My husband wants to be referred to as them. At first I was shocked, then confused. I thought I knew my husband. But they had always struggled. Fighting internal demons. Forcing themselves to fit societal constructs. I reminded them of God’s Holy word. Of the righteous path. But they needed to be true to who they are.
“I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” They warn, using the Virgin’s words to remind me that God works in mysterious ways.
Through the power of faith, I have grown holier. I have found the strength to accept them for who they are. I have grown accustom to their new lifestyle. I have seen the light and accepted them for who they are: not an abomination, but an extension of Christ himself. God does not teach to hate those who you do not understand, but to learn to understand those that are different from you. To be tolerant instead of bigoted. To be loving instead of hateful.
So when the Other scans the faces of strangers with my husband’s eyes to find the sin beneath their skin, I bow my head in prayer. When the Other twists my husband’s mouth into an unforgiving sneer, I look away. When the Other uses his smooth, sickly sweet voice to lure the sheep of his flock, I fill myself with the warmth and acceptance of Jesus’ blood. When the Other wields my husband’s body to tempt the righteous, I light candles for their souls. When the Other takes my husband’s rough but warm hands and tortures, kills, maims, I remind myself that I must be strong. I must be strong for both of us. For all of us.
Like the Virgin, we were chosen. We were filled. And as the Virgin said, “Do whatever he tells you.”