A Participation in Suffering

Friday night. After church. Sitting alone in my car. I could not stop the tears. Depression came over me like a wall of water—a tsunami wave. Exhausted I pulled the lever to adjust my seat and laid there, staring up at the ceiling of my car. There in the darkness, the only words God seems to whisper to me these past three years of my struggling with  gender dysphoria came to me again: I AM with you. Such puzzling, empty, infuriating words of comfort.

Then, out of nowhere a new understanding opened up in me:

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