Part 14A – Training To Be a Cookie Cutter Missionary

Free and full of life, one year after
saying goodbye to my parents. This
was taken in the Rockies, at a
Soulation retreat for survivors
of spiritual abuse.

I’m struck, as I write about yet another institution, how many abusive environments I’ve been in. People who are abused go back to abuse. It’s been shown over and over. Each institution I’ve joined since I’ve left my parents’ home has been gradually less and less abusive as I’ve tasted and loved freedom in increasing amounts. I just turned 24, and I’m happy to say that I just finished my first full calendar year with no abusive treatment from my parents. Cutting contact continues to be a beautiful thing that I treasure and celebrate. I’m hoping 2014 will bring my first full calendar year without allowing abuse from anyone. It’s been hard, painful work to cut toxic people, institutions, and communities out of my personal life. It’s even been lonely here and there, but I’m slowly building my life around people who love health. May New Tribes be the last installment of my long list of abusive institutions to process and write about. I’ve found a church, and I think my eye will be on the door for a long time, keeping in mind that no one can trap me in there. I might have too strong an instinct to bolt, but my short time there has taught me much about health, about God, about healing, and forgiveness. 

Now, on to NTM.

I chose New Tribes Bible School (NTBI) because my high school education was so sloppy that I was afraid of going to a regular college and Moody Bible Institute didn’t accept me. It was affordable, which was another big perk. I didn’t know ahead of time that they didn’t accept loans, and they blatantly stated (more than once!) that finances indicated who was supposed to be there and who wasn’t. If God provided, that meant the poor kids got to stay. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be. The rules were easy for me to navigate. They were a breath of fresh air, actually, after my upbringing. I had choices! I could go out when I wanted. I could study whenever I wanted. I could sleep in on Saturdays without being called lazy. Heck, my roommates were doing all the same things, and I quickly felt a deep sense of belonging. I didn’t understand the select few who left (or got kicked out) because they stumbled over rules because, to me, the world had opened up in a way I had never experienced. Of course, now I wonder why college students were given a curfew, not allowed to dance publicly or drink alcohol unless they were married (Yes, single people were really the only ones who couldn’t have it!), and forbidden from physical contact beyond holding hands with the opposite sex!

It wasn’t long before I knew that I was going to be a “tribal” missionary, because New Tribes teaches their students that it’s not an individual calling—it’s a commission. I was already strongly leaning towards this work already, thanks to my church in South Africa and uncountable hours spent listening to John Piper. I learned shortly after getting to school that they weren’t Calvinist. I didn’t exactly hide it at first, but by my second semester I was doing damage control since I’d told a few people about my beliefs. I tend to be bent toward the unfortunate belief that, if people could only understand me, they would be ok with me, so I tried to explain myself one too many times and started getting burned by people’s reactions.

One teacher in particular, Dave, taught classes intended to cover God’s sovereignty. I felt like he severely misrepresented Calvinist beliefs, and he seemed to have a particularly good radar for picking out and picking on Calvinist students in the class. He made my sophomore semester rough, and I was trying too hard to be submissive and avoid “gossip” to get help. I wore a t-shirt about God’s sovereignty one day, only to have its slogan ripped apart in class the next day as I worried about my classmates noticing that it was my shirt he was shouting about to the point that he was red in the face. I never even directly challenged him, and it crushed me one day when I raised my hand to ask a question, but was told to put my hand down. He humiliated me by taking a question from another student moments later. Immediately after class, he approached my table and told me in front of the surrounding classmates that “now was the right time” to ask my question. He even told our class once that we weren’t allowed to discuss a concept about Jesus outside of class, because he was so afraid of the students disagreeing. I did secretly go against that rule. Gladly. And angrily. That was a matter of conscience, too, and I valued my conscience over being penalized further. The day that he wounded me most, he wrote in reply to my honest test answer, “Does [your boyfriend] know?” as his only reply to my beliefs, as if no one could want me in their life unless I held Dave’s beliefs.

That teacher combined with the stigmas around Calvinism were the first things at NTBI that made me feel unacceptable and only conditionally loved, but for so long they were the only things! Remember, I was coming from an atmosphere where the list of things that made me feel unlovable was long and I was more allowed to be myself than ever at school.

To be continued…