I'm a Wisconsin native working on my first book. My focus for the last few years has been on writing and continuing to shine a light on trauma and ways to heal from it. I love books, dogs, fresh pencils, and balls of yarn.
The topic of historical abuse keeps popping up lately. Today I want to explain why I keep talking about my story. Some people might think, well this all started way back in 1981, shouldn’t she be past it all by now? There tends to be this misconception that just because I continue to speak about it means that I’m not trying to heal or move on with my life. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have worked and continue to work very hard on my own healing while recognizing that I will always have C-PTSD. It is not my desire to have to keep fighting this fight, nevertheless I press forward because I cannot turn my back on all of the children who are still in church. My conscience will not allow me to stop fighting until the church has been brought to justice. I’m not saying that all survivors should follow my path. We each have to do what is best for ourselves.
I know that my abuser has at least one other victim.
“Most perpetrators will continue to abuse children if they are not reported and stopped. Nearly 70% of child sex offenders have between 1 and 9 victims; at least 20% have 10 to 40 victims. An average serial child molester may have as many as 400 victims in his lifetime”
These statistics are what keep me awake at night. We know that abusers rarely stop at one child, I know my abuser had at least 2 victims. We also know that they do not stop unless they are brought to justice. My abuser still has access to children through the church he leads and the community that he has become very involved with. I am left to wonder how many more victims he has picked up over the years? These abusers are life ruiners. Once you become caught in their web you will likely spend your entire lifetime dealing with the damage they have caused. These acts are not something that you just move on from. It takes so much time and money to heal from these abuses, time and money that could be spent on so many other wonderful things. Every day I live with the fact that my abuser is still out there. People will say well he can’t hurt you now, and I understand that, but I am also aware that he can still hurt others. I think he should be on the sexual offenders list and be monitored by the authorities. At the very least I continue to speak so that others know to steer clear of him and the United Pentecostal Church. If I can save even one child from the pain I’ve endured it will have been worth it.
When abusers and those who cover for them are not brought to justice the cycle continues. Not only are the abusers able to continue their sick practices but those who cover for them are most likely going to be willing to cover for others like them. As long as these people remain in power the cycle continues and the victims pile up. In my case my pastor, John Grant Sr., was the district superintendent for the state of Wisconsin. I am sure he counseled others beneath him on how to handle cases like mine. He also had multiple cases within his own congregation that he swept under the rug. Because he has never been held responsible for his behavior the Madison church developed a policy of covering up crimes against children. His son is now in charge and has his own problems with being inappropriate with minors. How driven do you believe Roy Grant to be with regards to reporting abuse? So far it appears he is not shown himself to be willing to take responsibility for what he has done or how the congregation has a history of covering up crimes against children. He has shown himself to be unwilling to make any kind of amends towards survivors and so the cycle continues. Because it was not dealt with way back in 1981 we are still dealing with it in 2022. I know of so many survivors who once sat under Pastor John Grant and I’m sure there are so many more who are too afraid or just weary to come forward. Are you starting to see the cost? When crimes go without being brought to justice the cycle moves on and on. When institutions allow a culture of covering up abuse and then nepotism allows churches to pass from father to son children will continue to be at risk. Why do you think Calvary Gospel has so many survivors? I feel it is because abusers clearly saw that those in leadership were not moved to stand for children and because of that they felt safe to carry out their crimes. Men might have to stand before the church and confess but no one was going to call the cops. Also the men knew that the young girls would most likely be standing right there beside them because the church rarely sees these things as crimes against children but chooses to see them as adultery. Children were and are sacrificed on the altar of the church’s public image. Men who abuse minors are not weeded out and when they invite their friends to church often their friends are just like them. Over time the number of men willing to abuse minors grows while none of them are ever really removed from the congregation. This is how churches become rotten. Anyone who has ever had a garden knows you have to weed. I have to ask myself do the men in power cover up the crimes of congregants because they are afraid that maybe the finger will be pointed at them? Are they in hiding because of their own misdeeds?
We rarely ever speak about the women and their role. I can tell you from my own experience that the women within my home church were the meanest of them all. When I needed support or maybe someone to report on my abuser these women had nothing for me but accusing eyes and gossip. I think because women within the church are treated as second class citizens they try to garner status in any way they can. It might come in the form of who has the longest hair or the best clothing, whose husband has the highest position, or it might come in the form of looking your nose down on a little girl that you see as beneath you. Either way the women within the UPC are not free from responsibility. They support the church and keep the secrets just like the men do.
All of this creates a legacy of abuse and my story is just one small part of it. As long as the cycle continues I feel I have to keep telling my story and speaking about the systemic nature of it all. What we refuse to acknowledge and deal with will continue to fester and spread. What can you do? Well, you can uplift the stories of survivors. You can speak out regarding abuse you have witnessed and you can call out the leadership of your church. You can report abuse when you suspect it and you can speak the truth when others are too afraid to. For my part I’m going to continue to shed light where I can and I’m going to continue to seek my own healing.
When I was a little girl one of my favorite passages of the Bible was 1 Corinthians 13. In a Bible that often seemed confusing and unclear to my young mind this verse rang out with its clarity. When I think about how the UPC is handling the abuse cases coming into the light I have to wonder if they have read these verses lately.
“1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal
2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
4 Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
8 Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.
9 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.
10 But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.”
I know that I have stated this before but whenever I read David Bernards responses regarding the church and the sick acts that are being perpetrated within its congregations I get so angry. It always comes across to me as deflection, blame shifting, victim blaming, and nowhere in his words do I see love in any form. Yes, it is true that in many cases they (the UPC) are not required to report crimes to the police, but when has the letter of the law ever been their concern? I was under the impression that they believed the Bible in its most literal form and it is believed to be inerrant. The Bible is said to be the focus of their lives and not man’s law. If the Bible is truly their focus then doing the right thing should matter more that protecting their organization and certainly more important that protecting ministers who have committed crimes against children.
“Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.” Matthew 18:10
I do not believe for one minute that the powers that be within the UPC believe that these abused children have tempted these grown men into sin. I feel they understand that children are not the ones with the power within the situation and I also believe that they do not care. They only care about protecting their money and organization. Reputation is what matters and that makes them look like Pharisees. Wanting to be seen as holy but with rotten hearts.
“And whosoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea.” Mark 9:42
When I read David Bernards words I see a worried man with the walls closing in around him and the organization he leads. If I could give him one piece of advice it would be this, you can change all of this right now, there is still time. I would suggest starting by apologizing to all the victims the UPC have ignored. You would be surprised at how healing that message could be. Then I would make a commitment to clean house of all of the ministers who have perpetrated crimes and those who support them. Don’t count crimes by who has been arrested but who you know have done terrible things to the little ones. Put into place a zero tolerance policy regarding child abuse and start implementing it immediately. Reach out to the wounded and offer love and real help.
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Matthew 25:40
Rather than speak about who has a license and who does not I would suggest reaching out to the victims and their families and seek to find ways to help them heal. Embrace them rather than casting them out. When choosing a side to stand on be found on the side of the wounded child instead of seeming to want to protect the men who have decided to walk with the devil.
“Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.
Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works?
And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.” Matthew 7: 21-23
Now I can already hear all of you UPC folks saying to yourselves, why should we listen to her? She is an unbeliever. This may be so but remember that you raised me and I consumed this scripture day and night and I know it as well as you do.
The UPC is very concerned about holiness and especially about the holiness of women. It seems odd to me that they care so little about the lack of holiness in some of their men. There is a toxic plague running through their churches but what matters to them is what the young woman was wearing and if she flirted with a grown man that should know better. Dovey Ensey, a pastors wife, was quoted as saying, “All I’ll say is, it takes two to tango.” When I read this the first thing that came to mind were the things the church said about me. It was like a punch in the gut and it drove home how much the church has not changed since I was a child. They claim they have evolved and they claim to teach their ministers how to respond properly to situations involving abuse but from where I stand its seems like the same old playbook.
If you are a victim/survivor of the UPC church I want you to know that I am here for you. Feel free to reach out at any time and I will be happy to chat with you.
My heart has been stirring for the last few days as new allegations of sexual abuse and misconduct from within the United Pentecostal Church have come to light. Sometimes it seems never ending and somedays I tell myself that I’m too tired or angry to speak but today is not one of those days. April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month and I feel that this is the perfect time to remind people that behind all of these stories is a real victim/survivor and their families. I watch as people spar over what the Bible says and who is a licensed minister within the UPC and who is not. I watch as David Bernard ducks and weaves to avoid being held accountable for what happened within the organization he leads. In the midst of all of this people discuss whether or not the victim is to blame and some sling arrows saying things like, “It takes two to tango.” I wish I could say that I am surprised but I am not. From my personal experience the UPC will never miss the opportunity to blame the victim and support the perpetrators. I believe it is all about money and saving their precious reputation. Nepotism has long been a problem within the organization and they do not seem to be in any hurry to solve it. They definitely are not in a hurry to take responsibility when their sin is brought out into the light.
Minors cannot give consent and cannot be held responsible for the thoughts and actions of adults. When I was abused within the Madison Wisconsin congregation I was 11 years old and very modestly dressed. I had never held hands with a boy and actually did not really have much interest in boys at that point. I was an innocent and none of that kept me safe from an abusive man and the pastor and others who did not report it to the police. I did not cause this grown man to fall into sin and neither did any of the survivors who followed after me. The other thing that isn’t often talked about is the lifetime of pain and trauma that awaits survivors of sexual abuse. It isn’t a little thing. It changes who you are and for many of us it drove us away from the church. We became the focus of gossip instead of being the focus of love and compassion.
When I think of these new survivors and all the ones who came before I send a little prayer out to the universe. I wish them love and compassion, healing and wholeness, understanding and friendship. I hope they have someone in their lives to tell them it isn’t their fault and if they do not have a person like that I hope they find my blog. I am grateful for those who continue to drag these stories out into the light. I am also thankful for those who continue to fight when I cannot. I may not always say thank you but I see your work and I appreciate your support.
“You’re not a victim for sharing your story. You are a survivor setting the world on fire with your truth. And you never know who needs your light, your warmth, and raging courage.” — Alex Elle
National Child Abuse Hotline Call or text hotline: 800.422.4453
I’ve been thinking about survival. Before writing this morning I asked myself, “How did you survive when things were so awful?” When I was a child and teen I had a very rich inner life. When I was a little kid my imagination helped me to go to other places in my mind. Most of the time this was a good skill although sometimes it would lead me into imagining hell and other scary scenarios. At times I would get stuck in a loop and it would be almost impossible for me to escape these imaginations. It was like a virus that had to run its course. Now I understand that it was trauma. Often escaping these cycles of thought required something stronger to override their power.
On good days I would imagine myself as Wonder Woman. My bike would become her invisible plane and I would fly through the neighborhood solving crimes and kicking ass. When I close my eyes I can still go to that place. I can still feel my bike beneath me and the wind gently sweeping across my face. When I allow myself to go to that place in my mind immediately a smile creeps in. My bike was freedom. It was a way for me to work out all of my frustration and pent up anxiety. Those endorphins are good medicine.
Physical exertion has always helped me cope in difficult times. When I was a child riding my bike along with other things like gymnastics and hitting my tennis ball against the wall could help me get out of my head. I never enjoyed gym class but it wasn’t because I hated exercise. It had more to do with the social dynamics at play and being forced to participate in team sports that I did not care for. I have never really been comfortable with competition. During gym class I was often picked last. My family did not care much about sports so I had little exposure to things like football and baseball. My parents enjoyed solitary sports and my father enjoyed boxing. They instilled in me an appreciation for being outdoors and competing against self vs others. My father in particular was always pushing me to run farther and faster. He would shadow box with me and I was fond of playing with his boxing equipment. Jump roping was another activity I enjoyed. I would count my jumps to see if I could beat yesterday’s number.
Luckily for me I had a very creative mother and she instilled in me a love for art and music. Art in particular helped me to escape the sadness that permeated every part of my life. I could lose myself in a flow state. I could spend all day drawing or gluing popsicle sticks together. I played with clay and always had tons of coloring books around. To this day when I need to shut my brain off for a bit I will color in my adult coloring book.
Music was another thing that supported me when life was too tough to take. I have always enjoyed singing and my mother would sing with me at home. My father was very sentimental and he always had music on as well. I liked some church music but secular music was so much better. Church music just reminded me of things that made my anxiety worse. It is true that listening to “worldly” music would bring about a sense of guilt but the happiness it brought made it worth it. Secular music offered me a chance to escape into the world of the song and imitating the artists allowed me to try on different identities. It did not take long for musicians to surpass television and book characters as the focus of my escapism. I spent so many afternoons singing into my hairbrush imagining being anywhere but my bedroom.
Fast forward to now and my coping mechanisms are the same. I would like to say that they are all good but that would be a lie. I can still go inside my head and lose myself in my inner world. Sadly it is not always friendly inside my head and I no longer see myself as Wonder Woman. Going too deeply inward can often turn into dissociation. It is like I’m not really present but floating above my body or just outside of the frame of my life. Disconnected from what is happening right in front of me. It isn’t that I have anything terrible to escape but it has become a coping mechanism I employ in order to handle anxiety. Suffering from Complex PTSD means that as good as life gets I always have to remind myself that I’m no longer living the life I lived in the past.
Television helped me to handle the lonely days of childhood and it can still help me at times. I have to be careful because it can become a numbing mechanism, keeping me from being present. I realize that it was a numbing mechanism when I was a kid as well, but survival requires doing what you can to get through. Now I have other better ways of coping and so I have to remember that. What works best is being mindful. Mindful of which television shows I watch and that applies to other things as well, like podcasts. By choosing things versus just numbing out it helps to keep me present.
I still love to exercise. Moving my body helps to keep me sane. Just like when I was a kid, endorphins are great medicine. I can tell when I haven’t moved my body enough because my anxiety becomes really high. Exercise allows me to shut my brain off for a while and just be in my body. Not floating above like when I’m dissociating and not numbing out either. It is like my brain becomes still, which is not a state I can easily achieve. My body gets to release all of its pent up frustration and anxiety. Even as I write this I can see how I separate my mind from my body instead of seeing myself as a whole being. Fractured is the word that comes to mind. It probably would not surprise you to know that I view myself as broken. I have to fight that thought and feeling. Yes, I have C-PTSD and that makes me different from most people but it doesn’t make me broken. I have to work very hard to send my poor injured brain love instead of berating myself for not being “fixed” by now.
Creating art is probably the most pure thing in my world. I still use it as a coping mechanism but at the end I have this beautiful piece of expression to hold in my hands and enjoy. The act of using my hands to create soothes my anxiety and allows my mind something wonderful to focus on. If left to its own devices my brain just naturally wonders to a sad place, that is my set point. Sometimes it is depression and much of the time it is just a result of my lived experience. Creating helps me to breathe deep and lose myself in that flow state once again.
Music is still so dear to me. Some of my only happy memories involving church revolve around singing and music. My husband and I recently went to see The Avett Brothers in concert. Nothing beats being in the midst of a crowd singing along to your favorite song. I often come away from these shows with aches and pains from dancing and jumping around to the music but it is worth every bruise. Music is a double edged sword. It can heal or hurt depending on what I hear. Hearing hymns or the dreaded Thief in the Night song which shall not be named can trigger me in pretty profound ways. Songs get stuck in my head and it can be VERY hard to get them out, that being said nothing heals like music can. It can erase my anxiety and help my mind to shift when a trigger threatens to overwhelm me.
“One little song
Give me strength to the leave the sad and the wrong
Bury safely in the past where I’ve been living
Alive but unforgiving
Let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go”
Souls Like The Wheels- The Avett Brothers
It’s funny how I’m still that little girl I used to be. I still use the same coping mechanisms to survive. Someday I would like to see myself as thriving and not merely surviving but I’m not there yet. When people ask me how I made it through my childhood it can be hard to answer. Some of it was the methods I mentioned above, some was luck, and some was a toughness gifted to me through my parents. Yes, things were very hard but they could have been worse. Especially when you stop to consider how often I was left unsupervised. In many ways my life is a miracle. I’m here and I’m safe.
If you are a survivor I hope you can hear this next part very clearly. If you need to numb or dissociate to get through whatever you are going through do not beat yourself up. Are there better coping mechanisms? Sure, but sometimes you can’t reach them for a whole host of reasons and so doing the best you can today is ok. I am 51 and I have been working on healing myself for a long time. We are not all in the same place and so wherever you are I’m glad you’re here and I hope that tomorrow is a better day. When I speak about my own survival I am not judging you for where you are in your journey towards healing.
In a previous chapter I spoke about how there was an uncurrent of sexual tension within the church. Along with that there was an emphasis on money. I can remember many times hearing about how it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. I heard that message over the pulpit and in Sunday School class. It was a popular message so you might be inclined to believe that money was not important within the church but you would be wrong. Wealth was often on display and as a kid I knew that I was poor in comparison to others. I do not blame anyone for having more money than we did but I have to question how those with more treated those with less. Calvary Gospel did not teach prosperity gospel in the way that we think of it now but the seeds of that teaching could be seen. The message my mother and others received was that if you had your life right with God you would be blessed and if you did not have enough resources to survive you should look toward your relationship with God. This was a tough pill for me to swallow. I prayed all the time in order to fix our poverty problem. I repented constantly and asked God to bless my faith and nothing really changed much for us. Even during the good times we lived in conditions most people would not tolerate. I also observed my mother’s incredible work ethic. She worked hard until her body couldn’t do it anymore. Her jobs were physical and then she would come home and work to try to make our home more liveable. For many years she prayed and prayed and I have to wonder if she just gave up and maybe that is why she stopped attending church.
I know my mother felt like she never had clothing good enough for that church. Growing up she always told me to wear my best for church because in doing so I was showing God respect. Once we started attending Calvary Gospel there was the added pressure to wear clothing that fit within their holiness standards. When my mother started to get sick she started to gain weight. She was on a lot of steroids. This made finding the right clothing even harder. There were not many shops where she could find affordable items that fit and also were in line with holiness standards. This became even harder once she became pregnant with my brother. She would tell me that she felt dumpy and embarrassed when she went to services. As far as class goes our family was at the very bottom. My mother had married a Mexican, my father, and they looked down on her for that. Then she divorced so that was another strike. She worked a job that required her to wear pants and then just because she decided to cut her hair. The fact that we were poor and it showed only pushed us farther down the ladder. Before I was making a little money babysitting my clothing was really awful. My mother pretty much only bought me clothing second hand. During one of our toughest times financially I only had three acceptable outfits and I wore them in rotation. My pantyhose, a requirement, often had runs and I was constantly trying to fix them with clear nail polish and hairspray. I almost missed out on a field trip for the honor roll because my school shoes had a hole in them. These shoes had been leaking water in making my pantyhose wet for weeks but now the hole was so bad I could no longer hide it.
When I was a young adult I attended a Southern Baptist church. One of the things they did really well was giving to those in need. They had a fund set aside in case a member lost their job or fell on hard times in some other way. I was so surprised to see the way they gave to and supported one another. It was not at all like what I grew up with. My memory of Calvary Gospel is of a congregation devoid of compassion. Sure there were flickers now and then but as a whole if you were struggling you were on your own. They were surely not going to sell their possessions and take up their crosses.
Earlier I wrote about how those with money did not treat those without money very well. If you did not have money you might be perceived as not having your house in order and so people might not include you in social gatherings. You would probably only have friends who were of the same class as you. My mother sat in a section of the church where many socially disadvantaged families sat. As I’m writing this it has come to me how most of the poor families and people of color sat on one side and then those who had higher status tended to sit on the other side. Many of the unpopular would sit near the back and then many of the people of color sat towards the front but on the same side.
In order to be truly close to God you needed to have high hair, nice clothing, and drive a nice car. It helped if you were white and attractive. Giving large sums of money to the church was also important. Tithing was important but then there was giving to missionaries, building funds, and paying for your child to attend the church’s school. It seemed never ending, they were always asking for something. My parents just did not have the money to fit in. Even if everything else about us had been different it would not have mattered because of the money.
When I started making a little money from babysitting and my father was doing well enough to give me a little money I started to buy clothing. Having nice dresses was all that mattered to me. It made it so much easier for me to fit in and at least feel like I looked like everyone else. I could pretend for a little while that I was just like them and then I’d have to go home to my mother’s house and it did not take long before I was reminded of who I really was.
Yes that is me. My face covered in acne and my uncut hair frizzy all over the place. Not exactly the picture of temptation that the church tried to make me feel I was. It was hard to walk the harsh line set in place by the church when all you want to do is get away from all of the adults and explore the world around you. That desire is normal and part of adolescent development. It felt like the harder we tried to be “normal” teens the harder the church tried to bind us closer. Shame was a tactic often used along with the old standby, fear. Pretty much everything that a teen would enjoy doing was off limits to us. This was a very tough time for me. I felt the pull of the “world” and then I felt guilty for desiring what is perfectly normal. Most of the things my friends and I did were so harmless. One thing we enjoyed was going to the movies. Now this was a big no no and so we often felt edgy and like big sinners when we did it. We would have one girl look out for church people and another buy the tickets. All the moves we went to see were G or PG rated. Things like “Pretty in Pink” and Disney movies. At times I would feel so guilty and swear to myself that I would not go again. It really made me feel sinful, but then at the same time the call of teen culture was very hard to resist. It was made harder by the fact that my parents did not see going to the movies as wrong. So I had to be my own spiritual police. I have happy memories of going to these movies with my friends. We would get candy and popcorn and for a little while we could forget the world we lived in. The movie theater was in the mall and one time a woman from the church did see us going in. She kinda waggled her finger at us but she did not tell on us. Interestingly she was also the women who helped my mother pay our light bill that one time. She was always kind to me and I’d like to think that when she saw us her compassion kept her from telling the pastor.
I would often have sleep overs and sometimes I would go to sleep overs. This did not start happening until I was maybe 14 or 15. Some of the more liberal parents would have me over and these same parents would let their daughters sleep over at my house from time to time. It didn’t happen all the time but maybe if one of the girls had a birthday or something like that. My one friend Joann and I would cuddle up on her bed and listen to the radio. Usually to hear this one love song that we liked, “Almost Paradise”. It was 1984 and Footlose was the movie associated with the song. We watched Footlose in the theater and the story resonated with us. We could understand what those kids were going through, a town that outlawed dancing sounded an awful lot like our church. One particular weekend her parents let us go down to the local county fair and we walked around trying to look like everyone else in our skirts and uncut hair. We talked to boys our age, worldly boys, and for one night I felt kinda normal. These boys were not bad boys, they did not try to get us drunk or get us into bed, they just wanted to talk with girls their own age. Looking back I can’t help but comment on the difference between “worldly boys” and church boys/men. I can only speak from my experience, whenever I interacted with boys outside the church they were very sweet to me. They did not try to get into my skirts or lead me down a path away from the church. Usually they just wanted to talk on the phone or watch tv with me. Without exception, every boy I dated within the church tried to be sexual with me in some way. You might say that maybe they thought I was easy because they knew about SD and what happened when I was younger, but it wasn’t just boys from my own church. It also happened with boys I met at church camp and other youth activities. They all wanted one thing, physical intimacy. Some were sweet and innocent in their approach and others were downright grabby. I suspect that this is because of the churches attitude regarding sexuality. You are not supposed to think about it, talk about it, or act on any desires unless you are married. I am not advocating that teens be allowed to run out and have sex, but I do think that pretending that teens are not overrun with hormones and questions about sex is just ignorant. Creating an enviroment where just thinking about it and having questions is frowmed upon causes curiosity to bubble over. I’m about to make a rather blunt statement that could be viewed as controversial, but by now I think if you’re still reading you’re expecting my opinions to be this way. I think the church watched young teen (and in some cases pre-teen)girls being courted by adult men way too old to be trying to gain the attention of these teens. I believe many in leadership thought it better that these teens be courted by adult men than boys their own age outside the church. The boys outside the UPC were seen as bad influences but the adult men trying to sleep with teen girls were seen as safe choices. When I was a teen I had five or so dating options within my church. You are not supposed to date outside the UPC and long distance dating often did not last. If you did not like the boys in your immediate area you would just have to pray God would bring the right boy at the right age into your church. When I say 5 or so options that was including at least one boy who some would argue was too old for me. I was attracted to older guys, like in their 20s but luckily for me none of them bothered me too much. That being said it is normal for teen girls to get crushes on guys who are too old for them. These church guys are dressed nice, they smell better than teen boys, and they are just more mature. The trouble comes in when the adult men are paying too much attention to these girls. What teen girl within the church would want to date an akward teen boy vs a handsome man who is also manipulating her? You watch them in church, these men, and they are all putting on a godly show, and so you think you will be safe with them. Then when they get you alone it is another story. This is complicated by the fact that females are expected to guard everyone’s purity. It doesn’t matter if you’re 11 and he is 29. Even though these men are fully grown adults they are often seen as the victims.
I dated, if you can call walking around together at camp dating, a few boys. For the most part they were all preachers kids. All of them were pretty experienced sexually. They all wanted to find a dark corner to kiss and pet in. It almost seemed like they had something to prove. I don’t blame them, they were young like me and trying to figure out the world. They probably suffered being a preacher’s kid, I’m sure that road had to be a tough one. As strict as the church was regarding sexuality, as much as they tried to ignore it and pretend sex wasn’t happening, it was going on all around them. I’ve said this before, I think the UPC has a sex problem. I feel the more you try to ignore something the bigger it becomes. I think that had they just been willing to speak more openly about it that might have acted as a release valve.
I fell in love or what I thought was love. I was 16 and there was a part of me that thought I might marry this boy. What I witnessed within the church is people date and then they get married. We actually dated a couple of times, once when I was about 15 and we got back together when I was 16. We spent a lot of time together and talked on the phone every night. He was the one, I was sure. In the end he broke my heart. This might sound silly and trite but it was awful. I sat by him at school, we had assigned seats, and our world was so small I could not escape him. It did not help that he started dating my nemesis the next day. I want to be clear that we were teens and I’m not trying to drag either of these people for who they are now. When he broke up with me he said this, “I’m breaking up with you because I cannot keep my hands off of you.” I admit we did make out a lot. Up until this point he had never mentioned it being an issue, in fact he was the driver in that part of our relationship. I said yes to his advances because I thought that is was what I had to do to keep a boyfriend. We never had sex, I’m pretty sure I would have said no to that. I wanted to save myself for marriage, but heavy petting I would allow. I can’t say that I blame him now he was a boy trying to figure things out too. His mother, the dreaded church secretary, hated me and I’m sure she reminded him often that she did not approve of our relationship. At least a couple of times I heard her say things that were pretty unkind regarding me, I believe she wanted me to hear. My nemesis was the direct opposite from me. She was white, blondish brown hair, and her dad was an elder. They had money and now he is a minister within the church. She was a golden child. This doesn’t mean she did not do all of the things I did, it meant that people didn’t care. Only the lower classes get held to the strict standards. They can turn a blind eye if you are the right kind of person, much like my abuser SD.
When this relationship ended it broke something inside of me. Seeing him walking around with my oh so perfect nemesis was almost unbearable. It was a final “fuck you” from the church or that is how it felt. This was the start of a long time period of almost constant shut down or dissociation for me. The first thing I did was I found the baddest boy (actually he was a man within the church) I could and I started to date him. His name was Mike and he was a known problematic church member. He was in his early 20’s and I was 16. BTW, no one ever questioned our age difference and no one ever checked in with me or counselled me about it. Mike had been in and out of the church as long as I could remember. I had known him since I was a preteen. He has done time and I think he just recently got out of jail. He was a drug dealer and user and felt like the most dangerous choice on the menu. He would attend church and rededicate his life to God and then backslide. I ran into him on the backslide and we became an item. He started coming to church with me and I reveled in the looks of disapproval. It wasn’t his age that was the issue, it was his sinfulness. Members of his family were part of the “in” circle so that meant they cut him a little slack but I don’t think anyone trusted him or believed his godliness would stick. We would sit together in church and then he would take me back to his place. I would watch him and his friends play guitar and smoke weed. I felt bad like I had switched sides and now I was walking in darkness. He took my virginity and I did not care. It felt like something to be crossed off a list. They think I’m a slut so I will be a slut! It wasn’t about enjoying the sex, I didn’t, it was about giving up and giving into my destiny. I was destined to be rejected by God and hell was all that was awaiting me. I conflated the church’s rejection with God’s.
Mike learned one thing from the church and he learned it well, women are property. Even though he smoked weed and drank he would never let me partake. He said that he had to protect me. This might sound sweet to some people but trust me it was not. He was very critical of everything I did and more than a little jealous. It soon became clear to me that I was his Madonna figure. When he finally got his life straightened out he would marry me and be a good Christian man. He had to preserve me for that moment. Just like SD would rail at me when I was 11 Mike would rail at me about our sinful behavior. When he was backslidden he would want and expect sex but when he was trying to be a Christian he would tell me what an evil temptress I was. He would write me long letters about how bad I was and he would even break things off with me, then a week later he would be begging me to give him another chance. I showed my friends some of his letters and they started to tell me that they thought he was psycho. His letters would sometimes be 7 to 10 pages of handwritten text, double sided, on notebook paper. He was a musician and so he would often include song lyrics. “…American woman, get away from me, American woman, mama let me be. Don’t come knockin around my door, don’t want to see your face no more. Colored lights can hypnotize, sparkle someone else’s eyes…” “Been dazed and confused for so long it’s not true, wanted a woman never bargained for you. Lots of people talk and few of them know, the soul of a woman was created below…” Now I had not been exposed to these kinds of songs. Yes, I did enjoy popular music but it was the 80’s and when I snuck to listen to the radio it was Madonna not Led Zeppelin I was tuning into. I started to become afraid of him. Eventually it was me who ended things. He did not let go easily. In fact he stalked me at my job, and had to be removed by my boss at one point. His excuse was that I was his virgin. He deserved to own me because he took my virginity. I get where this idea came from. In our church if you were single and caught having sex you had to get married. That was the right thing to do. Once he had sex with me it was his duty and right to marry me…eventually. In the meantime I had to wait for him to figure his life out. He would show up at my house and question me about who I had been with and what we had been doing. Eventually he faded away.
Often Mike would not attend church with me and so I would go alone. I still went to everything but I became as silent as the grave. I no longer went out after church with my friends and I no longer sat with anyone. My close friends would look at me with worry, this was a constant after my big relationship ended. My friends, teenage girls, stopped talking to him and even left the room if he entered. At school none of them would sit with him and eventually I got in trouble for it. I was told to call off my dogs more or less. The thing is they did this all on their own, a little rebellion because of the unfairness of everything. My closest friends were girls of color and also poor. They knew the score. I never told them to do anything, I was too broken. I think they were afraid. I was always the strong one and I just checked out. I stopped socializing at school, I stopped eating, and I stopped sitting with them at church. It came as no surprise to me that I was blamed. Eventually our principal called all of us older kids into a room and demanded that everyone be nice to him. We were a family and it was not ok to be angry at him for his choices, he was after all one of the chosen kids.
As you might expect, none of the adults around me, not even my youth pastor asked me if I was ok. I went from sitting in the 3rd row to sitting in the back by the door. I stopped opening my Bible during church and I stopped singing. I was defeated. I was tired and very depressed. I was going through the motions after years of struggle. I dissociated much of the time I was at church and I had become a shell of my former self. I know I have shared with you things that some might see as sinful, I see them as normal teen struggles. During the time I was a teen I also worked hard to serve within the church. I tried hard to be a good kid and I wanted God’s love and mercy, I just never felt like I could attain it. I would go to camp and be so uplifted and then I would come home to my own church and the feelings of depression and defeat would return. I kept pushing on despite my pain until I had to leave out of self preservation. That is a story for another day.
A while back a fellow survivor said something to me that I cannot stop thinking about. She described the church we grew up in as having a caste system. A caste system is a cultural structure where your class is determined by birth. So if you’re born a certain race or in a certain social economic class you cannot escape it. I believe this is true for people within Calvary Gospel. I think I was keenly aware of it during my childhood. No matter what I did right I would never rise above the poverty and race of my family. Plus I had this sin stain on me like a scarlet letter. They would really never let you forget who you were in their eyes. Small daily occurrences would remind you of your place. If you were born into the right family you could get away with almost anything. If you were not then the hot spotlight of shame and humiliation would be shone on you. I was never spanked at school but many others were. The “right” kids never got spanked, but if you were a poor child or a child of color your chances of being whacked went up considerably. One little girl comes to mind. She was a beautiful child and very high strung. She was not a child of color but came from an economically disadvantaged family with an unpopular mother. She was spanked a lot. She was not the kind of child you would expect to sit in a tiny office all day staring at the wall but that did not matter. She was bright and full of energy! I got the feeling that most of the adults working within the church and school did not like her and I always felt sadness for her. I babysat for her and her siblings and never really had any issues. I think she just needed to burn off steam, she may have been hyperactive, for sure she was not getting what she needed from the school. Hers is a common story. The perceived sins of the parents rolled down unto the children and for those of us at the bottom of the food chain things could feel pretty cold at times. At least I was old enough to understand in some ways why things were happening to me but I feel for the little ones who had no clue.
Sometimes I felt like a workhorse. I was a smart kid and driven by ambition. We never associated with other schools even within the UPC. There were no plays to try out for or academic meets to compete in. If you were into sports you were out of luck because the church wasn’t big on sports. Don’t cheer for a team, cheer for Jesus! We did not have band or music lessons outside of singing in the youth choir. Then came Bible Quizzing. I do not remember how quizzing was introduced to our congregation but I joined up right away. I was the captain of our Senior Bible quiz team the entire time I was on the team. The UPC had two levels of quizzing back then, junior and senior. Elementary kids would be on the junior team and then the older kids would compete on the senior level. I never quizzed as a junior because we did not have teams when I was at that age. The UPC is pretty picky about what translation of the Bible you can use. The church of my childhood only read and studied from the King James Version. To this day any other version just doesn’t sound like the Bible to me. Before we ever had a quiz team I knew that I was special because I could read the King James version better than other kids my age. I had been reading above grade level since I started to read. I won big parts in the Christmas programs because I could read the text better. In some ways this raised my status. Normally being brown and poor would have kept me out of the spotlight. At times I would be disappointed because I wanted to be a shepherd or angel, but instead I had to stand at the podium and read. One year for Easter I was allowed to play the part of a Pharisee. I got some laughs from the congregation and it was really fun. When we started quiz teams I quickly rose to the top because of my strong reading and the fact that I could memorize scripture very easily. I worked hard at whatever I did. That hard work and dedication made me the best candidate for captain.
I have many happy memories of quizzing. I won trophy after trophy and that really built up my confidence. I felt needed and enjoyed the experience of being part of a team, that was the good part. There was a dark side, because of course there was. My coach Perry drove me very hard. He put expectations on me that he did not come close to putting on the other kids. I feel he liked all of the attention we were receiving from the church leadership as we traveled around the state racking up wins. Soon winning became everything and the pressure on me as captain of the team was very high. I feel Perry knew that I was pretty much a free range child and no one was going to complain if I was driven to exhaustion. He was completely without empathy or compassion. As time went on I became more aware of his attitude towards me and it was heartbreaking. In the beginning I felt very accepted by him and his wife Connie. We traveled the state together and it felt good to get praise and a sense of belonging from adults. By the time it was over I felt like a tool that had outlived its usefulness.
I was really struggling with algebra during this time. I went to Perry and told him I needed help. I could not manage all of the verses he wanted me to memorize and get through the math homework I was saddled with. I would cry alone in my room trying to get the story problems right knowing that I had hours of memorization to complete. Not to mention all of the scripture memorization that had to happen for my school work. Something had to give and school always came first. At this point he was having me memorize all of my chapters and when that was complete circle around and memorize everyone else’s material. He told me as captain I had to be able to answer every question that might come up, I mean what if someone gets sick? He did not have much confidence in my teammates and so the pressure all fell on me. Each team had three main players at the table and could have two substitutes waiting behind them. One season we memorized Paul’s epistles and each of us had an “equal” number of chapters to memorize. At one time I had most of them committed to memory. You were required to answer the questions verbatim and any wrong word would mean not getting points. It amazes me to think of it now! What if I had been encouraged to use that power to learn and memorize more useful things? What could I have done?
I was a little afraid to talk to Perry about my problems but I made myself do it. At this point I was 15 and I was trying to handle things in an adult manner. I figured I just need to have an adult heart to heart with him. He would see how much I had thought about it and how troubled I was and surely help me out. I told him I needed a lighter load because I really needed to focus on my school issues. As you might expect I did not get any help or permission to rest from him. Scowling at me he reminded me of how important my role was and told me I just needed to dig deep and work harder. At first I did not push back and walking away my load felt even heavier than when I first sat down with him.
As time marched on, the stress of a number of things started to add up. Perry was not a very nice guy and over time this became very apparent. He was controlling and could really behave like a brute. He was ex-military and it showed. He treated his wife like a servant and would berate her in front of us. She was a gentle soul, the perfect submissive wife. By this time there was a tiny flame of anger always burning within me. I would watch how he behaved and it made me want to lose the quiz meets. I did not want to win for him. Two things happened that I believed pushed me to the edge. One was I got sick. I mean really sick the night before an out of town quiz meet. I was running a high fever and I had a very painful sore throat. It came out of nowhere. My mother had bundled me up in front of the t.v. and told me there was no way I could compete the next day. I cried, sobbed, all of the pressure running out of me. I was falling apart and this meant she had to act. She called Perry and told him I was really sick and couldn’t compete. He asked to speak to me. I’m sure just to verify that I sounded sick. He told me he would have the whole church pray and he was sure I would be fine the next day. At that moment I didn’t care. My head was so hot and my whole body ached. I was healed! Well kinda, the next day my fever broke and my sore throat was much better. I was still running a low grade fever and coughing, my body hurt everywhere and I was exhausted but my recovery was good enough to call it a miracle for the team. I won that day and it was all due to the power of prayer. Perry saw it as another sign that my being on the team was God’s will.
Next came my worst day as the team captain. We went to Sturtevant Wisconsin for an important competition and I almost refused to show up to play. I was getting towards the end of my ability to be around him. He had yelled at his wife the night before for something that was clearly his fault. I was so embarrassed for her and I told him he was being a jerk. This kind of behavior was unheard of for a young woman of my age, and he yelled at me and told me I was being rebellious. That was a serious accusation in my church. Witches were rebellious and we all know what the Bible says about witches.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” Exodus 22:18
I ran up to the room I was staying in and sobbed with hot anger. I turned on my little radio to the most sinful music I could find, Rock You Like A Hurricane by Scorpions. I could not play it loudly so I had to press my ear to the speaker. I had so much pent up rage. Being angry was just not done by women and I had been storing mine for a long long time. A couple of my teammates came in and talked me down. They convinced me to play the next day. They all witnessed how Perry behaved and they agreed with me even if they did not have the courage to speak up. We all sat there in silence. The room filled with tension and a sense of hopelessness. I went to the meet the next day but my heart wasn’t in it. I was a zombie. I recognize this feeling even now. I get very still and expressionless. It’s like I just shut down. I did not answer many questions that day and many adults asked me if I was ok. It was obvious I was not, Perry was livid, and I just wanted to run away. Little did I know that was one of my last games. Soon after I quit. Perry was not ok with my choice but had little power to stop me. After that he turned most of his focus to the junior team and I started to fade away. I’m proud of my young self for setting boundaries. This brave action set my feet on the path of leaving.
The exhibition game. When our team first started to compete it became apparent that I was a force to be reckoned with. There was only one person in the state who could beat me and another who was always at my heels. Perry got this idea in his head that it would be good for us to have an exhibition game with some of the ministers from our congregation. At first this idea excited me because I thought it would be a chance for me to compete with people who should know all of this material better than me, a real competition! Sadly it did not turn out that way. They did not require the ministers to follow the rules of how the game was played and they basically rigged it for them to win. I was so angry and I’m sure it showed. I have little ability to hide my true feelings. My face always reveals what is happening inside. It also became clear to me that they did not know the Bible as well as I did. Perry thought that I enjoyed showing them up a little too much and told me to remain humble. At the time it was just another way the church reminded me of my place. Now I know that we really won but they could not allow a female-led teen quiz team to beat the anointed of God. This is just another way they stole my joy and made me feel that any pride that I might have was wrong.
In the end, I was encouraged to win but to not ask questions. I digested the scripture and tried to understand it. I would ask questions and often the answer would be that I could ask Jesus in heaven. My questions only generated more questions in my mind. Scripture just didn’t add up and all of my questioning made me a troublemaker. They couldn’t or were unwilling to see that I wanted to know God, they saw it as questioning God. As I got older I developed the opinion that I knew more about the Bible than many of our ministers did. This did not help me to respect them. They did not see my intellect as a blessing but instead looked down on me because of it. This made me feel really bad about myself. It made me question why God had created me this way. On the other hand, it feels good to know that you are smart and so I was always conflicted.
I see Bible Quizzing as just another way the church sucked all of the joy out of my life. I found this thing that I was really good at and it made me proud of myself. For a moment I felt some self worth. When we would travel the quiz masters would always have kind words for me and they would encourage me to keep going. Because of Perry’s pride and selfishness I was driven too hard and I eventually quit. I lost out on the joy of what I loved to do because Perry could not accept anything less than 110%. By the way, he only demanded that from me. I think the other kids had parents who would have put a stop to that intensity but he knew mine would be hands off. Once I left Perry stopped talking to me. When my usefulness was spent I was invisible to him.
I attended an Accelerated Christian Education school or A.C.E. If I could change one thing about my childhood after taking SD out of the picture I would change my educational experience. It would have been better to stay at my public middle school and get beaten up every day rather than spend one day at Calvary Christian Academy. Going to school there has impacted my life in nothing but negative ways. A.C.E. was big on being in the world but not of the world and so they tended towards isolationism. We never socialized with people who were not in the UPC church, so I believe it made sense to them that they should have their own school to further ensure isolation. I was really excited to start school there. My mother’s friend Juanita went to work making my uniforms which was a relief because we did not have much money for school clothing. This was supposed to make things easier. In one way wearing a uniform made it less obvious that we did not have money, in another way it created an additional stressor each fall. We had to find someone to make me a uniform and over time more and more that responsibility fell on me. I hated those uniforms. They were ugly polyester and uncomfortable. The worst part is they made us stick out like a sore thumb. I’m sure we looked like a crazy cult whenever we went out in public for a field trip. They were supposed to equalize the students. Wearing the uniform was supposed to take away competition over clothing and put the focus onto learning. It did not really work that way. Kids know which families have money and which ones do not, a uniform is not going to change that.
I entered Calvary Christian Academy with so much hope and soon discovered that I was wrong. It was nothing like I was expecting. While in public school I excelled at pretty much everything and always received good grades. Teachers liked me and told my mother that I was very bright. I never had any behavioral issues and I enjoyed learning. When I left Calvary Christian Academy my spirit was crushed and I believed I was incapable and unintelligent. As a side note, these schools have a pretty bad track record for traumatizing kids. There are support groups and FB pages where you can go to get support if you attended one of these awful schools. I cannot overstate how bad this educational choice was for my mental health. Whatever was started when I went through my salvation experience combined with being molested by SD was finished by the school. It was a completely joyless experience.
If I had to use one word to describe my time at Calvary Christian Academy it would be loneliness. We were required to spend most of our day sitting in a tiny office with slats on either side. We had very little human contact, it was a bit like solitary confinement. My mind would drift to just about anything to take me away from my lonely situation. Oftentimes this meant my mind went to SD, my parents, and other problems. Alone I would contemplate my life and in these lonely hours, my depression became like a roaring lion, loud and hard to escape. Maybe had I been in public school someone might have caught my depression and offered a helping hand. This kind of thing did not happen at the church school. Within the church school there was only right and wrong, black and white. If a student was struggling they never asked why. You either completed your work or you did not. Punishment or avoiding punishment was the name of the game. In the early days I was so thin and rarely ate much at lunch. I would go sit in the church parking lot and wait for the others to come out for recess. No one ever asked why I didn’t eat or if we had enough food for lunch. Our emotional wellbeing never mattered, what mattered was were we following the rules and were we completing our goals for the day. I would argue that even our physical wellbeing wasn’t much of a concern. I would go to gym class and we often held that class outside. We would go to a neighborhood park. They would stick me somewhere in the outfield amongst the dandelions and grass. My eyes would be watering and I would be sneezing and no one really cared. I would wheeze when I ran and I think they just thought I wasn’t athletic. What was actually going on was that I had bad allergies and playing in a field was just not a good idea for me. The allergies led to asthma and that caused my shortness of breath. I know I keep beating this drum but I feel it is necessary. I cannot overstate how I felt like no one at school or church, speaking of the adults in charge, ever cared about my emotional, mental, or physical wellbeing. Instead they judged me and others and kept score of our shortcomings. I was at church more than I was at home, in some ways the church raised me, and yet to this day they refuse to take any responsibility for the ways in which they harmed and neglected myself and many others.
I am a kinesthetic learner. Reading all day to learn and never having any experiences or debates/discussions did not work well for me. I was bored stiff and now getting a double dose of indoctrination. Originally I thought this school was going to be perfect for me because I was always ahead in school and bored with the slow pace of things. Accelerated Christian Education is set up so that each student can work at their own speed. All this did for me is provide me with the opportunity to be way ahead in some subjects and terribly behind in others. I did pretty well across the board until I hit Algebra or the dreaded math pace 97. Algebra was pure misery for me. It caused me so much stress and the lack of empathy and real help from the staff lead me to feel stupid and incapable. We had no real teachers, you were expected to figure it out from reading a booklet (PACE) you were given and then work through the problems. Our monitors and supervisors, who passed for teaching staff, were not licensed educators. One of them had a nursing degree, one was the church secretary, many of them were youth leaders, young ministers, and their wives. It seems to me that working in the school was some kind of hazing for young ministers. Put your time in here and then you can do other stuff. Be a youth pastor and if you do a good job there we will give you other responsibilities. They may have passed algebra at some point but that was a long time ago and it did not mean they knew how to teach it. None of it made sense to me. I would call a monitor (adult staff who were supposed to help you) over to my office for help and nine times out of ten they had no idea what to do for me. They would suggest I ask my supervisor who at the time was also my principal, youth leader, and at times Sunday school teacher for help. John Seidl had so much power and influence over my life and empathy and compassion were not his forte. I would wait, sometimes for hours, for him to come over and help me. He would get frustrated that I could not figure things out and I would end up in tears erasing holes into my PACES. My experience was that the adults would get frustrated because they did not know how to teach and that would all roll down onto the students. I hold John Seidl very responsible for all of this. He was the principal for most of the time I was attending. He never once offered to give me any extra tutoring and he never tried to find any other way of helping me learn outside of just telling me to read the PACE. I spent so many nights crying over algebraic story problems. My mother would look on with sympathy but she had no idea how to help me. My mother had been a truly awful student. She got Ds all through school and I think it shocked her to see me struggling. School had always been so easy for me. She did not know what to do or where to go for help. We’d seen a warning this might be coming in the 5th grade when I really struggled with fractions. Luckily my babysitter was able to help me and then everything was fine. I just needed a little extra to get me through.
To pass a class you had to complete 12 PACES (these were little booklets with a test at the end) and take the final test. If you did not pass the final test you had to take the whole unit over, all 12 PACES. You must get 80% to pass. I would often clock in at 76% and be told to start over. I even once had a 78%. It should take you a year to complete algebra and I just kept working through the same PACES and taking the test over and over again. Soon it started to affect my science education. You could not pass through science without algebra so my science education just stopped at physical science. I would be sent home with whatever I could not finish in school, this did not help, no one in my home knew how to work these problems. I would return the next day with unfinished work and then be given demerits. These demerits meant you did something wrong. I would have to stay in my office while everyone else went out for recess. I would be punished for weeks at a time for not understanding what they could not teach. Some of this is my mother’s fault. She should have intervened and found me help or maybe decided this school wasn’t for me. Instead, she left me hanging. The school staff knew I was trying and only one of them ever took compassion on me. One day Kitty, the elementary school supervisor, came to my office, one time, and told me to just go out with the other kids. She also helped me with algebra. She wasn’t a great teacher but she showed me some empathy and for that I am grateful. Those long stretches without even recess to look forward to are really depressing to think about even now. Plus now I was struggling and falling behind in two subjects. On a brighter note, I went back to public school for my last year of high school. I took algebra and passed with a B+. My algebra teacher told me I just needed to be shown a different way to look at it. He was a good teacher and helped to restore some of my confidence. I feel like if I had been attending public school and struggling like this safety nets would have kicked in. My mother would have been pulled into the conversation more. I would have had tutors available and maybe a teacher who would meet with me during off-hours. None of that happened, they just let me twist in the wind.
Because I believed that my supervisor was frustrated with me and because they punished me instead of helping me I felt even more like an outsider. I had no refuge except for maybe the library. Home was awful and school was awful. Because the school was in the church basement and because I would soon be a Bible quizzer I was spending 7 days a week at the church. I was at church as much if not more than I was at home. God and the church had completely swallowed my life. Instead of bringing me joy unspeakable and full of glory all I experienced was being driven to death by my commitments and judgement.
Every part of the school day was highly regimented. There was no time for asking questions or free thinking. The Bible was our main literature book. Why do you need anything else when you have the Bible? We never read any of the classics or really anything except for the dreaded allegory Pilgrim’s Progress. One of my great joys was discovering books, especially classics. This leads us to one of the most subversive things I ever did, I went to the library. We lived just a couple of blocks from our local library and I loved to visit there. I consider myself lucky to have developed an early love for reading and an understanding of how libraries worked thanks to my early public school education. At that time you were not supposed to read things unless the church approved or it was written by a UPC author. Adults could read things by Christian authors who were not UPC if the topics were marriage and raising children. The adults knew how to discern when doctrinal lines were crossed in a way children and adolescents did not. Because my mother was not strict about standards and because no one was ever watching me I would often escape to the library. My heart would leap just approaching the building. Looking through the windows and seeing all of the books was my signal that I could breathe easy. Within these walls were adults who would help you find great reads and not judge you or give you the stink eye for asking. My neighborhood library had a great kids section and young adult area. Later I would bring my own kids there for story time. Once inside, after carefully checking the parking lot to make sure no one would see me, I would make a beeline for the teen area. I always read way above grade level and so even at 11 or 12 I would seek out books meant for a much older audience. Once I found a book I liked I would quickly find my favorite blue cushion to recline on. I always sought out a corner where I could shrink into my cushion and hide from the world. I did not bring the books home so sometimes I would be disappointed when the book I had been reading was checked out. Once I was sunk down into my soft spot I would bring the book to my nose and breathe in the smell. I loved the smell of books, I still do even if it drives my allergies crazy. My happiness could never be complete or free of worry. I worried someone from church would come in or see me coming in or leaving. Now I see how silly that is, they would never be in a library. I think I was always scared. I read lots of Judy Blume who I loved in late elementary school. This led to other things, even romances. I felt guilty but the pull of fresh reading material was too much to resist. I would tell myself later how dumb I had been to risk my salvation for a stupid book, I would promise to resist and make God happy, but I never kept that promise.
I have to stop for a minute here and praise librarians! They were friendly adults in a world where that was hard to come by. They recognized me when I came in and were always ready with fresh suggestions. They made me feel welcome and normal.
I hated Pilgrim’s Progress. It was boring but my hatred of it seemed deeper than just boredom. To this day I do not know why I hated it so much. I asked my principal if I could instead read C.S Lewis. I loved the Chronicles of Narnia and had read them in the 4th grade. That opened a whole unexpected can of worms! “C.S Lewis is not saved? He is not UPC and we do not agree with his theology.” I argued, “It’s an allegory and that is what I’m supposed to be learning about. Isn’t Aslan a picture of Jesus? Isn’t it very clear that Jadis is the bad guy?” But I could not budge him. That was the day that I learned my most beloved books were sinful. They had talking animals and witches in them. How had I not seen it? I thought since I saw them at Zondervan’s (the Christian book store) they would be ok. This was a crisis for me. I loved those books dearly, like an old treasured friend. I never got rid of them, in fact they are in my basement right now. They are super dogeared and well loved. I read them over and over in bed at night for probably three years. Mr. Tumnus was as real to me as anything I ever learned in the Bible. But even the joy of my favorite books was in part ruined by the guilt of knowing I was doing something sinful and rebellious. By the way, Pilgrim’s Progress was not written by someone within the UPC either, but it was a part of the approved curriculum. It seemed like the adults in my life were on a mission to rob me of any little thing that might bring me some comfort.
Zondervan’s Christian book store was another way I sinned or played too close to the danger zone. We had one in our local mall and every so often I would wander in there and look at their books with one eye on the door. I knew people from church bought music there but the books were a no-no. Too much strange theology, too many opposing viewpoints. You might learn about grace or God’s love. The United Pentecostal Church International claims that their mission is “The Whole Gospel To The Whole World.” I do not feel I received the whole gospel, especially not the parts about grace, compassion, and caring for others.
One day when I was at the library and just wandering around and I discovered something wonderful, magazines! My fingers glided through the glossy pages and my eyes drank in all of the brightly colored ads. The librarian saw me and came over to tell me about the teen magazines. She knew me well and would often offer her suggestions. What? You have teen magazines? I knew about these magazines because I would see them at the grocery store but I had never purchased one. This was a whole new world. Even in my extreme joy at my discovery there was a strange knot in my belly. This was wrong. These girls were made up like harlots and the topics within the magazines were sinful. The funny thing is that back in the early 80’s the girls in the teen magazines looked much younger and more innocent than young women in similar magazines today. It was all about fashion, music, boys, and makeup. These publications were like drugs to me, I couldn’t get enough. My mother even started buying them for me from time to time when we had the money. She saw them as harmless but I knew that they were bad news and I should feel bad for having them. I liked fashion and dreamt about makeup, I even liked the heart throbs on the covers but in the innocent way young girls like boys. This is where I learned the tip about clear nail polish. After getting into trouble because of the nail polish these magazines felt even more dangerous. At this point I started to feel like two people. The angel and the devil. I loved God and tried so hard to be good, to act right, to remember to repent everyday and to be of service. The devil side of me wanted all of this contraband, this was my flesh, the part of me that was impossibly sinful. I wondered if all of this was because of SD? Had my sinning with him opened some sort of Pandora’s box of evil within me? Would I ever be right? At this point I could not imagine a life not soaked in fear, guilt, and looking over my shoulder.
Fashion and the letter of the law but not the spirit. There were always certain adults who seemed to disapprove of me and give me the side eye. This is not uncommon in a church that is so legalistic where folks thrive on judging others. They compare themselves to others in order to gauge how close to God they are. I was always careful to follow the church’s holiness standards when it came to how I dressed but I was too young to really understand them. I wore skirts or dresses all the time. I did not public swim because wearing a swimsuit was a no no. My dresses always came to the bottom of my knees or lower and my sleeves were always three quarter length or longer. In gym class the girls had to wear pleated culottes so that is what I wore. Still even with keeping these standards I felt like it wasn’t good enough but I did not understand why. My mother was no help really. Her main concern was whether or not I was wearing a dress to church. She had always required that even before we joined the UPC. She always said you have to wear your best, whatever your best is.
I became an amazing bargain hunter and that super power still serves me today! I started to babysit and so I could make a little money here and there. One day I found the most beautiful fuschia shoes I had ever seen. They were on clearance and in my size! I tried them on in the store and I never felt more fancy than I did at that moment. I was about 12 or 13 at the time. These shoes were ridiculous and if any of my daughters had tried to wear shoes like that at that age I would have said no, wait till you’re about 21. They had a four inch heel and they were a shockingly bright color. They had a fake snake skin pattern on them. I would never attempt to walk in shoes like that now, but to my 13 year old self those shoes were the height of fashion. I wore them to church in the middle of winter. They were a strappy sandal and not good on the ice and certainly could not keep my feet warm. So here I am at church wobbling around on these stupidly high heels feeling like a million bucks! That is when people started staring and even asking questions. Some of the adults laughed when they were asking me about them the way you might laugh at a child who is being silly, but I did not understand at the time and I thought they were making fun of me. It hurt and it took all of the air out of my happy find. “Does your mother know you have those shoes?”, “Where did you find those?”, “Don’t you think those shoes are a little too high for you?” One of the girls close to my age later told me her mother said they looked like hooker shoes. As adult after adult questioned me and smirked I started to feel shame. I’m not even sure if I ever wore them again. What I know now is that shoes like that would have been considered too immodest. They would be seen as trying to draw attention to my legs and therefore cause a man to fall into sin. But at that age my mind did not automatically go to those places. If my legs were mostly covered what difference did it make? The part of this story that makes me laugh is when I went home. An adult couple gave me a ride home and I must’ve fallen four times between their car and my front door. At first I did not find it funny but after the fourth fall I had to join in with their laughter. I must have looked like a baby deer trying to walk up that sidewalk. I was wobbly in those shoes even on carpet so glare ice was near impossible to walk on. I think I left my boots at home because I wanted everyone to see my pretty shoes. I paid for it in bruises to my ego and legs.
In the 80’s textured tights were a big thing. I was very fond of these tights that had tiny hearts on them and I had them in many varieties. Red tights with white hearts, white tights with pink hearts, and more. Soon after that came tights with a seam up the back, tights with flowers snaking up the ankle and tights with polka dots. To me they were so pretty and fashionable but to the adults around me they looked too old for me to wear and drew way too much attention. The thing is this was the early 80’s and it was what young teens were wearing. I did not get it. To me they were pretty and feminine. My young mind could not understand the connection between my polka dotted tights and men’s lust. To me it was about fashion, my tights with the hearts on them matched my purse with tiny hearts on it. It was about looking my best. My mother never complained and so I assumed it was ok. When I think back to that time I was the only teen dressed like that and I am sure it is part of the reason why so many adults gave me the side eye and did not want their kids to have anything to do with me. Especially the boys. This is just an example of how an adult could have come alongside me and explained how it looked to many people. Instead of gossiping and judging they could have simply talked to me.
My happiness was found in a $72.00 Jessica McClintock Gunne Sax dress. Every Easter my parents would buy me a new Easter dress. Many times my dad would come through for me. He hated being around for the hard stuff but liked to show up and be the hero from time to time. He took me to the mall and we started combing through the racks. My heart leaped when I found my dream dress hanging there. It was a Jessica McClintock and it was on clearance! Even on clearance it was $72.00 and I knew it was nothing more than a dream. These dresses were very easy to spot at this time. They looked vintage and were outside the stream of pop culture fashion. They reminded me of the dresses I would draw for hours as a child. In grade school I became obsessed with the Gibson Girl style of dress and drew those dresses over and over complete with parasols and fancy boots. My father looked at the price and said sure I could have the dress! I stood there frozen in my disbelief, then I grabbed the dress before he could change his mind. It was a tiny bit big on me but who cared? It was perfect and I felt like the richest girl in town for a moment. When I brought the dress home my mother was livid. She was so angry that my father had spent that much money on my dress. I was confused but knew enough to just go to my room. Who could understand my parents’ issues with each other? He bought me a dress and now you don’t have to, was how I saw it. My mother had every right to be upset. He never paid child support and couldn’t be bothered when I was hungry. She saw through him and knew all he wanted was to look good to me. Easter morning was the next day and I put my dress on with some pretty tights with flowers on the ankle. I was a walking flower that morning. When you are poor, and you have body issues, it is a big deal to feel so pretty if even only for one day. This dress was magickal! It had a lace collar that went all the way to my neck and it fell almost to my ankles. The body of the dress was a very pale almost white lavender and it had light green vines with tiny flowers all over it. Covering my chest was a light lace bib, this thing was like something out of a Disney movie. The sleeves came all the way to my wrists and were kind of gausy and ever so slightly see through. A slim panel of lace went down both arms. I was covered and I mean covered from head to toe.
I glided into church that morning feeling like a queen. The church secretary thought it was very important to point out to me that you could see through my sleeves. I have olive tone skin and you could ever so slightly see through my sleeves but you had to be really looking. I went to my seat and started to feel self conscious. Could you see through my sleeves? Did I miscalculate? Was this dress sinful? Once again one of the church harpies had ruined my happiness, but not for long. My friends LOVED the dress and it became a big deal for many years. When we would go to camp we would often trade dresses for the evening service, this dress was always the top request and in heavy rotation. Somehow it never got ripped or too dirty. It was magical. I recognized as I got older that it was edgy because of the sleeves but I wore it anyway. Now those Jessica McClintock Gunne Sax dresses are considered vintage and still go for a ton of money. My early teenage dream was to someday glide down the aisle in a Gunne Sax wedding dress. My first wedding dress looked alot like what Lady Diana wore on her wedding day, not a Gunne Sax but still hyper feminine.
I’ve written all of this to explain not only how the church stole my joy at every turn but to also illustrate how I did not understand the standards. I was following the letter of the law but not the spirit. I think I thought I was following the spirit of the law but my young mind just could not anticipate what would be an issue. My mother did not follow their standards and thought I looked fine. The ladies at church would make snide remarks but no one ever thought to sit me down and explain things. It was more fun to talk about my mother behind her back. About her poor parenting and not following the holiness standards herself than to take pity on a kid who just needed someone to explain things. My friends would tell me how their parents did not approve of my clothing and that hurt. I did not understand. My 13 year old mind would not have expected that a man might get turned on by the sight of my arm or a calf with tiny hearts on it. My world and self esteem could have been so much better had someone just been compassionate and talked to me about the standards, not from a judging place but from a loving place. I was proud of every pretty thing I owned because I bought most of it. I hunted for sales and collected bits of, what I thought were acceptable fashion, and kept them as treasure. But even that pride at having found these beautiful items was sinful.
“Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Proverbs 16:18
Looking back I have to ask myself, “What is wrong with these men?” First of all, why would they be looking at pre-teen and teenage girls to start with? If they are lusting after children isn’t that their problem? Why does the church ask young girls to protect men from lusting? It seems to me that they may have understood that they had problematic men within the congregation and so instead of removing the men they laid a heavy burden on the girls. Better to keep sleepy men around who pay tithes than to take action to protect children.
Enjoying makeup made me feel like such a sinner. As much as I wanted to wear makeup I did a better job at resisting it then I did with music. I occasionally wore a little blush to school. This didn’t happen until I was about 14 years old. No one ever said a word and I think I know why. My face is naturally red. I tend to look rosy much of the time so the tiny bit of blush I was applying did not show up at all. I wore the blush to fit in. Some of my friends at the time, girls in the church, were experimenting with makeup. It was a huge act of rebellion to wear cover-up if you had acne or a lip gloss you might try to convince adults it was only Chapstick. Most of the time I did not wear the blush but carried it in my purse so the other girls would think I was cool. Now what I did wear pretty much all the time was Lip Smacker. I loved and still love the cherry-scented option I rarely put it on anymore but I always have some in case Lip Smacker fever hits me. I also wore the Dr.Pepper and Bubblegum scents. Lips were a big deal back then. I can remember so many sermons, Sunday school lessons, and discussions at school were about shiny lips. We as young girls were responsible not to lead men into sin dreaming about our shiny lips. Chapstick was ok as long as you did not put on too much, Carmex was an issue because it made your lips too oily looking. No one ever questioned my Lip Smacker tube probably because back then it looked just like Chapstick, but I knew in my heart that I was breaking the rules. 50% of the time I felt terrible and worried if my Lip Smacker addiction was leading me straight into Satan’s clutches and the other 50% of the time I felt like a rebel and I liked that feeling a lot. I did have one major misstep with regards to makeup, clear nail polish. Let that sink in, clear nail polish caused me more trouble than the blush or Lip Smacker. The sad thing about the clear nail polish is I wasn’t doing it to be rebellious. My nails have always been a source of frustration for me. They break and tear no matter how much time I put into caring for them and focusing on good nutrition. I tried to use clear nail polish to protect them and make them stronger because I had read about it in a teen magazine. The teen magazine was a sin too but I will discuss that more later. My reasoning was that it was not a color and so it would not tempt anyone into sinning. I was not doing it to draw attention to myself except that maybe I did not want my nails to look scraggly all the time. Little did I know that it would be such a huge issue.
Every year we had a church picnic. I attended more because it was expected and it got me out of the house than I liked being there. By this point, 14 or 15 years old I knew I did not fit in with these people but I did not know how to get out. I was having an ok day until Darlene Grant, the pastor’s wife, called me over. I immediately felt that awful feeling in the middle of my chest, I now know that feeling to be panic. She never talked to me unless it was something bad or had to do with the youth choir. I always saw her as standoffish and aloof, I was not one of the chosen children so she didn’t bother herself with me. On this day she had a message to deliver, her message was, “Either take off the clear nail polish or don’t come back to school in the fall.” Well, that went from zero to one hundred really fast! There was no discussion leading up to that moment, just a statement. I tried to explain myself and she told me that shiny nails were unacceptable. If I wanted stronger nails I should soak my nails in raw eggs. Part of the reason I had to remove the polish is because nail polish was not allowed no matter what kind it was, also it might lead to other things like pink nails. The most important reason to not have shiny nails is it might draw attention to your hands and cause your brother to stumble. I’m sure it was also seen as a mark of being proud and not shamefaced.
1 Timothy 2:9 “In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array.”
Now I have to wonder how she even knew I had clear nail polish on? You would have had to be really studying my hands and she never gave me the time of day. If I had to guess I would say that someone tattled to her. The message I received was that everything I did or did not do might cause a man to fall into sin right down to an extra shiny fingernail. What if I buffed my nails to make them shine would that be a sin as well, better to not do it just in case. Darlene Grant did not care that my fingernails were breaking off to the point of bleeding, she only cared that I stay in line and control my evil impulses. After all, I had led one man into sin already, everyone knew about that. She never said those words to me but that was the message I received. I know now that a childhood filled with hunger and bad nutrition is probably why my nails have never been in great shape, but whether or not I had food was not their concern. Controlling my overdeveloped and sinful body was their number one concern. Darlene Grant never said a kind word to me. She never asked how I was doing or offered comfort even though she was aware of how hard my home life was. She only ever approached me to deliver bad news, to reprimand, and to question me about another child. I never saw the love of God or grace coming from her. She was not friendly or kind to my mother. She could have offered me a lifeline and showed me God’s love but instead she looked down her nose at me and made it clear that she saw me as unworthy.
You might wonder if the church knew about our money issues and I can tell you without a doubt they did. My mother would go through times of attending church faithfully and then “backsliding” and then returning. She never felt welcome there so it was hard to keep coming back. She would cry at the altar or at her seat and it was always about money. No one offered help except for one time. Sister Ida Crowder helped my mother pay our electric bill so we would not lose power. My mother was embarrassed and proud but she took the money and she never forgot how Ida helped her. Shannon, Jeanette, and Ida were all kind to me when I was a child and I think it is important to point out that they were all women of color. Other than Barb and Juanita most of the white women at Calvary Gospel acted as if they were too good for my mother. I’m sure they judged her for her short hair and for the fact that she wore pants (it was required) on the job. I have to wonder if she would have fallen into line more if they had just offered her some kindness and included her. My mother was especially close to one of these women and we spent a lot of time with her especially before my mom married Jim. Just the other day it struck me how this woman knew my mother so intimately but did not offer her any real help. It makes me wonder what her motivations were. I have always seen this woman as kind and gentle but now I wonder. Was all of that niceness a front? She taught my mother two Bible studies and called her when she did not come to church. Maybe in the end she did not see my mom as a friend but as just another soul to be won. I believe they may have felt that it was better to let my mother and by extension, me suffer because they thought it would bring us to God.
Pastor Grant preached about tithing regularly. We had been members of several churches over the course of my childhood and my mother said none of them focused on tithing as much as Calvary Gospel. Tithing meant giving 10% of your income before taxes to the church. Often they would ask for even more money for missionaries and building funds. My mother did not tithe. She always put something into the offering plate but she felt whatever she could spare was enough. From my earliest memories she always gave me money to drop into the Sunday school box because she believed that giving to God was very important. She did not believe he required 10% before taxes. This gave the church something else to judge her for. They believed that if you tithed the proper amount that God would bless you abundantly and give you all you need. If you’re having money problems then it could be because you are withholding what is God’s right to possess. It all belongs to him and he is just letting you use it.
Malachi 3:8-10 “Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings. Ye are cursed with a curse: for ye have robbed me, even this whole nation. Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”
I tried to fix this issue for my household by tithing on all of my money. If my dad gave me a twenty for my birthday I would give the church 10%, babysitting money, really any money I got my hands on would be subject to this teaching. I always felt so grown up filling in my tithing envelope. It did not lead to full storehouses for my family and it was just another way in which we were wrong. I always had hope that my giving would eventually turn my life around. Granted I was young but I did have faith. Because of this I can understand how people fall prey to prosperity ministries.
My mother got the message that all of her problems were her fault very early on. When she went to the pastor for marriage counseling he asked her if she tried to be sexy for my dad so he would stay at home and not cheat. Our money problems were probably due to her not tithing properly and working an ungodly job. Yes, driving the bus for the city was ungodly. The main reason is that it required her to wear pants. When she found out about this requirement she talked it over with folks at the church. All but one told her that it would be a sin and she should trust God to bring her another opportunity. My mother was not college-educated and she had been trying to better our circumstances for a long time. She felt she had to grab this chance because otherwise, nothing would ever get better for us. One woman, Pat, who was also pretty impoverished told my mother not to listen to the other people and do what she had to do for her family. Pat also wore pants to work. This made my mother feel a little better but she still worried that taking this job could mean she would miss the rapture. Pat was a lot like my mother, on the outside of things and very poor. On the upside, our situation improved substantially after my mother took the job with the city. I had a free bus pass that I used until I was 21 and we had health insurance. Things were not amazing but we had money to keep the lights on and keep food in the refrigerator.
My mother was not well. Along with her depression she had developed pretty severe asthma. Many people within the church communicated to my mother that if she would just get her life right with God, meaning lay off the pants, tithe, and stop cutting her hair among other things, everything would be alright. Her illnesses were due to sin and demons. She needed to have more faith and believe that God would heal her. It makes me sad to recognize that she and I were living the same torture. Feeling like if we could just get things right with God somehow the pain would stop, hunger and poverty would cease, and we would finally be loved by God. I don’t think she was aware of my feelings. I took on the role of her caretaker before I was out of elementary school. I tried to make everything better, brighter, and I tried to keep her safe. This meant being a good kid and never getting into trouble, it meant not taking too many risks, and not really sharing my feelings with her. This of course led to more isolation. She would often tell people she did not worry about me too much because I always did the right thing, never got into trouble at school, and stayed involved at church. Sadly I think this made it easier for her to ignore me when other louder more pressing problems were going on. By the time I was 11 or 12 years old, I felt like my mother had moved on from mothering me. She met her second husband, started a new more demanding job, had my little brother, and I just faded into the background. I was on autopilot, dependable, and mostly grown.
Debbie McNulty 