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The Visitor: Monica's Diary, Friday June 9 free porn video
The Visitor
By
School Belle
Monica's Diary
Friday, June 9
The phone rang before 8 o'clock this morning. Nathan was long gone for
work, and I hadn't gotten the kids up yet. Letting them sleep in during
the summer usually gives me time to do some actual praying, planning,
and organizing for the day. Since I normally do this outside, weather
permitting, it took me a little while to reach the phone. When I finally
did get to it, the caller had hung up. At that moment I kind of wished
we had caller ID, or the kind of phone that has caller ID. What we had
turned out to be an alarm clock. One by one I heard mattress springs
squeak, feet hit the floor, doors opening and closing, and water
running. But before I could begin my day, the phone went off again. I
immediately picked it up.
"Good morning," I said.
"Is this the Henson residence?" The woman's voice on the line was
nervous.
"Yes, it is. How may I help you?"
"Mrs. Henson?"
"Yes."
"My name is Cynthia Harp. You don't know me, but your husband called us
Monday night."
"Timothy's mom," I said, sitting down instantly. Elizabeth had just
walked into the living room. I covered the phone and told her to get
Hannah and for the two of them to start breakfast. "Are you in
Amarillo?"
"No, still in Austin; Ken doesn't want me to get involved anymore. He
says Timothy has made his choices and now it's up to the experts and the
legal system to do their thing. But I can't. I can't just abandon him!"
Her voice became almost shrill.
"No, of course not," I said hastily. "He's your son."
"He's still in jail," she wailed.
"What?" The children wandering through the living room to the kitchen
stopped in their tracks. I could see fear appearing in their eyes, so I
covered the phone again. "It's not about daddy," I said quickly and
turned back to Cynthia. "I thought he was only going to be there one
night, and then they were going to transfer him to another facility."
"The juvenile shelters are full."
"What about foster care?" I suggested. "Surely that's better than jail."
"It's complicated?"
"What do you mean?
"Apparently Timothy told the police that he was being bullied at the
boys' ranch."
"Yes, he told us that too."
"Did he tell you why?"
"He didn't have to. We found him remember. We could see why they would
pick on him."
"Well he spelled it out in black and white for the police. He declared
himself to be transgender. They put that in their official report to the
juvenile justice department. They sent some kind of investigator to
interview him, and now he's in their system as transgender."
"I don't understand. How does that keep him in jail?" The kids were all
now sitting around me on the floor in a semi-circle, even Hannah and
Elizabeth. Everyone knew I was talking about Timothy.
"The way things are now, you declare yourself to be transgender, you
must be treated as such by any and all government agencies that receive
federal money."
"So, when you say the juvenile shelters are full, you mean the ones for
girls?"
"Exactly. And none of the foster families want him."
"Can't you and your husband have him moved to another boys' ranch or
home or something?"
"He's not ours anymore!" At this point Cynthia began openly weeping.
"Not yours! Of course, he's yours; he'll always be yours. Wait. Have
they removed him from you?" At this the children's ears really perked up
which frightened me. Until this moment I'm sure it had never occurred to
any one of them that they could ever be separated from us.
"They sent somebody out to the house to find out if we were treating him
in accordance with his declared orientation. That's how they put it, his
declared orientation. Well that just tore it with Ken. He was an athlete
and wanted his son to be one. He is career military and demands a
toughness from Timothy that just isn't there. When the caseworker or
investigator or whatever she was asked that question, he got so mad he
almost threw her out."
"Is that why you sent him to the boys' ranch in the first place?"
"No." She misunderstood. "That wasn't the first thing we did. We've been
fighting this it seems like forever."
"But he's only 15; how long could forever be?"
"I don't know; five, six, ever since he started going to school with
other children. It's almost like as soon as he realized what girls were,
he wanted to be one."
"Oh my." I know that was a stupid thing to say but I couldn't think of
any way else to respond. "But you fought it?"
"Well yes and no. We didn't take it seriously at first. I mean I didn't.
Ken was upset from the beginning, but I told him it was a phase that
many kids went through. That wasn't good enough for him; he jumped on
Timothy and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't straighten
up, he'd straighten him up."
"And that didn't help."
"It helped Ken. Timothy repressed his feelings when my husband was
around. When he was gone, or worse when he was on a deployment, Skyla
would come out."
"And what did you do about it?"
"Well," she seemed hesitant. "I...prayed about it."
"Yes," I said in as encouraging a tone as I could muster. "Timothy told
us he was a Christian."
"Right. We got that taken care of as soon as we possibly could."
"Got what taken care of?"
"I think he was seven or maybe eight, and then there was that time at
vacation Bible school too."
"What happened?" I was very curious. None of this was making any sense.
"Well the first time was after church one Sunday. Apparently, they had
had some kind of puppet show in children's church about heaven and
hell--we had a very creative children's minister in those days--and
Timothy asked me if we were all going to heaven. I told him only if he
asked Jesus to come into his heart. He asked me what to say, and I told
him. He may have done it then. I know he did it in Sunday School the
next year because the teacher, a real soul winner that one, led all the
kids in the sinner's prayer one day after class. And he did it one more
time, at least, that summer in VBS. I remember because at the program at
the end they had all the kids who had been saved that week to come up
front and be presented as candidates for baptism and church membership."
As I listened to this, I couldn't help but think that Cynthia was
relying upon what Pastor Chupco referred to as 'salvation by words.' So
many godly and devoted parents thought that if they could just coax or
cajole their children into walking down an aisle, praying the right
prayer, being baptized, and joining their church, there was no need to
worry any more about their soul. He had said that during the Beslan
School attack in Russia by Chechen Muslims back in 2004 that the
terrorists had told their hostages that they were going to set off
explosives whenever the police tried to rescue them. The hostages were
told that everyone in the school would die but not to worry, they would
be told the words to repeat to become a Muslim and guarantee paradise
before they detonated the bombs. 'The Spirit of God has no more to do
with these salvation-by-words conversions in modern Christianity than He
does in converting people to Islam.'
"And none of that changed anything?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"It didn't affect his wanting to be a girl?"
"No, not at all; why would it?"
"Well," I said, trying to put it as gently as I could, "at seven or
eight, a child's heart is usually very tender. If the Spirit of God
regenerates and indwells that heart, wouldn't His presence noticeably
impact that child's life."
"Oh no," Cynthia misunderstood again. "Timothy has always been the
sweetest child. It's only this girl-thing that gets him crossways with
everyone."
I could see that it would take a much lengthier theological discussion
than I was ready, willing, or able to give to enable Cynthia even to see
my point, and I feared that all I would accomplish would be to upset her
more than she already was.
"What can I do to help?"
"Timothy is terrified. The police transferred him to the women's section
of the jail. The women in there have attacked him again and again and
the jailers don't do anything about it."
"Just like at the boys' ranch," I said.
"That's why I'm calling you. Timothy told me how nice you and your
family were to him. I was hoping that maybe you or your husband could go
see him. He's lonely and scared and what's worse depressed. Seeing a
friendly face would mean so much to him."
"Is he allowed to receive phone calls?" I did not want to commit to
anything without first seeking counsel from my husband, but I really did
want to do something.
"I don't know. He called me, but that was just one time and like I said,
Ken wants to wash his hands of the whole thing. He certainly doesn't
want me to go see him."
"Do you have the number he called from? I can call that and see if
they'll let me speak to him at least."
"Hang on, I'll look it up on my phone. I'm not very good at this, so if
I lose you I'll call right back." Sure enough, the next thing I heard
was a dial tone. I looked up at the kids.
"That was Timothy's mom. She'll call back, but we need to get breakfast
going in the meantime."
"Shouldn't we pray for him first?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes, we should," I said, slipping off the couch and onto the floor with
the children. We joined hands and I nodded to Hannah.
"Lord, we ask that you cast down the imaginations by which Satan has
built such a stronghold in Timothy's heart..." Then the phone rang
again.
"I lost it," Cynthia wailed. "I'm always doing that. Timothy and Ken are
the computer experts. They can do anything and find everything on the
internet. I'm just fumbles."
"Don't worry about it; I'm the same way, or would be if we had a
computer."
"You don't have a computer? How do you manage?"
"Well, I don't know. I guess we don't."
"If I didn't have Facebook I'd go crazy when Ken is gone. And what
little I know about Timothy's condition is thanks to him showing it to
me on the internet."
"Timothy's condition?"
"You know, transgender."
"What do you know?"
"Well, according to the sites he showed me, gender identity is fluid,
but it can't be changed. There was some sort of chemical mix-up before
he was born, and he has a female brain and a male body."
"Does that mean all his brain cells have XX chromosomes while all his
body cells have XY?" By this time the kids had drifted away to the
kitchen table. Hannah and Elizabeth were busy cutting bread and
scrambling eggs. Josiah and Mark were wrestling over a special cup we'd
picked up in Branson last year. We'd gotten enough for all the kids, but
two of them had already been broken, and now there always seemed to be a
struggle over who got the ones that were left. Sarah was trying to break
the two apart.
"I don't know," Cynthia answered. "Is there a test for that?"
"I don't know either; I mean short of drilling through his skull and
taking a sample of brain tissue, but who would want to do that?"
"Everything is so complicated."
"Indeed, it is..." At that point I heard a glass shatter on the kitchen
floor. Three children froze in place while two kept working on
breakfast. "But look; I'll call the sheriff's office and find out if
they will let me talk to Timothy. When Nathan gets home, I'll tell him
everything you've told me. We'll pray about it and go from there. Give
me your number, and I'll call you back when I know what we're going to
do." She did; we hung up; and I turned to begin my day.
As it turns out, an inmate may call you, collect, but you cannot call
him. Anyone (two at the most) may visit an inmate up to twice a week for
20 minutes at a time Tuesday through Saturday, but only during visiting
hours. I learned all this from a rather lengthy phone call to the Potter
County Sheriff's Office. When Nathan got home this evening I repeated it
all to him as well as the substance of my conversation with Cynthia.
"I have been praying for him all week," Nathan said in response. "I
can't help feeling that we are supposed to do more than just give him a
bath and feed him a meal. It appears that one parent won't do anything
for him and the other can't. That leaves him at the mercy of the
juvenile justice system or child protective services or whatever. From
what you've said, they aren't going to do anything but feed his
transgender desires. When are the visiting hours?"
"Let me see," I said, sifting through my notes. Tomorrow we can visit
him between 8:30 and 11:30 am or between 3 and 6 pm."
"But if he can have two visits a week, we could see him both morning and
afternoon. Each of us could see him while the other stayed with the
kids."
"So, we're going to Amarillo!" Josiah was excited. Normally we go once a
month or so to stock up on things we can't do without. We had already
made our trip for this month, so to go a second time so soon would be a
real treat for all the kids.
I called Cynthia and let her know of our plans. She was thrilled to the
point of tears. I could not help but wonder, however, what could we do
for Timothy in two 20-minute meetings?
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