As I’ve been on my writing journey I’ve learned that I have a lot of inner critic work to do. After all this time I thought I knew who my inner critics were and the purpose they served. Last week while chatting with a friend I realized that many of my inner critics are tied to a UPCI inner critic. She’s mean, she hates me, and her main purpose seems to be to make me afraid. Sure she’d like me to fear hell’s flames and eternal damnation but more than that she wants me to fear telling my story. She throws up arguments that center on rejection and judgement from people who wrote me off a long time ago. She reminds me of the pain and tears they’ve caused me and she tells me to shut up before I’m hurt again. She blames me for my trauma and warns me of all the bad things that could happen if I keep writing. Her face resembles a conglomeration of all the mean church ladies I’ve ever known. Because of the work that I’ve done I know that she is making herself mean and scary to keep me from being hurt. The remedy is to remind her that I’m ok. I’ve survived and there is nothing the church can say to me or about me that they haven’t already said. She is the front line of my defenses. She snarls and bites, warns and glares. Behind all that is a scared wounded child desiring safety. I’m grateful for her attempts to keep me safe and I honor all her contributions to my survival. I could ask her to take an extended vacation but I think I will let her continue to stand alongside me for a little longer. Now that I understand this part of myself better I can apply self-compassion and feel gratitude for her service.
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Back around nine months ago I created a playlist to help me out when I was feeling uninspired. Some of these songs remind me of my parents or myself during childhood. Other songs are more thematic and stir up memories and feelings about childhood events. I finally feel like I’m ready to share this playlist here.
This is going to be a short post but I had to stop in and recommend this podcast episode. This episode explains my experience with this film series perfectly. He also explains what Christian parents were thinking and doing at the time when this film series was released.
If you’re interested in hearing more about the judicial procedure process watch the link above. We cover the whole process from start to finish as we each individually experienced it. It’s a long video but I feel it is worth the watch. Many thanks to Deanna Jo for sharing her platform with me.
It’s October and I have been enjoying all of my fall favorites. During this season I always feel super inspired and this autumn is no different. Not much is happening on the justice front but that is okay because it has provided me with a much needed rest. During this time I have been writing and focusing on putting my story on the page. I have created a mail list for anyone who would like updates about my book, blog, and Youtube channel. If you’re interested in signing up the link is located on my Contact page.
It’s Sunday and I’ve had a slow start to my day. I’m planning my week while siping a cup of iced coffee. While doing this I am reminded of how my Sundays were when I was a child. They were anything but relaxed. My mother was often very stressed on Sunday morning. She rushed around the house trying to get both of us ready. While doing this she often talked about how she felt people in the church didn’t like her but she made herself go anyway because she didn’t want to anger God. This was not the best way to start a long day of church. We didn’t just go to church in the morning but we also attended an evening service. When I was young there was usually a fight in-between as she tried to get me to hurry up and eat my lunch so we could both get a nap in before returning to church for the evening.
Age 4
Being at church with my mother was never a good time. She was always worried about what people were thinking and who was talking behind her back. She did not tolerate any silliness during the service and would often pinch me if she felt I wasn’t paying attention. She allowed me to bring a toy with me, usually a doll when I was very small but even then I was expected to be quiet and pay attention. Because my mother preferred hell-fire churches the sermons usually scared me enough to keep me inline without her having to do much. I was always happy during the worship portion because I loved to sing but when that other part rolled around I wanted to be anywhere but church. After church my mother would run down who said what to her adding up her hurts one by one. I usually just quietly listened because I had my own worries to unpack. Was the pastor right about hell and what happens if you miss the rapture? Was it true that God and Satan were always watching? One to count my sins and the other trying to tempt me?
As I grew older and my mother stopped attending church as much, but I still stayed faithful. I attended Sunday morning and evening and also Thursday night midweek service. There was never any question about whether I would be in church on Sunday. People even looked for a UPC church to attend when they traveled. It was better to be safe than sorry. My Sunday morning started very early. I had to get ready and then to the church to hop on the Sunday school bus. I helped pick up kids along with the bus captain. There was often no heat or air conditioning on the bus. I remember my toes being very cold in the winter. Once we arrived at church and all of the kids were seen to their classes then I’d go to my own Sunday school class. By the time that class started I was already exhausted. Sunday school was either super boring or we were being raked over the coals by the youth leader for “something I’ve been noticing lately” or whatever. After Sunday school I raced back to the bus and made sure all of the kids made it on. We dropped them off one by one and then doled out candy as they disembarked. Once back at the church I was free for a few hours before heading back for prayer time. I tried to make the most of this in-between time because I knew Monday often meant going back to school and the grind of the week.
Sunday night started with pre-service prayer time. I tried to attended this as often as I could. It wasn’t considered required but most of the adults I admired went and as with most things it seemed better to be safe than sorry. During this time I would pray for missionaries, my family, and lastly myself. I tried to turn it all over to God but my worries were never lifted. I thought that was my fault because I just didn’t have enough faith. One thing I did enjoy about Sunday was being able to see and sit with my friends. Once the service started I would lose myself in the worship and singing. This was the one thing that uplifted me. During the time I was being abused Sunday meant I saw my abuser. I watched him pass as a good Christian man all the while knowing his secret. The sermon came next and that either drove me to the altar to recommit myself to God or I left feel guilty about not having enough faith. No matter what the topic was I never felt good about myself. I may have felt good about God but I always walked away feeling hopelessly broken. The next day whatever good I gained from church washed away in the reality of my family and church life.
During my childhood church never felt like a choice. It was always a requirement if you wanted to make it to heaven and escape hell. It was always stressful and a reminder that I would never measure up and that God was the ultimate scorekeeper. I never experienced grace or comfort. My family was stressed about it and they passed that down to me. There was always the question of whether or not we were going to the right church to add to the mix. Even as a young child there was a seriousness to being at church. The Sunday school stories seemed harsh and so did the teachers. When heaven and hell hang in the balance you really can’t afford to enjoy life.
Lucky for me that has all changed now. I feel like I can breathe on Sunday morning. I can rest, get little chores done, and plan my week. No one is reminding me of how flawed I am and I can lay my head down at the end of the day without worrying about hell. I do take time on Sundays to focus on the spirituality I practice now. The difference it my current experience fills my cup and I walk away feeling at peace. Being required to go to church so much might seem mild compared to much of my story but don’t let that fool you. A childhood of Sundays served to keep me trapped in a belief system that hurt me. After all those years I’m still unwinding that damage. Sunday church was the mechanism that kept me in the pews taking in all of the toxic messaging. Sunday church ensured that my abuser had access to me at least once a week. I went to church sick because I always believed that my illness wasn’t a good enough reason to miss even one chance to go to God’s house. The underlying reason was fear. No matter what stress was happening in my life it was never a good enough reason to step off the treadmill of Sundays.
If you’re trying to step off this treadmill please feel free to reach out to me. I’d be happy to listen and help in any way I can. Remember you’re worthy of rest, time to care for your needs, and time to heal.
Whew the last couple of summers have been challenging. Many of us in the survivor community have had to be brave in ways we never thought possible. Looking back it makes me beam with pride to see all we have accomplished. I have not seen the kind of justice I’d like to see but I feel good because I know I’ve worked hard to bring forth as much justice as possible. I’m tired but I’m not going to quit because this work is too important to me.
Speaking of rest, I have taken time over the last few days to strive less and rest more. I’m in the midst of a fibromyalgia flare and I’m once again reminded that I am not invincible. My eating disorder has popped back up probably due to stress and so I’ve had to be mindful to fuel my body. I’ve been struggling to sleep well so I’ve had to give myself some grace on the days I sleep later than I’d like to. All of this work has a cost and right now the cost is my sleep, my ability to eat, and the flaring of my chronic pain disorder. I’m not trying to come off as complaining but I’m trying to be honest about my personal limitations. I’m grateful that I can fill up on time with my children and grandchildren. I’m lucky to have two sweet doggos who are always up for a snuggle or a game of fetch. When I’m on my own I try to remind myself to breathe deeply and show myself self-compassion. Self-compassion is key to remaining healthy when doing work that is triggering due to trauma. I’m also working toward leaning into my softness and not feeling like I have to be in self protection mode all the time. This is especially difficult due to the C-PTSD I suffer from. Trying to heal while being hurt by the process of your work, being triggered daily, and never feeling like you’ve done enough can really throw a person. I wrestle every day with the drive to keep moving forward and also the desire to cut myself a break. This week I’m trying to be on the side of giving myself a break and resting.
This blog post is about what comes next so I suppose I should let you all in on what I have on my agenda. I’m currently working on revisions for the book I’m writing. It is exciting and taxing. I’m loving the process and I can’t wait until I have something to show you! I’ve also been considering what I’d like to research and share with you all here. The church teaching that caused me the most stress as a child was the theology of the rapture. I intend to talk more about that here and on my Youtube channel as I unwind the teachings that I took in as a child. I finally feel like I’m in a place with my trauma where it is safe for me to do that. After that I’d love to dive into the idea of original sin, but I feel that is a ways down the road. What would you like to see discussed here? Do you have a trauma sticking point you’d like me to cover?
Lastly, thank you. Thank you for sticking with me for so long as I work through my childhood and try to gain justice for myself and others. In some of my toughest times your comments have helped to see me through.
The last 24 hours has been very difficult for myself and others within our survivor community. We have been in the midst of an investigation being conducted by the United Pentecostal Church Wisconsin District. That investigation has wrapped up and the outcome is about what we all expected. John Grant was given probation for a year and he confessed to what amounts to breaking their rules regarding licensing. They claim they can do nothing about the fact that he covered up crimes against young girls that occurred when he was both pastor and district superintendent. The reason given is because there is nothing in the manual that states protecting children is an expectation for pastors. As you might imagine I have feelings about this. I will ask for grace from you all as I try to unwind how I feel about this outcome. I’ve spent much of my day in tears and dealing with hang up calls. I feel threatened even though I have no idea if the calls are from congregants or not.
The biggest problem I have with this outcome is the fact that survivors were not at the center of it. We went in and gave testimony to men we did not know regarding very personal and traumatic subject matter and they did nothing with all of the info we gave them. So why did they need our testimony? It is public record that Glen U. was arrested and sentenced and that he was a minister promoted by John Grant. John Grant went to court and testified to all of that. So they could have done all of this without us, right? Well no, they needed someone to make a complaint before they would act. They also refused to pay for the trial transcripts claiming they were too expensive. So we did what they asked and all he got was a slap on the wrist. It is my opinion that he should have lost his license and the whole church should have had to deal with a visit and reprimand from David Bernard. If asked they will claim there is nothing they can do and I just don’t believe that. If centering survivors mattered to them they would have demanded that John Grant not only apologize for the rule he broke but also apologize to us. They would have offered some ongoing support for survivors therapy because lets be honest we all know they have the money. They would have made a phone call or met with us in person to answer our questions rather than hiding behind a certified letter. When they asked us to come in person we did but when it is their turn to be vulnerable they hide like scared children. They recorded us as we told our stories and then they hide from us because they are afraid of what we might say about them. If they cared about survivors salvation as they claim to they could create survivor safe services, meaning a church service only for survivors in a non-church building location. In the end their reply was cold and sanitary, all by the book.
John Grant did not confess or apologize for promoting Steve Dahl. He was district superintendent when Steve was sent to Brother Bridges church in Neenah. Steve was allowed to lead a daughter work and was even included in the directory. John Grant knew that Steve had molested two girls, myself included, while he was at the Madison church, and still he was welcomed back with open arms. He was shown grace that they never extended to me. I am done extending any grace to The United Pentecostal Church. I have jumped through their hoops and entrusted my case to their Safe Church program. They have proven to be all talk and no action. We wanted consequences and for them to take responsibility. Because what he did to the survivors wasn’t even considered in my mind we got nothing. I feel burned by the entire process and it will take a very long time to heal from this fresh trauma.
Debbie McNulty 