Up until the minute the phone rang on that day, our family life was relatively normal. After that call, my life—our lives—changed as our family was forced to face realities we weren’t prepared for, realities that tested our faith, our love, and threatened the family bond we thought was unbreakable. Shaking, I put down the receiver and tried to take in the news I had just heard from the school principal: my daughter, Deborah, was at that very moment being treated for a drug overdose. From that time forward, my husband and I dedicated every second of our lives to Deborah’s recovery. In retrospect, the initial shock and devastation at learning of our daughter’s overdose was mild compared to tremor of horror and pain that shook us when we discovered the reason why Deborah overdosed. She had been holding something inside and she didn’t know how to tell us. Slowly and painfully Deborah revealed to us that she was experiencing resonant issues not only with sexual identity but also with gender identity. Months later and after much research, we learned that my daughter’s taking drugs was a common response in this situation, that young adults often turn to drugs when they experience confusion regarding their sexual identity and feel they have no outlet to express their deepest thoughts, concerns, and fears. After Deborah finally revealed her secret to us, she admitted that she felt total release and relief, and knew at a profound level that she no longer needed drugs to face the realities of being Deborah. I believe that she also knew—even though we were saddened, confused, and frightened—that, despite our disbelief and denial, she still had our unquestioning love. Both my husband and I come from traditional Christian families and have always approached our marriage and family in the Christian tradition. Consequently, we couldn’t bring ourselves to accept the fact that we were parents to a gay daughter. How will our friends and family react to the news? What about our standing in the church? What about the dreams we had for our daughter? What if we had no grandchildren? We had become convinced that Deborah’s homosexuality was simply a “phase” that she would grow out of. Although we sought professional help for Deborah, nothing seemed to work. And, every day it seemed that our daughter was disappearing into increasingly masculine modes of dress. We desperately wanted our daughter back, our little feminine girl we had known since she was born. But it was not to be and she continued to exhibit masculine mannerisms. When she turned seventeen, Deborah announced that she wanted to move out of the house. We agreed to let her go her own way, thinking that her absence would lessen the pain we were going through. It did not. We love our daughter, but we prayed fervently that our little girl would return home. But, as time went on, we realized that nothing changed. All the hoping, praying, wanting, and wishing didn’t change a thing and certainly didn’t prepare us for Deborah’s declaring; “I think I’m a transgender.” Well, I accepted Deborah’s homosexuality, but what did she mean by “transgender”? “I’m really a man,” she explained, “who somehow got a woman’s body.” Instead of choosing to be in a state of upset and ignorance, I chose to do research and learned all I could about the turmoil and challenges that my daughter was going through as a transgender individual. I can’t stress enough the importance for parents to learn all they can about their child’s issue. There is no excuse for ignorance or for the tragedy ignorance is sure to invite. Deborah did come back home after a few years, and we were ecstatic at her return. But it really wasn’t Deborah who returned to us, but rather a young man calling himself Josh. How did we as parents react? We didn’t. We simply continued to love our child and thanked God for the blessing of being parents. Can we close this chapter? Not quite. Our son, Daniel, revealed to us over dinner that he, too, was homosexual. And now? The simple and quite elegant answer is that nothing really changes. They are our children. We love them. They know they are loved. We can’t deny that these have been difficult times. Our faith, our beliefs, and our love have been tested. We proudly say we have passed the tests. We go forward with no illusions, and no expectations for how we should act or appear to others. We cannot—and do not want—to control what others may think. We are not be the traditional family we thought we were at one time. And yet, being non-traditional isn’t all that bad, especially when love remains the centerpiece and guidepost.