On May 5th, 2025, I came before Judge Denise Childress in the family division of the St. Charles Circuit Court. After twenty one years I would finally get my new name. Flanked by her clerk, Judge Childress swore me in, proclaiming that she found no reason or just cause to deny my petition for a name change. Then she asked if I wanted the court to order the Department of Health and Senior Services to make alteration to my birth certificate, thereby reflecting my new name. I said yes. She wished me luck, flashed a warm, invisalign-ed smile and I took my seat in the gallery.

What doesn’t occur to one going through an adult name change petition, is the encounter of other people filing the same thing but for different reasons. There were many of us in the gallery that day. Yet, each petitioner’s reasons for being there differed from the person fore and aft of them in the queue. One couple was there because of a hospital snafu with their daughter’s name resulting in one ‘e’ being left out of the name Genevieve. Another mother was there, who being separated from the child in question’s biological father, wished to change her daughter’s surname. When the Judge notified the petitioning mother that the father needed to be in the loop of this motion, she told the Judge his location was unknown to her. So they set a followup court date, prior to which, she was to locate and notify him of her wishes.

beloved Breanna Brian

There was however, a person who stuck out to me more than the rest. She was a young person accompanied by her mother. Just the scene of those two sitting together in the gallery struck me in the heart. It was not an easy task for Brian, formerly Breanna, to be there. Breanna approached the bench with her head down, arms pinned to either side, with a pensive stride rigid enough, I felt, to crack the concrete substrate beneath her feet. There was something in her that I recognized. I confess it took me a bit to understand what it was. Then it hit me: hardship. How long had he wrestled with his gender identity? This fact remained unknown to me, but as Brian walked back to sit with his mother for the first time, I wanted to support him by jumping up and whooping like I belonged to a pack of warring Native Americans. To which he probably would’ve responded by entering a catatonic state of shock. His journey which may have originated in opaque feelings or impressions, from the unseen human depths, culminated in a clear-cut judgment stating that he is in fact Brian.

Though my mother and father were not there to support me – a 22 year old circumstance-, walking to the Judge’s bench was easy for me. I have completed momentous walks my entire life. Being the skinniest guy on the crew, stepping up to a large tree for the first ascent of it’s final chapter, all the while bearing the client’s scrutinizing stare, only to face life or death at the end of my climbing line. Entering Pastor Schoenherr’s office to receive an invitation forbidding my attendance to Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, until they understood the nature of my influence over my future wife and her twin (they never did understand, because the God they preach, they don’t understand). Or sitting handcuffed in the cold, steely corridor of intake at the Saint Louis County Jail. All of these experiences imbued within me an aloof resolve that I could summon whenever I was far from comfort.

Even though I couldn’t fully relate to the elements of Brian’s gender identity story, or the support he had from his mother, the love I felt for him transcended the distance between our disparate experience. One of the best parts of being in that courtroom was the fellowship I felt with someone also humbled by the circumstances of their life. He was timid. He seemed to shirk the attention of a crowd. Watching her move through the courtroom to become himself reminded me that being there was never about me. It wasn’t about Case 2511- FC00350; putting to death Zachary to become Joshua. None of that mattered. What mattered was that I had been knocked off my proudful perch, blessedly enabled to relate to the truly downcast. If I never was subjected to this path in life, I could never be this proximate to such beautiful people. I would certainly vacate many names from many birth certificates, and many moments of peace for moments of grief, as I have, to experience this again.

chance-medley to order

While I was thinking this, I was also feeling fraternity. The odd fellowship of the gallery occupants centered around the toilsome, priggish processes of the American court system. I felt acceptance. From the warmth of Judge Childress’s smile, to the silence of the gallery solemnizing my personal conviction, catalyzed by a religious conversion – who does this?! The furnishings for the event weren’t quite the luxury of Eames, but were nonetheless elegant in their economy. Yet, for all the propriety there was one thing still amiss.

What baffled me most about the entire scene, was the lack of judgment – in a courtroom. A room literally built for judgment couldn’t have lacked the object any more. Finally, after so many years of striving against question after question. Doubt upon doubt. I did a thing and was unopposed. It was cool. It was smooth. It felt like puzzle piece 990 of 1000 fitting into the middle of the unfinished composition, despite my expectation that estranged family members with my own surname would come busting in to protest at any moment. They had their time to antagonize me, and they did. Long ago their words came, hurt, and then fell to the ground. Now, on this day, only facing uncertainty in what I would eat for lunch, it was my turn to speak. I would speak and their voices would remain silent, not even having the ability to enter the courtroom.

the wait for Joshua

When one meets God, one becomes willing to do whatever it takes to remain close to the peace, love, and comfort emanating from His Presence. So when He came, and I finally understood from beneath a thick skull what was happening, I agreed to leave everything. Including my name. From the beginning I didn’t know if that would happen to me. Being familiar with certain passages from the Gospel though, I knew that people who started following Jesus, eventually assumed new names. These names were not of their own making, but were assigned by Christ.

Since 2004 I have been waiting for a name. Around 2008-2009, up to the current day, people have “mistakenly” called me by one name. For the longest time I thought it was weird that all these people from different places, at differing times, all called me by the same wrong name: Joshua. This has happened to me around 50 times. One day recently, three months ago or so, I felt God’s hand heavy upon me. This is not a pleasant experience. So I prayed. By this time I knew that my name was to be changed. I just didn’t know when it was going down. So I am praying, asking God why am I feeling this way. As I am asking Him ‘Is it time to change my name to Joshua?’ I drive by a road sign and see the name Joshua at the exact moment I am saying Joshua in my prayer to Him. That was it, I knew it was time to change my name.

God revealed His Arm to my friend

Then a few weeks later, after I had my court date for the name change petition, I was going to help my buddy/mentor with one of his side jobs. As we’re driving in his truck I am telling him the story about my prayer and what God showed me. I also told him about my history where myriad people accidentally called me by the same wrong name, Joshua. We pull into the client’s driveway. He introduces me to the client by my birth name and the client immediately misspeaks, calling me Joshua, catching himself just after he uttered the last syllable. After our debrief with the client was finished, my buddy and I were alone, and I asked him, “Did you hear that?” He was like “DUDE!!! I WAS QUESTIONING MYSELF, LIKE, ‘DID I JUST HEAR THAT?!’ THAT’S CRAZY BRO!”