help. I just want to be left alone to live my own life."
When my father found out what was happening, he became very angry. He ordered me to cut my hair and "start acting like a man." Soon we were screaming at each other. He began hitting me, while I loudly cursed him.
"I hate you!" I screamed. "It's your fault I'm like this! You don't love me, and you never had time for me." Finally my father swore at me and stormed out of the room.
That same day I ran away from home. Soon I was living in Evansville, Indiana, having sex with men for a little money to survive. After eight months, I called my mother to wish her a happy birthday. She started crying. "Mike, please come home. Dad is very sorry."
I moved back home, but the tension remained. Every time my father looked at me, I could see his pain and disappointment. I tried to avoid him as much as possible.
Eventually I moved to Nashville and began performing in drag at a gay bar called The Jungle. From the first night, the audience demanded encore after encore. For once in my life I was accepted and I loved it. In the midst of the thunderous applause and acclamation, Michelle Danielle was born.
I bought a book about the life of a famous transsexual and determined to have a sex change. When I phoned my mother and told her my plan, there was a long silence.
"Mike, please don't do that." Her voice trembled. "I would never be able to accept it."
I argued with her, but she was unconvinced. "Are you trying to tell me that God made a mistake?" she said angrily. "When I gave birth to you, you were a boy. God is going to hold you responsible for what you do with your body." By this time she was weeping profusely.
"Mike, when you were five years old, I dedicated you to the Lord." Her voice softened. "I'm going to get on my knees with my intercessory prayer group, and we're going to keep lifting this situation up to Him no matter how long it takes." That made me nervous. Why did she have to bring God into it?
I went to a psychiatrist in Memphis and got into the transsexual center at a nearby hospital. After extensive testing, the final verdict came back: "You are a good candidate for a sex change."
I took female hormones and began living as a woman. After one year, I was eligible for breast surgery, but every time I scheduled the operation, something happened. I'd lose my job or have to go out of town or the doctor wasn't available. Now I know these delays were the result of my mother's fervent prayers.
It's interesting to see what the Lord will use to get our attention. I had a beautiful white dove, and I was broken-hearted when I found her dead one morning.
I began thinking about my own death, and a chill of fear went down my back. You won't always be young and beautiful, I thought, remembering the old men who bored everyone with their stories, "When I was a star. . ."
Then my cousin, Gina, became a Christian. "Mike, Jesus loves you," she'd say, and I was always glad when she left. Her words made me feel very uncomfortable.
But things at the club began to bother me. I'd be dancing with a friend, feeling wonderful then I'd get the thought, What if you dropped dead right now? You'd go to hell. I would lie awake at night, thinking about Jesus' second coming, and remembering Scripture verses I'd heard from my mother. As in the days of Noah, so shall it be in the last days. A terrible struggle was going on inside me.
Mom never stopping praying, despite discouraging remarks from other people. "Mary, you're wasting your time. Mike isn't going to listen." But my mother refused to quit. "I will never stop praying. Jesus is his only hope."
Then Mom underwent surgery and nearly died of complications. "Please come home," she begged me. Jerry, my lover, drove me back to Nashville. Mother was overjoyed to see us, and she immediately began talking about the Lord. She shared how she'd almost died twice from internal bleeding, and how God had spared her life.
Mom also spoke of God's love for us, never mentioning homosexuality. Her words began getting through. Tears trickled down Jerry's cheeks; I was also weeping.
A few days later, after Jerry had returned to Memphis, a Christian friend of Mom's came over to visit us. "Mike," she said during our conversation, "would you like to accept Jesus Christ as your Savior?"
The Holy Spirit had been working on me all week. I could see Jesus standing there, arms outstretched. I fell on my knees and immediately began crying. All of the pent-up emotions of my life were dissolved in tears of repentance. I felt God's love cleansing every inch of my being.
The weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. For years I had believed a lie. Now I knew the truth: God had created me to live as a man.
When my lover came the following week, I told him what had happened. "Oh, Mike," he said, "I want Jesus too." He knelt and prayed to accept Christ.
After returning home to Memphis, I got a friend to cut off my long thick hair. Then I went through the house and burned everything that reminded me of Michelle.
I had a new peace of mind; there was nothing inside that kept me from God anymore. But the name "Mike" was still alien to me. It took a lot of courage to go back into straight society after having lived as a woman. Luckily I had a bold spirit, and I didn't care what people thought.
When I visited different churches, however, I often didn't feel welcome. But I tried not to be discouraged. Nothing can take me away from God, I told myself.
After I'd been a Christian for six months, I began struggling with masturbation and strong sexual desires. Many times I was so lonely that I wanted to go back to the bars and see my old friends.
Then I found a church where I was fed the spiritual food I needed so desperately. I grew in the Word, and learned how to take authority over the enemy. My healing process intensified.
One night God spoke to my spirit. "My child, you are ever before My eyes. You are in the palm of my hand. I shall lift you up." What comfort God gave me!
As time passed, I began to wonder if the Lord had a wife for me. I wanted a mate, somebody who would love me for the rest of my life.
Then one summer day I met Judy at a friend's house. She was very pretty but I was drawn even more by her inner beauty. Several months later, Judy went with me to church and was born again. We became inseparable. We eventually married on February 14, 1982.
In the years since my wedding day, God has been faithful to me. Now I look at my wife and three children, and a surge of happiness permeates every cell of my body. I think how deceived I used to be, but now I'm living the truth as a man. My life is full and complete.
"Lord, thank You for your blessings," is my frequent prayer of thanksgiving. "You've made me the happiest man alive."
Some names and minor details have been changed. Adapted by permission from Michelle Danielle Is Dead by Marie S. Rice (Jonathan Publishers of Nashville, PO Box 40268, Nashville, TN 37204). Copyright c 1985 by Marie S. Rice. Distributed by Love In Action, PO Box 753307, Memphis, TN 38175-3307; 901/542-0250
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