Part 12 - No Attempt to Understand

In the summer between semesters of missionary training, we went “home” to Wisconsin for the summer. The break as a whole was difficult, though I did find a lot of rest in being back at Redeemer. One event does stand out as a negative Redeemer experience, though, and it was the day I opened up to Pastor P about the abuse I had started to process while in training. I started crying and confessed that I’d been having a very emotional pregnancy, but what I was trying to say was that I had learned our baby was a girl, and I was terrified of having a relationship with her similar to my relationship with my mom. He assumed it was hormones, because his wife had a lot of hormonal sadness during her own pregnancies. After that, he didn’t ask my story; he assumed that the abuse I was referencing would have been my father being angry. Again, this was because his wife’s father was that way. I explained some of what it was through tears, but he has yet to understand the depth of what I went through in being raised by a mother with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, or the spiritual wreckage I experienced as a result of my father and the cults he forced me to attend.

Fast forward to the summer’s end and our senior semester. My daughter was born 1 ½ months before graduation came, and the pregnancy depression lifted, but I still had my plate full with things I needed to work through. I had started to wonder why God had given me the parents he did, since it was his job as a “father” to protect me. I looked down at my dear, sweet baby and felt that I would never willingly allow her to be abused like I was. I knew that it was my job to be a mama bear, so I was confused. We knew, at that point, that I had too much to heal from to continue on with the mission. I was filled with guilt and relief at the same time when we made the decision. Pastor P said to just stay with him and his wife until we were back on our feet, and that’s what we did.

We spent a few months at their house, and during that time, I became an agnostic. David and I wept together; on my part, because I knew he never would have married me if 1) he knew I wasn’t going to be a missionary and 2) he knew I wasn’t the same religion. He told me that while those things were true of him at the time we wed, they were because of his own immaturities and misunderstandings, but I didn’t care. The two most important things to him while looking for a wife were gone now that he had one, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise. We have always been best friends, so faking it was never an option. I was always taught that people who walked away from Christianity were compromising and weak, but considering that it was the hardest thing I ever did, I see that this is a brainwashing technique, used to scare people from thinking for themselves. I still showed up at church sometimes, because of all the pressure I felt.

After we moved out of Pastor P’s house, I saw that I needed to start weeding out triggers of abuse in my life. As far as my parents went, the only questions were when could I find the strength, how would I do it, and how would I survive the repercussions? I’ve written up that story elsewhere. I did it and I’m relieved of the stress that relationship brought to me, and I also saw spiritual matters much more clearly after that. I am no longer an agnostic. I follow Jesus, plain and simple. But then there was the matter of Redeemer. The church I loved so much still triggered a lot of memories of past churches. So I decided I needed to take an indefinite amount of time away to heal. I decided to continue participating in “church” outside of the boxed church building and services on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, my parent’s cult (which, at first glance, appears as just a very conservative church), an institution in which my father is an associate pastor, began to contact Redeemer about “conflict resolution” with my parents and what they saw as my unhealthy spiritual state. I was quickly understanding that my dad was using them as backup to his bullying ways. They decided to get Pastor P involved, and he bought it all without asking me my side of the story. Pastor Brian, my dad’s boss, ignoring my multiple requests to contact me through David only, asked Pastor P to do a counseling session with me and pass back to him any information he wanted. Pastor P called to schedule; David picked up the phone and I could tell what was going on. I almost threw up. David set up an appointment, hung up, and came to tell me. I reminded him that this was a serious, serious violation of the boundaries we had set for Brian together, and David called Pastor P back to inform him. Pastor P said ok, and that he would ask Brian why he never mentioned the boundaries. Brian’s side of the story is that we misunderstood, but he never clarified what he did mean by that. Pastor P still didn’t understand what happened there, as far as I know (remember, their cult looks like just a conservative church), and I’m not sure how it would be appropriate under any circumstances, but he asked if he could meet with me anyway to see how I was doing. I agreed.

The meeting was a disaster. Up until that point, my healing was progressing well. I was seeing God more clearly, journaling prayers, and able to read my Bible without triggers. When I tried to explain to Pastor P that I was doing well and taking a break from box church, he told me that I was “reacting instead of responding.” Let me remind you that this man has never even asked about my story. To this day, I still believe that he has no clue as to the depth of my prolonged childhood trauma being anything more than having angry parents. I have PTSD, but apparently taking a break from my triggers was not a wise decision. The meeting itself became a trigger, and I began to cry so hard as I tried to explain my decision to him that I couldn’t even talk. He continued on as if I could talk, and started asking multiple questions that I was too choked up to answer. I squeaked out “I’m sorry; I can’t talk,” but he continued to expect an answer from me. I looked at David in desperation, knowing that Pastor P simply misunderstood but that David knew exactly what I was thinking. Pastor P saw me look at David and said, “No, you can’t expect him to help you. You need to answer me yourself.” I continued to try to calm down enough to where I could speak, but it was clear that was not going to happen. I finally managed an apology and rushed to the bathroom, where I sobbed in the fetal position on the floor until David entered and told me that Pastor P had left. I asked what they had talked about, and wasn’t surprised that Pastor P had made another comment about my hormones. Let me be clear. Hormones do not result in me being delusional. They make me feel even sadder than I already am. That’s all. The wounds were reopened that afternoon, perhaps made even deeper than they were before, and I knew that even if I could go back to church again, it would never be that church. It wasn’t anger that caused these feelings, but a deep feeling of being unsafe. David continued to go, and Pastor P asked how I was doing whenever they talked. Apparently, he also made a remark about how he knew people who had recovered from sexual abuse faster than I was able to get over what had happened to me—despite never trying to understand what that really was! At the time David relayed that to me, I was crushed. Now I just feel like it is absolutely pointless to still try to go to him.

Similar to how I denied that my parents’ abuse, I have denied until recently that I was abused at Redeemer. It all boils down to the fact that, other than the way he has treated my recovery, Pastor P is such a nice guy. I was protecting him because he had good intentions, but I know now that protecting abusers isn’t my job. I also can clearly label him as a spiritual abuser after his recent sermon on women, not for his opinions alone, but because of how he presented his opinions as God’s opinions. However, I think if someone were to point that out to him, he is a perceptive enough person to change that pattern. If you want to try, feel free, but I’m finally ok with the fact that I am not responsible for his behaviour. I’ll continue doing what I need to do to recover.

Part 11 - Surrounded by Toxin

The following portion of my journey is something that I had no idea I would write and haven’t shared before because I was still afraid. It’s about the church we left last year. It’s time for me to stop being in total denial about that church and call a spade a spade. If you know me, you’ve figured out that Parts 1-10 were written in the summer of 2012. I waited an entire year before I was ready and felt safe enough to publish them to the blog. This post is new, written this month. I still didn’t feel safe about this subject until recently, and even then, this post and the next one make me just as nervous as the others did, even though the abuse was not as prolonged and wasn’t as severe.

I would like to add some reminders to the members of this church before they go on reading. Again, this is where bad reactions come in. If you feel like I shouldn’t have shared this publicly, trust me, I thought I shouldn’t either. Chances are, I thought about this much longer than you. However, what I am about to share is facts. If you don’t like the facts, do something to change the church’s environment. I don’t like the phrase “airing dirty laundry,” but I think it sums up how some will feel about me sharing this. If you feel like I am airing someone’s dirty laundry, instead of feeling negatively towards me for it, perhaps you should think about the following instead: Feel negatively towards the people who made the laundry dirty. This is my story. I shouldn’t be required to remain silent about things that have influenced my life. Also, keep in mind that it is not my job to reconcile with abusers. It is their job to change and I’m not responsible for them. I’m done going above and beyond for people who know they have been hurtful and haven’t made any attempts to meet me halfway. One more thing. This crushed me a lot more than it did you. I lived this. These pastors and this congregation were dear friends to me. I recognize that they had and still have good intentions throughout my years at Redeemer Evangelical Free Church, but good intentions amount to squat when it comes to abusers.

I started going to this church fresh out of high school as a Bible school student. I loved how healthy the church seemed to me. Looking back, that is highly questionable, considering my own condition. It felt healthy compared to the cults I had just traveled away from! There are good things about this church, and compared to what I knew, man that church is alive and kickin’! Having not known what spiritual abuse was as a college freshman, I wouldn’t have been able to catch the red flags like I can now. I also wondered for a while if it was just me—if all these religious organizations I had been a part of could be so wrong. It eventually made sense to me that I, being a toxic person, had put myself into toxic environments because health bothered me. My communities were reflective of who I was.

Soon before I started taking control back and setting boundaries in my life, this church become more than I could emotionally deal with. I felt frozen, utterly frozen, when I walked through the doors. I was grateful to have a new baby that I could take out of the service at any whim, and I often spent entire services outside of the sanctuary simply because my heart was hurting too much. Speaking of having a baby, I was sick of the breastfeeding criticism I faced from certain people at the church. Multiple people at Redeemer have said publicly that it is immodest and compared breastfeeding to urinating or defecating—“natural, but so is urinating, so please do it behind closed doors.” While the overall congregation was probably fine with it, a select few made me highly uncomfortable as a new mother, so that even if I did want to sit in the service, I was often hiding in a room that appears to be a former closet that was converted into a place for mothers to breastfeed. I found it extremely hot sitting in there on that little loveseat, with a cinder block wall a few feet from my face. To spruce it up, someone had added a picture of Jesus welcoming the little children for me to stare at while I hid the way God created my child to eat from his church. I missed many a sermon because no audio or video of the service is provided in that tiny space.

When the service was over, I couldn’t wait to leave, and upon arriving home, I was completely sapped and often needed to sleep the afternoon away to recover from the feelings I was burying. I didn’t know it, but I was being triggered. I had grown up being abused in a pew, and, much like a soldier could be triggered by the sound of fireworks after a dangerous deployment, being in that environment again set me off. Not going wasn’t an option to me, as that was accompanied by a heavy weight of guilt and shame. And tears. Lots, and lots of tears.

My own worldview was rapidly changing, and I began to understand that certain people there loved to bash people like me. It had (wrongly) never bothered me before because I was yet to move outside of their fences of acceptable opinions and feelings. But as my list of disagreements with the general congregation grew longer and longer, I began to feel like I could no longer use my voice without fearing the backlash. My Facebook posts got comments about how I was focusing too much on love (and how worldly that apparently is) and when someone told me I was turning to the devil (for saying the American church needed to show love to homosexuals better), instead of being called out, his comment got supporting likes from a few church members. Then I would be back in the pew with the same people the next week, who never said anything to me in person about their or my behavior on social media. It made me wonder if they knew it was me they were talking to, a human being, not a keyboard or a computer monitor or a phone. When I tried to set boundaries with one woman, she protested that she was concerned for the people who read my posts. Overall, whenever I used my voice on social media, the shaming caused me to never dare use it when I went in to the church fellowship.

The church’s attitude towards women was positive on the surface, but the underlying sexism eventually became very obvious to my free self. The senior pastor recently (a year after I left) gave a sermon on the role of women in the church, stating that women cannot challenge men in an upfront way, like a man could challenge a man, because men have fragile masculinity. He openly said that he, like all men, cannot handle it when a woman boldly approaches them with a disagreement. It’s somehow hurtful to them and crushes them. I asked my husband after listening to the sermon if he felt that way when I woman approaches him and he said no. I think that means my husband must be female. But in all seriousness, if that were true, I think the more important issue there is that I am not responsible to maintain someone else’s weakness, nor am I required to be silent when something important needs to be said. He also explained that the church let women teach in Sunday School, but they were not permitted to speak from the pulpit because, in the SS context, the woman can be quickly corrected by a man if she’s wrong, whereas in a sermon, they don’t want anyone calling out the speaker during the service. Is it just me, or does that kind of imply that all women are less likely to speak truth than all men? I also do not believe that it makes sense to the culture of Jesus’ day, so it doesn’t seem to be the intent of the original manuscripts. The worst part for me, though, was the opening to the sermon. The prayer, led by the youth pastor, was full of phrases like, “There are a number of passages of your word that are challenging to us. And God I know that there are some of us, even in this midst of a family who want to refuse that these words even exist from Paul. Or perhaps we are squeamish…And I pray that your Spirit would lay on our heart a spirit of submission. I pray that each of us today would not hear what we want to hear, but hear what you want to say. Lord not every passage is easy…and so we ask for open ears and open hearts…” implying that people who disagreed only disagreed because, though they knew God was teaching something else, they were squeamish and couldn’t swallow it, so they went ahead and made up their own theology outside of God’s teaching. Then the senior pastor came out wearing soldier’s gear and staged this little introduction with the message, “Don’t shoot the messenger!” Then he went on to pepper the sermon with phrases like, “God’s word is absolutely clear on this.” He wouldn’t say it was just his interpretation and he did not encourage people to go to other resources and see for themselves. My personal opinion is that pastors are not God’s messengers and need to present their interpretations as their own, not God’s. Anything more is spiritual abuse. When I finished listening, I was glad that someone had finally and blatantly articulated all underlying the sexism I had felt under the surface, as well as the attitude of bullying towards Christians with different beliefs. 

At the end of the day, especially when I added my son and daughter into the equation, my husband and I agreed that it was best to leave. But what I’ve described here was only the tip of the iceberg of hurt. More abuse was occurring behind the scenes, in counseling sessions with the senior pastor, as I sorted through the abuse I received from the hands of my parents.
To be continued…

Part 10 - The Involvement of Christ Community Church and Brian Sayers

I have, no intentions of ruining my parents lives or getting them fired. If I wanted that, I would have contacted their employers, Christ Community Church, myself during this whole process. I did not do this. My father immediately brought them in, and I received a phone call from them a day or two after my initial conversation with him (I was too busy dealing with my brother's illness at the time to respond). Here, in his words, are his reasons for doing so:

"Dear children,

One of your siblings informed me that they believed that as a father, I was abusive. The categories of that abuse are emotional, physical, and spiritual. It was also said that I enabled mom to be abusive.

This is a highly serious accusation that I desire to consider carefully and give the proper attention it is due. I am willing to accept the full consequences, penalties, and outcome that my actions deserve, if I have truly been abusive. I desire the truth to come to light.

I have on my own volition informed the elders of Christ Community Church of this accusation. Together, we removed my name from consideration for the position of elder effective immediately (it just so happens that the church was meeting on this Sunday to affirm me as an elder during the annual meeting). I say this so that you know and understand just how seriously I am considering this matter.

In discussing this matter with the elders, we agreed that an investigation is appropriate and necessary. The elders of CCC will be contacting you (they may have already). I want you to know that both mom and I desire that you cooperate with them fully.

I also ask that you treat this matter with confidentiality. If this matter is true, it will come to light and will receive the public disclosure that is necessary. If it is not true, your confidentiality will help prevent undue damage to all involved.

We have been wanting to call some of you since our return from China, but we did not want to, in some way, influence this process. Please understand that our lack of contact is related to this and our hope is that we can get this behind us very soon and catch up on life.

My hope is that this process will strengthen rather than weaken our family, unite rather than divide, and bring peace rather than conflict. I know you hope the same.

Love,

Dad (and Mom)

Cc: Elders of CCC"

It sounds nice, but it makes no difference that he was up for being an elder, because he's already a paid member of their leadership staff. The title of elder may as well be trashed if their associate pastor is a child abuser.

I responded with the following: 
"I didn't mean to confront you last week, but it made me so angry that you can't figure out why [my brother] wouldn't want to speak with you. I am working on writing a letter, as I do not feel emotionally safe around you and would rather not meet face-to-face (or have any phone calls). I was obviously dealing with a lot this past week with [my brother], and I did not have time to write the letter. I will as soon as I get the chance. Although....I did write one years ago and never sent it. [At this point I talked about an unrelated and private family matter, then continued.]

In the meantime, I know you are anxious to hear at least one example. I already told you over the phone that the family meeting about my faded jeans and how I dressed like a prostitute was spiritual abuse. An example of enabling mom to abuse me is as follows:

We were getting in the car after school at CCA, and Sam couldn't close the door to the Astro van and took about 30 seconds to do it. As you may recall, that door was broken and was difficult to handle. Mom started berating him, and we were all walking on eggshells to keep her happy. I couldn't let her speak to Sam the way she was, as I have a protective instinct. I tried my best to be very careful and respectful and said, "Mom, that door is really hard to close." I was not rude, sarcastic, or rolling my eyes. I said it carefully and softly. She slapped me in the face. Later that night, we were eating dinner. The subject was apologies. I asked if parents were accountable to apologize as well. You said yes. Then I asked for an apology. At this point, mom began crying and ran to her bedroom. You gave us a lecture about how mom has been through some very hard things in her life. Then you led us children to the bedroom to comfort her. I stood in the doorway of your bedroom, where mom was sobbing in the bed, and watched everyone in the family comfort her (talking soothingly and putting their hands on her) for slapping me. I never received an apology. She was obviously the manipulator in that situation, but you enabled her.

Pinning Andrew to the wall is an example of physical abuse. Although you have apologized many times, he has the right to forgive you but not continue a relationship with you.

When abusers abuse, they forfeit their rights to any relationship, whether it be emotional, physical, or sexual abuse.

I have many more examples. But that should help with your church situation for now.

Please do not respond. I do not want to hear from you."

Yes, he has apologized for that one instance of physical abuse, but never for his other abusive behaviours. I brought that example up because it was one I knew he could not deny. Whether he apologized for it or not, it still disqualifies him to be an elder of a church, and that was why I used that example.

His response:

"to Brian, Jon, Eric, me

Elders of CCC,

I just received this email from Savannah. I did not solicit this from her. I am sending this to you as I want to have full disclosure as you conduct this investigation.

I do not deny the examples she has provided have happened, though I don't remember two of them. The only example that I actually remember is when I 'jacked up Andrew' against the wall. I did do this. He called me a jerk, but this does not excuse the anger I felt nor my response. I did not, however, cause any bodily harm nor did I strike him anywhere on his body and I did put him back on the floor. I did spank him on the buttocks afterwards, but made sure that I had calmed down as my anger actually scared me as I am sure this shook him up emotionally as well. I doubt he would say he received physical harm (except on the buttocks) from my putting him up against the wall.

In my 27 years of parenting, this is the only time I can say that I may have been guilty of what may be deemed physical abuse, even though he was in the end unharmed.

Savannah makes a statement, ' When abusers abuse, they forfeit their rights to any relationship, whether it be emotional, physical, or sexual abuse.' I vehemently deny any sexual abuse and I ask that Savannah confirm this immediately.

In Christ,

Allen"

My response, typed angrily, I confess:

"I never said you sexually abused. Although, any abuse is extreme, and physical/emotional abuse are not to be left off the hook. I read the book "Mending the Soul" in my quest for healing, and a girl in that book who was both emotionally and sexually abused. She said the emotional abuse was more harmful to her. I am not saying this was always the case, but do not take other forms of abuses lightly. They are ABUSE.

How dare you say that you did not harm him! You TERRIFIED him. Don't try to make it sound like this did no harm to him. There is a such thing as emotional safety. Physical safety is not all you should strive for in raising a child.

You DID solicit this from all of the children.

And I'm not surprised that you don't remember the other two instances. They were common occurrences in our house. I could sit down and try to write all such similar circumstances, but it would be exhausting and pointless, as we are trying to determine whether or not you abused. One example would be enough. I have spoken to other siblings who do remember these two instances.

'And I did put him back on the floor.' ??? Of course you did. You couldn't keep him there forever. The fact was that he got there in the first place, not that he eventually touched the floor again."

At this point, the responsibility of the leadership at CCC was to remove him immediately. His own words were incriminating enough! They have a thing that they do while they "evangelize." If a person says they're a good person, they say something to the effect of  "Have you ever lied? Then you're a liar. Have you ever stolen? Then you're a thief. Have you ever thought bad thoughts about someone else? God says that's as bad as murder. Have you ever lusted? Then God says you may as well have already committed adultery. So you're a liar, a thief, a murderer, and an adulterer." Why isn't my father held to the same standards? If you abuse, even once, then you're an abuser.

After this, there was silence for about ten days, minus a few emails that I didn't have time to answer. I thought they had listened. I wondered what the would do, but I didn't care. Not my business. Finally, Brian Sayers spoke with my brother on the phone. Once he learned I was present, he tried to get my brother to ask me questions for him. It was a waste of effort and time, so I grabbed the phone to answer his questions faster (sneaky, btw!). In very smooth tones, he asked me if I was getting the help I needed and if I had received their emails. I told him I was disappointed that he was brought into it so soon. I was trying to work things out with my parents first. He replied, "He [my father] had to." I said I was working on my letter and that's all I could do. "Are you doing that?" he asked. Of course I was. He said they had waited two weeks (I think that's how long it was?), then asked if I knew my father had heart surgery that Friday, clearly trying to hurry the process up. I wanted to probe a little more, because I wasn't liking everything I was hearing! I asked him what his definition of abuse was (there were three facets. I don't remember all of them, but two of them were "repeatable" and "intentional." Both are nonsensical, as there is no need to repeat abuse, and some abusers, like Al-Qaeda, think they have good intentions.) I told him that he should look up the definition of child abuse according to the laws of his state and adhere to that. Next, I asked him if his church had a child protection policy. "We do, but it's probably not good enough." My last question was just seeing if there was anything else he needed from me. He said he had one more thing to say, and started telling me how sad my parents were and how they desperately wanted to reconcile with me. Looking back, I should have seen the red flags. He was not trying to help me at all and was already on my parents side.

Again, there was silence for me as I tried over and over to write my letter. The day I finished it, I got the following email from Brian:

"Savannah,

I wanted to touch base with you in follow-up to our conversation of some weeks ago (after I spoke with Andrew). You mentioned at that time that you were preparing a letter to be sent to your father regarding the allegations that you had discussed with him (and myself). Is this still your plan, and if so, is there a time-frame that we might expect it? We are still engaged in a process of investigation and evaluation here as leaders, and reviewing the content of this letter was our next step.

I also wanted to enquire if there is a clear goal that you desire to accomplish as a result of this confrontation? Perhaps the letter will clarify this. In other words, are you seeking repentance and reconciliation, and assuming so, what do you foresee this looking like?

We (the elders here) want to help in whatever way appropriate and necessary.
We also desire that the process is not delayed longer than necessary.

Please let me know. Thank you.

Your servant,

Brian"

I had just finished my parents letter the day I received this email. I was deeply hurt. My response to Brian was typed up the next day. My email read as follows:

"Brian,

I finished the final step of letter writing yesterday, which was to get it proofread and approved by my husband and 3 qualified friends. However, I felt your rushing of the writing of this letter (twice now) is inappropriate and insensitive. Never rush a survivor. It is not your place. The psychological effects of my parents’ abuse slows my ability to respond quickly and without fear. I should be allowed as long as necessary, even if it takes years. They abused me my entire childhood. I think they can wait half a summer. This letter has nothing to do with you and is between me and them. I prefer for it to be for their eyes only, but if they choose to share it with you, I can’t stop them.

As far as your elder dilemma, my father is already in a leadership position at your church. The title is all he needs to act as an elder. If your motivation was to investigate him to see if he qualifies for leadership in your church, you would have listened to the three examples I already gave you, as well as more closely noting the response from my father. If you no longer have these emails in your records, I would be happy to have my husband forward them to you. For now, I will assume that you have kept them and can refer to them as I do. His reaction was incriminating for a few reasons. First, and most importantly, he admitted that abuse happened. This should have been enough for you. Then he said, 'Jacked up Andrew against the wall.' Notice that he misquoted me. This could be telling his true perception of his actions, as I did not state it that way. Also, notice that he immediately feels the need to clear his name in one area, one in which he was clearly not accused of. 'I vehemently deny any sexual abuse and I ask that Savannah confirm this immediately.' But he did not 'vehemently deny' the emotional/spiritual or physical abuse. In fact, he felt it was appropriate to investigate. Lastly, notice that he spanked Andrew after terrifying him. Does this seem like a reasonable way to handle the situation? The child had already received more than his due.

 When I poked around on your church website, I found many detailed sermons, doctrinal statements, and blog posts, all of which had to be very time consuming in the both the amount of study required and their delivery. Yet, you have admitted to me that your Child Protection Policy (CPP) is weak and 'Probably not good enough' (your words). I want to express to you that if you either a) truly had all your doctrine correct or b) were practicing all the good doctrines you have claimed on your website alone that are important to your church, then you would not delay in putting forth a better policy to protect the children under your care. You would start yesterday. You might even plan to host a CP Sunday, to put your studies into practice and educate your flock on how you intend to follow your updated and improved CPP. Children are important to the One I follow and to me. Are they important to you and your congregation? Important enough to spend half the time improving your church in this area as you have in perfecting your doctrine? I assume the preliminary answer is yes, but your actions show that you need to show you value protecting children.

Lastly, when we spoke on the phone, you had come up with your own definition of abuse. I believe it included the word 'Repeatable.' Perhaps that is why the 3 examples I listed for you have not been enough for you. I find that very sad and defying common sense. Why would one need to repeat abuse to be an abuser? I would encourage you to look up the definition of child abuse in your state and adhere to it in the future, as well as do some research on the meaning of the term spiritual abuse. My parents did repeatedly emotionally, spiritually, and physically abuse me, but I feel no need to list further examples when you will not acknowledge the ones I have listed.

I had hoped you would notice the details of my father’s response and they would speak for themselves. The fact that you did not (if you truly noticed them, that would have been enough for your investigation of his qualification for eldership), coupled with your insensitivity , your poor CPP, and your flawed definition of abuse lead me to believe that future dialogue with you will be fruitless without more training on your part. If you need more information from me, you may address your inquiries to [my husband's email], and my husband will determine if your questioning is sensitive and appropriate. I would also suggest looking into a qualified organization to equip your church to deal with other abuse that may arise (and if you don’t update your CPP, it surely will. Abusers target religious circles where they may become easily trusted.). I know of one good organization, called Godly Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment (GRACE). They may be able to point you in the right direction.

Thank you for your time.

Savannah"

After sending this email with clear boundaries for the elder board and Brian, they did not stop their insensitive intrusions. They have never once contacted my husband. Instead, they decided to call my pastor. When we got the phone call from our pastor (who had apparently gotten a strong impression from Brian that I had not tried to reconcile with my parents, and that I needed counsel in the area of forgiveness) asking to meet with me on Brian's behalf, I sobbed. I felt like I would never escape from their intrusions. Brian had asked my pastor to meet with me and pass on information to him. I was stunned. David and I talked about it, decided that it very clearly broke our simple boundaries, and called our pastor back to explain the boundaries we had laid out for Brian. Our pastor decided to ask Brian why he had never contacted David, at which point Brian backpedaled and said he would not need information from our pastor,as he had just read the letter I had written to my parents (not sure what that had to do with it, or why he read it so long after they received it). Apparently, he wrote me off for some reason after seeing my very personal letter. How could he have thought he did not have enough information to conclude whether or not my father was abusive? Did he really think it was appropriate to ask my pastor to pass on confidential information from a counseling session? Why did he drop the case after reading my letter? I am left with so many questions about Brian's conduct that I will probably never know the answers to. It felt safe at first to be so far away from my parents during all of this, but Brian was doing his best to extend his power and interrupt our daily lives.

I am not writing any of this out of hatred or unforgiveness. Instead, I believe this needs to be public information to those who currently and may in the future attend this church. Once their leadership became aware of abuse, they sheltered it and coddled it. Their own words, not mine, demonstrated that their atmosphere harbors abusers. Let it be known. 

Part 9 - Cutting Contact

I was so uninspired to write to my parents. I tried so many times, but the words never came out right. At the beginning of the summer, I had said I would write. Nothing my parents did to me during this time provoked the right words, including my father's phone call. Oh yeah, did I mention that doozy? He convinced me to call him under the guise that it was important. Considering his upcoming heart surgery, I figured something was medically wrong and agreed. I called, he told me something I'd already heard from 3 family members, then launched into an obviously prepared speech. "I don't trust you right now. I know how you've been treating me behind my back. I know what you've been up to, and you need to come to me in repentance..." *click* I hung up. I knew better than to subject myself to more of that! My hands were shaking as I cried afterwards, and then I ate about 1/3 of a 5 gallon tub of ice cream. Oops. Did I mention he called from his church office as an associate pastor to tell me all that? Excuse me while I go throw up...

By the time the summer was a little over half over, and I felt dead inside. My soul had dried up with the efforts I had taken with my family up to that point. Finally, my brother called me one day and described what my parents had said to him that week. It was outrageous and truly wrong. I talked him through it, hung up, and resumed my duties of an overachieving housewife. I cleaned for a while as I listened to music, then turned the music off and started washing dishes. In the silence, I began to reflect on my brother's phone call, and my protective instinct bubbled into a need to write. I got two dishes done before the words came spilling out onto a notebook. In one sitting, and in under 25 minutes, the perfect letter flowed through me. It was a magnificent gift to myself.

I sent it to a few people for proofreading, and showed it to my husband. I was on cloud nine. Everyone said it was perfect. Two of them even immediately responded by telling me they were proud of me. I was so happy...until I received an email that night from my dad's boss, Brian Sayers, about how I was "needlessly delaying" the process. I will write a post about his involvement later. I plummeted into a sad state; it dampened my happiness and put a cloud over my glimpse of freedom.

I'm not sure if it is right or wrong to post the letter here, though I am completely open about it and I do wish to shed more light on the situation. I have no problems at least summarizing it, and I can post it if the need arises. For now, I outlined more examples and types of abuse, shared with my parents how their abuse hurt me, how worthless I felt because of them, gave them my qualifications for contact (apology only) and their outlet for doing so (They are to contact David with their apology first. He then would proofread the letter to see if it meets the standards of a true apology, with no blame, and David would then pass it on to me.).

After I sent the letter, the silence was deafening. I knew the day after they got it, because my dad made posts on his social media about why egalitarians are forsaking Jesus (I had mentioned Egalitarianism in my letter. I'm almost positive he went to his favourite Danny Burke blog, plugged the unfamiliar term into the search bar, and posted the first three articles that came up! Talk about missing my point!), and my mom made a post from Desiring God about how sometimes you fail people without realizing how much you hurt them (which is also missing my point, because I told her many times growing up how she had hurt me, and she ignored it). I heard through a sibling that they acknowledged that they had hurt me, but they didn't think I'd want an apology if they wouldn't admit to the actual word "abuse." Damn straight I won't. I don't think it is an unimportant label. This is, once again, them not admitting to the depth of their wrongs because of their same old fear of man.

I haven't heard from them since. I'm not sad about it at all, because they're totally toxic. I suppose I am sad in the sense that I grieve never being parented, but cutting them out of my life was like cutting off a horribly mean stranger, and I feel more free from their attacks than I ever have.

Not to mention, my stress levels have gone significantly down!

Part 8 - Damn Breaking

As I moved forward in my journey towards emotional health, the question of what to do with my family relationships often entered my mind. Only some of my siblings acknowledge my parents' abuse, and to varying degrees. There are two that I haven't been brave enough  to speak with. One admitted  to me that "they did abusive things," but wouldn't admit to me (I think, really, to himself) that they were abusers. I get that. I used to be the same! It's so hard to go there in your mind when all your parents did was set up mental roadblocks for you. Two are completely on board with me, but have expressed a desire to remain private about it all. For this reason, I won't be sharing any more about my siblings' journeys in here.

Up until this summer, I maintained a minimal relationship with my parents. I covered only the very basic levels of keeping in touch.

My brother went through a physical challenge that was very difficult for him at the beginning of this summer. I flew out to be with him, and he allowed only me and one other sibling to be close to him during this time. Other family members were kept at a distance, communicating with him only through me. My parents were in China when it all went down, but when they got back I called them to tell them as much as my brother wanted them to know.

"You can say hi." I told my parents.

"Ok. Well...tell him that I love him and tell him that I'm praying for him," my dad answered.

I cut him off, "You can say hi, and that's all he wants to hear from you."

"What? I don't know why he wouldn't want to hear that I love him?"

Ah, boundaries.

"Dad, he doesn't want to hear anything from you right now. You can say hi, but he doesn't want you to be involved with this."

"I don't understand what's going on! Why won't he talk to me?"

At this point, I couldn't take the victim attitude anymore. My dad had pushed my brother out of his life, and now he was acting confused? I blew up. I don't remember everything I said, but I told my dad that if he didn't apologize to my brother for emotional, spiritual, and physical abuse and enabling Mom to abuse us he would get nowhere with my brother. I can still remember his response. "Emotional...spiritual...and physical....abuse?! Emotional...spiritual...and physical...ABUSE?! I'm in shock!"

"You don't think holding a family meeting about how I dressed like a prostitute was spiritual abuse?"

"What?! I don't remember..."

I hung up. He tried to call back and I texted him saying that I didn't want to speak with him. I told him I would write him a letter. He asked if he could come see me face-to-face. I said, no. I did not feel emotionally safe having him near me. It was such a good choice to protect myself. I told no one what had happened besides my sister and husband. My aunt and her partner overheard me talking on the phone, and I believe they told my grandmother.

A day or two after, I missed a phone call from the elder board at my father's church about my "very serious allegations." I didn't call back. I wanted time to think, and I was still not at home, but with my brother. It was the day before I was leaving and I was too busy to deal with it. I was surprised that he had brought them into it so soon, but I had no time to process with all the other things I was trying to deal with. I later saw why (post to come, but I believe it was for his own validation of his feelings and for backup).

I arrived home and prepared to cut my parents off, through the aforementioned letter.

Part 7 - Cracks Forming

It's no coincidence that all of us moved out of the household very soon after turning 18, moved very far away, and didn't keep in good touch with our parents. I moved from a very spiritually abusive environment to  a lesser spiritually abusive environment. I've actually noticed, looking back, that every time I move I go to progressively less abusive environments, though still abusive, with the exception of my marriage. My first move was to a small Bible college. While there, I still was in denial about everything my parents had done to me. I wanted to have a positive story so much that I pretended I did.

After Bible college and getting married, my husband and I moved to a missionary training center. We were in the dark about the mission's past abuse of MKs and their hiring of an outside organization, Godly Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment (G.R.A.C.E.), to do a report on one of their boarding schools. Our first week there, the report was released. I read through it and started having flashbacks of my life and my parents. There were so many parallels between the report and my life. It was the first time anyone validated for me that what my parents did was wrong, but it took days before I would even admit to myself that it was abuse. I was walking with my husband and processing it all, and I finally told him that it sounded like my own parents. Admitting it to him was excruciating. In the months that followed, I would hesitatingly tell him more and more of what happened, often ending with "I feel so guilty for telling you this." Their control over me was so strong that I feared, even as an adult woman, to describe their actions. I often felt like a child when I spoke of it, and I would get very fearful and quiet. I started thinking about cutting myself, and prayer became impossible.

Our missionary training required child protection classes. While there, they offered for any abuse victims to go to counseling, offered free of charge by the mission. David asked me to go, but I couldn't bring myself to talk about my needs with another person. Finally, at the end of a class, I walked up to the teacher's desk and waited in line to speak with her. She finally turned to face me, and my mouth went dry. I stared at her, probably looking like a deer in the headlights. She knew. She took me by the arm and led me aside. "What happened to you?" I couldn't answer. I was too distraught and terrified to speak. I felt trapped and just blubbered something to the effect of  "My mom." She gave me the phone number of my would-be counselor, and I went for a little while. The counselor's biggest issues for me to work through was the way I perceived God during my processing. I was too scared of him to even be angry with him.

My husband and I continued to move on towards being missionaries, though I prayed that he would see that I was emotionally unfit for ministering to anyone. I had plunged deep into depression and was becoming somewhat agnostic. Finally, during the last months of our final semester, he came around. We decided to put our plans on hold indefinitely and told our supporters we were taking time off. I'm not sure we'll ever look into doing vocational ministry again, as this time of recovery and being normal has been the most stable and enjoyable time of my life thus far. I felt incredible guilt walking away from the mission for a while, but it was outweighed by my happiness and feelings of freedom.

The stages of anger and depression were alarming to both me and my husband, but looking back, I believe they were necessary. I never would have met the real God if I hadn't doubted my parents' angry version of him. I saw it then as cracks forming in the side of my cave where the blue sky and light began to shine into my life. Yes, I was still very much in the cave and very much a prisoner. But without the realizations I had during that time, I would never have gotten out. It was worth the process.

I am worth the process.

Part 6 - How All Abuse Was Justified

"You need to honour your mother." My father and youth pastor said this when I or a sibling pointed out that my mother was wrong or lying. Please note: I do not believe my youth pastor knew to what level my mother had gone. It was the reinforcement of his teaching at home that harmed me.

"You need to go back and seek biblical reconciliation." This was what my father said when my mother repeatedly verbally attacked me, and I repeatedly walked away to cool down.

"Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child, but the rod of correction will drive it far from him." This was what my church leaders taught my parents, and they concluded that their vicious, angry spankings were justifiable.

"Jesus said, 'Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and in the age to come eternal life.' "This was what my father quoted to me when I told him I never saw him and that I didn't think it was right when they left me alone for the sake of their ministry.

God. Their "God" is what they used against me. It's quite effective, really. Once you make a person believe that if they don't follow you, they aren't following God, you can make them do anything. You can make them fear to even disagree with you, especially when you constantly talk about the wrath of God and the judgment of God. There's a term for this. It's called spiritual abuse, and it's sick. It's how al-Qaeda brainwashes children to strap bombs to themselves and cult leaders convince their congregations to let them sleep with anyone they want. People will do anything--anything!--to avoid angering an all-powerful deity! And who can blame them?

Though there were various church leaders who taught their interpretation of Scripture as being on the same level of Scripture itself, my father was the main spiritual abuser in my life. Few have been testament to his completely unguarded remarks when he hears doctrine that he disagrees with, but all in our family have. I can still see his face as he rejects something--usually as a result of reading a blog post or book that also disagrees with the view and presents it in an obviously biased way. He gets so worked up, even to the point of not comprehending that someone somewhere in the world sees this issue differently than him. He kind of sputters at first, drops whatever he's reading, takes off his glasses and says over and over, "What? WHAT?!" Then, at some point, he'll collect his thoughts and go on about rebellious/liberal the view is or some such nonsense. I adopted some of his mannerisms in this regard for years, and a close friend of mine later told me that my behaviour once when talking about Egalitarianism was so intimidating that she was scared into silence until I finished my raging, even though she agreed with my views. No wise person dares to disagree with someone who has their mind 100% made up and is in attack mode. There's no sense to speak of.
My father used this spiritual abuse to cover up their other forms of abuse, which were emotional (lies, manipulation, emotional/educational neglect, and verbal abuse) and physical abuse (furious physical force and physical neglect). He especially enabled my mother in her other forms of abuse by silencing all disagreement with her as being "disrespect." The consequences of growing up in such a spiritually toxic environment have affected the way I view leaders, myself, and God. As a result, I never felt God's love growing up and I truly believed that God did not value me--but I was even too afraid to admit this!

Part 5 - Isolated With an Emotional Abuser

I remember as a very small child (perhaps around 5 or 6 years old) thinking that the way my mother said my name had changed. She used to say, "Savannah, Savannah!" when I was sick and she would move my hair out of my eyes with compassion. She later used the same intonation, but I realized it was out of disappointment with me. I knew, even as a small child, that I disappointed her. That realization should never come to such a little girl. But again, I thought my family relationships were normal.

As I got older, our bond was broken by her angry spankings and our friendship never blossomed. She made it very clear to me that it was my fault that we didn't have a good mother/daughter relationship. When my parents became missionaries, all the teenage and college age camp girls loved my mom and she seemed to have strong relationships with them. At the end of one summer, she sat down next to me on a bench and asked, "So. Who do you like?" I turned away from her embarrassed  and answered, "Nobody." My mother started crying and accusing me of being the reason we weren't close. She said I hid things from her and she knew she wasn't the problem because the camp staff girls all had good relationships with her. I knew her manipulative tendencies and I saw right through her. You can't expect a 12 year old girl to have a good relationship with you when you ignore her for a summer. And when she did pay attention to me in the off-season, it was negative attention. I'm sure if the camp staff girls had been slapped in the face by her, they wouldn't be particularly close to her either.

Compounding the problem of our negative relationship was my parents' decision to homeschool me. Picture this. We lived about a 30-40 minute drive from town. When camp was in session, I was told not to bother the staff or campers. During the off-season, I was homeschooled (badly! and barely!) and the only way to see people other than my parents and siblings was through church activities. When our family traveled to various churches week after week, I was cut off from my only community. When we weren't traveling to fundraise, I was relieved to go to Sunday morning church, and when I turned 13, Wednesday Bible study and Friday night youth group. My mom and I would often fight, as we were severely cooped up together and various things frustrated us. If I fought with my mother, she would take away my Friday and Wednesday gatherings, saying, "I don't know what else to take away, Savannah." Damn straight she didn't know, by the way, because there was nothing else. They were my only social connection to anyone other than my family.

The isolation was unbearable, but the fact that it was with my mother made it ten times worse. She had good days and bad days, and you never knew which one you were waking up to. She also had spurts of organization that lasted about a week, then she would go for a long time without even checking my schoolwork. I did no  math after Christmas break one year, and she found out only at the end. She made up for it by practicing multiplication tables with me in the summer every now and then. Every year, she grouped my schoolwork with other siblings of higher or lower levels than my own to save money. We did a unit study on Egypt one year, and she gave me all the same projects as my younger siblings. One of them was to go outside, find a blade of grass, and tie it on both ends to make a tiny boat. I refused. It would have been my first year of high school, I believe, and that work was so far beneath what I was supposed to be doing that it was entirely useless to me. I even asked her for a harder project instead, but she chose to knock my "grade" down. She often gave us untimed, "open-book" tests which weren't designed to be open-book at all, knowing that we hadn't studied for them. If ever she did notice we were behind, she chided us, so I believed it was my own fault that I was not educated. Looking back, I was just doing what most children would do. Children need guidance, and most kids would skip doing homework if no one was checking it. It bothers me to this day that I never felt like I earned my high school diploma.

She used various emotional weapons to hurt her children, including showing very obvious favouritism. When one child was her black sheep, she would snap at them. Then, without missing a beat, she would turn to another sibling and intentionally say something oh-so-sweet.

She would also try to twist every situation to make herself look like the victim. One day, the four youngest kids were getting into our Astro van. The door on that vehicle was difficult to close, and my brother was taking an extra second to close it. My mom turned around and began to bully him. I have a very strong protective instinct, and I knew I couldn't let it continue. But I was also afraid of my mother's wrath. I weighed the situation very carefully, then said softly, "Mom? That door is really hard to close." Unfortunately, I was sitting in the front seat, so she swiftly slapped me in the face. It stung physically, but not nearly as much as my heart did. Later that day, the subject at the dinner table was apologies. My father was saying it was everyone's responsibility to apologize when they are wrong. I asked, "Should adults apologize?" He said yes, so I asked through a sudden flow of sobs, "Then I want an apology." My siblings nodded their heads furiously in agreement. I explained the situation through my tears to my father, with affirming comments from my siblings. Surely this would get his attention! As I spoke, my mother quietly set her fork down and stood up from the table. She rushed off into her bedroom and slammed the door. The table went silent. My dad began to lecture us on the hard life my mother had lived and all the horrible, non-specific things she had been through. He then led us into the bedroom. I stood in the doorway, too emotionally beaten to go any further. I watched as all the others gathered around my mother as she sobbed and they patted her on the back, saying she was a good mother in soothing tones. She made everyone comfort her for her choice to slap me, while I never received an apology.

I'm sure if she ever saw this blog post, she would somehow make you feel bad for her, too.

Part 4 - How Neglect Revealed a Lack of Value

When I was 11, my father and mother became supported missionaries. They ran a summer camp for the boys and girls of New England to come hear "the Gospel" and "be saved."

We lived on site, so it was all-consuming for my father during the entire year, and all-consuming for my mother in the late Spring and during the Summer. Starting around the time when the camp leadership arrived, my parents would leave the house very early for the morning staff devotions (beginning at 6:00, and they would get there early). They would be gone from the house the entire day, often not coming home until very late at night (11 PM would be a good night, and 10 PM would be very good, but due to issues with various campers, it was not unheard of for them to be out until 3AM). They did not check to see if we had made it to bed when they got home.

During the morning, my younger siblings were in the camp's daycare for the children of the volunteers. I was too old for daycare, and usually slept until noon anyway. A few times, I went to visit my grandmother for 1-2 weeks, and a few times I went to visit friends of the family for one week out of the summer. My parents were home on Friday nights (usually) and Saturdays (usually). For the rest of the time, I was unsupervised and did as I pleased. Sometimes I tagged along with volunteer children, and one of my favourite memories is when my friends Anna and Melissa would come. Their mother would swim with us when she wasn't busy volunteering.   I'm grateful to her for all the love she showered on me when she visited, even helping me with a bee sting one day--I knew my own mother would take too long to find, and I am not sure she ever even knew. I was not allowed to "bother" the camp staff or the campers, so when no friends were visiting, I often went for walks in the woods to keep myself occupied.

One day, I took my dog for a walk. I decided to try a new trail and I got lost. I'll spare the details, but suffice it to say that hours later, I finally found my way out of the woods, tired, on the verge of tears, and relieved. My parents never knew.

Looking back, I am baffled. My younger siblings were unsupervised all afternoon. What did they do with their time? What did my older brother do with his time? The two oldest children were on the camp staff, so they were accounted for.

During the off-season, we traveled to different churches to "raise support," or in layman's terms, fundraise. I would sit and listen to my father's presentations to various churches about the lost children of our country. Then he would go on to prove how much God valued these children and contrast it with how little our society valued them. I distinctly remember thinking that he didn't value his own children, but I would never have expressed this.

It even made me feel unsafe to feel that way.

Part 3 - Why Physical Abuse Was "Good Parenting"

How does one cover up abuse so well? An abuser is a master manipulator. My parents are master manipulators. Looking back, in the spiritual circles they chose to raise us in, their style of parenting (read: complete control) was glorified. Before we went to a dinner party, for example, my parents would give us a code. This code would alert us to the fact that we were to stop embarrassing them or acting out. "Did you try the taco salad?" really meant, "This behaviour must stop immediately." They enforced their rules through fear of punishment--having dish soaped rubbed on my tongue, standing in the corner, or spanking are some poignant examples.

And oh! did my mother ever spank. It hurts me to write this. It makes my heart sink in my chest! I feel like I'm reliving the pain, and nothing that my parents did to me is harder for me to talk about, but what happened in that little bathroom to me behind closed doors must now be made public. I have no reason for shame, but I still feel it.

A spanking was usually given for mouthing off, something my mother could not stand. Any disagreement with her was viewed as disrespect and if it didn't stop immediately when she said for it to stop, then she would grab me by the arm and march me to the bathroom. There she would close me in and leave for a few minutes. I sat and waited, anticipating and fearful. She would come back in, sometimes with a wooden spoon, and other times reaching for the hairbrush in the bathroom cabinet. Belts were also used, though that instrument was usually courtesy of my father. There was no system for my mother, such as "I will hit this many times," or "This offense warrants pulling your pants down and this one doesn't." It all depended on how mad she was. That's it. I was subject to her anger, not her discipline. That's one thing I would like to clarify here--this was not discipline. It had no rhyme or reason and it broke any bond I could possibly have with my mother. She was visibly furious the entire time and spoke with an actual snarl on her face. I haven't decided where I stand on spanking itself, but I don't think spanking is always abuse. This was. She would lay me over her lap, often with a bare bottom, and let loose. I would often try to cover myself with my hands, so she would hit my hands until I moved them away. She would hit and hit and hit. At first, the spanking would start with words to go along with every blow. What she usually said was, "You. Will. Not. Talk. Back. To. Me. Ever. [at this point she ran out of clear thought] Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever! [and after she realized she had nothing more to say, she just spanked without words]" And the hitting would continue until she was satisfied. It was terrifying, degrading, and out of control.

Sadly, my father and other parents in our spiritual community taught her that this was acceptable, even good. Tiny, misunderstood blurbs in Proverbs were used against children to tell them that if their parent did this sort of thing to them, that was how God wanted them to be treated for such rebellion. And verses in Ephesians were used like this at youth group. "It doesn't say that you have to respect and obey your parents only if they're good parents or they're always right. It says to respect them. Period." She took the inch they gave her and went a mile, but due to their teachings on privacy for spankings, they never knew. I believed that my mother was supposed to hit me until her anger was satisfied. I believed that God wanted me to be subject to her lack of self-control. That was the level of control they had.

Part 2 - The Cave

If you were born as a prisoner in a cave, and never left, you would never know better. Something would have to happen for you to realize that your life is not normal, that you are not free, that you remain in a prison. Even once you did realize it, what would you do? Life on the outside looks scary and unknown. You would have no way of coping with normality. And what about your fellow prisoners? What if they didn't want normality either? What if they saw the outside and said everyone out there felt lost and was headed for doom?

After having my husband proofread this, he informed me this illustration is not new. Apparently Plato came up with it first. I responded, "I'm terribly disappointed that my illustration is already well-used, but...I'm Plato!" Then I high-fived him. 

This is what it is like to be raised in a sociological cult. My fundamentalist baptist church was no ordinary spiritual community. It was exclusive, it was fear-driven, and it was isolated. Those who questioned or doubted were scolded as faithless, those who sinned in certain ways were shunned, and those who disagreed with the church leadership's interpretation of the Bible were said to be in rebellion against God. Not only that, but those who went against the norm, the unspoken rules, were looked down upon. I remember one hot Sunday a man wore shorts to church, and the ladies got in their share of gossip about him for such an inappropriate choice.

I only recently was able to admit to myself that it even was a cult. How could a cult be filled with such nice people? They truly are wonderful, beautiful people that still I care about very deeply. I feel for them, having been there myself. I know the fear of questioning. My communication with them these days is largely through social media, since I moved away. The discussions I get into with them over the most basic truths are very sad. Once, as I was going through my journey and figuring out who I was and what I believed, I wrote this status: "It's ok to doubt." I got into a very long discussion with a dear friend of mine who did not believe that doubting was "where the blood of Christ has brought us." Doubting is a healthy and normal brain function. When we hear something that doesn't sit well with us (or even something that does sit well with us), we should question it from every angle. Our brains are a gift and using logic is a way that we reflect who God is. I had to move 1,000 miles away from their system before I had the freedom and safety to doubt it. I'm sad for those who are still in it, and I don't judge them at all. I know the fear and the level of turning off your brain that you are forced into. The majority of them do not have bad intentions, and are truly desiring to know God, but they're systematically groomed to live in their cave.

Note: I am unaware if the church I grew up in is still a cult. I do know that it feels strange to walk into it--the extreme clothing is still worn by many of the members, and this could be a symptom of continued isolation. However, they seem to be doing a better job of integrating with other local churches of a similar mindset. The younger generations, especially, may be breaking out of the mold. I am too far away to do a sufficient analysis.

Part 1 - Growing Up

Our lives were perfect. In public, we were smiling, well-behaved (well, except for the rebel child), and God-fearing little kids. We were holier than families of "the world," as we called people on the outside. We attended a small baptist church that was always right. The other churches in town were too "liberal." But not us. We had our ducks in a row. And our family life was normal.

Or so I thought.

My upbringing looked so squeaky clean that children from broken homes told me they envied me. I could never quite put my finger on why that bothered me so much. Now I know why. Our home was broken. Yes, my parents were still married and presented a united front, but they were united in abusing us. I honestly thought that it was normal to walk on eggshells around your mother for fear of an explosion. I honestly believed that a spouse should support another spouse at all times, even when it meant a father supporting his wife's lies and mistreatment of others.

Some think of the abused as being battered children who go to school with bruises and tears. While that does happen, abusers are usually quite smart and can silence the victims with manipulation and a cloud of clever lies. That was our case. We learned what we could and couldn't say and we learned how we could and couldn't act. I remember thinking as a child, "I could call one of those hotlines," but I never allowed my thoughts to go further than that. They created a mental block in my own mind to the point that I didn't have freedom to analyze my situation. That's how much control they had over everyone. I wouldn't even admit to myself until adulthood that we were dysfunctional.

Looking back, it was part of my coping method. Denial. It's common for children to cope by pretending things didn't happen to them. They bury their own memories and thoughts, which will not resurface without some sort of a trigger. And my trigger was coming in due time.

Introduction - Why?

I came across several good quotes the week I completed this blog. Here are a few...

"Keeping silent about your abuse empowers the abuser to keep you locked up in the prison he has created just for you. Its time to break free!" -- Godly Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment (GRACE)

‎"A false system has for accomplice whoever spares it by silence." -- W.E. Best

And paraphrased, "Those who get angry when you speak the truth are usually living a lie." -- Gaskin, Jr."

Many of you are probably wondering why I am doing this?

I do not seek revenge. I do not want anything bad to happen to my parents, and I do love them. What I want is for the truth to be known, for their abuse to stop being excused, for them to get professional help, and for the cloud that harbors abuse at Christ Community Church to be lifted. In order for these things to be happen, my story must be told in its entirety. In addition, I have a  desire for myself, and it is to be free of the chains of silence.

My goal is not to teach others how to respond to abuse. At least, it isn't right now. I do know, though, that there will be some extremely poor responses to the fact that I am making this public. For those who may struggle with this, please see the following resources (Please note that while these articles reference abuse in general and sexual abuse, my parents did not sexually abuse me. However, this does not minimize what they have done.):

"What Forgiveness Isn't" Particularly notice numbers 2 and 5.
http://netgrace.org/wp-content/uploads/What-Forgiveness-Isnt1.pdf

"The Robbery of Worship Through the Failure to Act"
Part One: http://netgrace.org/the-robbery-of-worship-through-the-failure-to-act-part-one/

Part Two: http://netgrace.org/the-robbery-of-worship-and-the-failure-to-respond-part-two/

"The Five Necessary Stops" Especially notice the 5th "Stop."
Part One: http://netgrace.org/distorting-the-grace-of-god-the-five-necessary-stops-part-one/
Part Two: http://netgrace.org/distorting-the-grace-of-god-the-five-necessary-stops-part-two/

"Failure to Act" Please notice numbers 4 and 6.
http://netgrace.org/failure-to-act/

If you feel in some way that I am not telling the truth or that I can't be trusted, please save us both the time of commenting. I am, of course, open to answering questions to clarify wherever needed (Though you may ask something I choose not to answer. My story has some very personal aspects to it.), but I am not open to attacks. I'm done thinking I have to endure people's cruelty. I'm learning that I'm a valuable person and I don't accept that kind of pain into my life anymore.

Thank you for reading.