“God works in mysterious ways.”

Yeah, and sometimes He beats us over the head to make sure we got the message.

Maybe it isn’t God at all, but a lost loved one or friend reaching out from heaven, or a guardian angel… Or just a coincidence.

I’m not going to tell you what you should believe, but I believe the dead and God (or whatever name you call our Creator) do speak to us, and we can learn things and avoid mistakes, if we pay heed.

The same lesson applies if we simply avoid repeating mistakes — a friend once posted a sign at work: “MAKE ONLY NEW MISTAKES” — but I’ll admit, I have been one of those “needs extra help” kinda people. And I think God noticed.

So, for example, when I was feeling bitter that a relative misgendered me as he told me whatever happens to me is my fault and the result of my “chosen lifestyle” — I started writing a reply in which the word “ignorant” featured prominently. And within a few seconds before I could either save or send my relative my terse reply, my laptop decided to reboot.. Just out of nowhere, no reason that I could understand. And the time it took to resume my work and retype my message was just enough to take a breath and compose not only myself, but a more gentle note of sadness and to genuinely express my hope for future reconciliation, instead of sending one that slammed the door shut.

There are dozens of similar instances, but none more powerful than those I experienced at today’s Sunday Mass. Oh, and before you go thinking I’m in Church every week, praying for my family and loved ones and for my own salvation, the truth is, this former altar boy can’t recall the last time I attended mass or received the sacraments. Even though I often think of going, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count.

Yes, I know the Church isn’t exactly a big fan of trans people, but this pope has been very moderate and surprisingly far more tolerant than any of his predecessors. Maybe he’d even agree with my friend the rabbi that I, as a transwoman, am still created in God’s image. Either way, I’m not really as religious as I am someone who has faith. And so, for no particular reason, today was the day Dawn went back to Church.

The beautiful Roman Catholic Church of St. John is right around the corner from my Bronx apartment, and its steeple can be seen from my window. After a short walk on a gorgeous, sunny day, I took my seat in a pew right off the center aisle of the church. Two older women were seated in front of me, an older man behind me, a young girl who reminded me of myself at that age sat all alone across the aisle; there were perhaps 50 of the faithful in all. It was hardly crowded.

The readings today all focused on a message of finding the good within ourselves and our neighbors, and what it would be like to go to heaven (as well as hell). Today’s Gospel in particular focused on parables about a farmer’s wheat crop and the weeds sown by an enemy, and the strength of a tiny mustard seed, and what a difference it makes where it is planted.

I wanted to stand up, look to the mighty cathedral ceiling and shout, “OKAY, OKAY! I GOT IT!”

But it would not have mattered because, apparently, God wasn’t done.

The hymn following the Liturgy of the Eucharist — played and sung during communion — was one that has always touched my heart and soul. Like “Be Not Afraid,” a childhood favorite played at one of my cousin’s funerals, this hymn always brings me to tears within the first few notes. I kneeled, sobbing, and could not stop even as I stood and joined the procession to receive the host.

I’m guessing people must have thought me mad, or just inconsolable. I didn’t care, as I thought how truly wretched my life was… how much I missed my daughter, today of all days, and all of my family… how much I truly grieved the loss of my best friends Rick Regan and Art Daley… and how alone I felt, now that I’ve chosen to cut myself off from friends and supporters who carried me through these dark days. But most of all, how despondent I was, to be abandoned by my own mother, sister and all those who have rejected me and turned their backs on me, simply because of who I am.

No, I was not wallowing in self-pity; I was acknowledging to God, yes, this hurts, having lost so much all at once. My tears faded as I confirmed my faith that this point in my life is not the end; that this grief is necessary to overcome my mistakes and to learn from them; and that my life will get better.

Eventually.

God had once again sent me a message, that I am blessed, that He Loves me… and that His Grace is indeed Amazing.

“Amazing Grace”
by John Newton (1725-1807)

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

T’was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
And Grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

Click the link to see and hear a beautiful performance of “Amazing Grace,” by Celtic Woman