Jul4

Like a Thief in the Night

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Like most fundie kids, I was raised with the belief that Jesus was returning at any second. It was what our parents prayed for- the end game, the chance to be reunited with our loved ones, and of course- be greeted by our Savior face to face.

The Rapture instills a sense of urgency, but also complacency.

Think of all your loved ones who aren’t saved- they will be left behind! They will have to suffer through the Tribulation!  There were debates within our household as to which members of our extended family would “take the mark,” thus damning their souls forever. Being left behind after the Rapture was a fate worse than death. It was our mission to convert as many souls as possible. As the song goes, “Be a missionary every day! Be a missionary every way! Be it in the town or country or a busy avenue, Africa or Asia- the task is up to you!” (It really annoys me that I can still remember all these songs!)

The complacency comes in with the idea of, “Well, what’s the point of planning anything if the Rapture is going to happen so soon?” Why plan for adulthood? Who cares what I want to be when I grow up if I’m never actually going to grow up? You could set up milestones- like “I hope I get my driver’s license before the Rapture” or “I hope I get married before the Rapture,” but the Rapture dominated the future. It could be today, tomorrow, or a decade from now. (It’s ironic that my church always scoffed at those who predicted the dates of the Rapture while teaching these were  “The End Days.” I always thought it must be nice to believe that the Rapture will happen on an exact date- so get your experiences in while you can!)

As a child, death is such a distant, almost incomprehensible, concept. But the Rapture! Now that was real. It was going to happen any time in the near future. We would be taken up into the sky, leaving all our loved ones, pets, and all familiarity behind to suffer an agonizing fate.

For me, this created a particular, peculiar phobia. I DON’T WANT TO BE RAPTURED WHILE I’M NAKED!! To this day, I find it impossible to relax in a bathtub. The first time I had sex I was petrified that this would be the moment that the trumpets sounded. The idea of being in the sky, surrounded by other Christians who would be horrified and shocked by my nudity (or the circumstances causing my nudity) was unconscionable.

I often thought about different scenarios involving the Rapture. How many people would be killed because a bus driver, an airplane pilot, really anyone operating any vehicle, suddenly disappeared?

The dead are rising from their graves? What will that look like? What if a person was cremated, or buried at sea? What if they were the victim of a twisted psychopath who spread their body parts across the country? What if a woman was in labor- would they both go (if the mother was a believer) or would the baby just disappear? How did that apply to any pregnant woman?

As per usual, my over-analytical thoughts and questions were dismissed. I was overthinking and while God hadn’t revealed the details, he certainly had a plan to cover all these instances so I needn’t worry about them.

Chernobyl happened on my birthday. This was a true sign of the imminence of the Rapture. We were all told that Chernobyl translates to Wormwood which is what turns 1/3 of the world’s water to blood. I mourned the loss of adolescence, the experiences I would never know. But then…nothing. No trumpet sounded.

Every time a prominent, secular politician took center stage, there were debates on whether or not he could be the anti-Christ. Anyone who promoted the idea of world unity or *gasp! a “One World Government” was a good candidate for the position. When the European Union first formed- this was a sign it was happening! (Also a reason many Christians view the United Nations with suspicion and contempt.) Anyone promoting world peace could be the anti-Christ. (I guess it’s not in God’s interest that people of the world are friendly with each other.)

Wars and rumors of wars? The Gulf War.

Lovers of self and money? Look no further than the decade that was the 1980s.

Famines? Ethiopia. Earthquakes? Everywhere.

Oh it was happening! “I’ll fly away, oh glory. I’ll fly away!”

At some point, I realized there was a for sure sign that the Rapture would happen that everyone was missing. The rebuilding of the Temple. The Temple cannot be rebuilt because that particular spot is currently home to The Dome of the Rock.

Let’s be honest, Christians aren’t particularly big fans of Jews. Why does Israel have such support amongst Christians? It isn’t that they feel guilty about the Holocaust. No, it’s because Israel needs to exist in order for the Lord to return! The Jews are a necessary evil. They might have murdered Christ, but they are a vital component for his return.

(Disclaimer: I am not here to spark a debate about anti-Semitism within Christianity. I am part Jewish- which technically makes me a full Jew according to both groups’ logic. I have suffered enough anti-Semitic remarks, discrimination, and even physical assault to know how many *not all* Christians feel about Jews as people vs. Israel- a nation comprised of Jews.)

So, until the Temple is rebuilt and Judaism, in it’s most ancient form can be practiced again. We’re all safe.

Mind you, every time I hear a strange, loud noise in the sky I might think Oh Shit! And I’m still not going to lounge in a bathtub for hours on end.

And while I don’t believe in the Rapture happening any time soon, or ever, that little fear still niggles in the back of my head. I suppose it always will. I still struggle with the complacency- not Rapture related anymore, but now as a learned behavior. And let me tell you- the interaction between that and my OCD is just delicious!

There have always been wars and rumors of wars. There will always be children disobedient to their parents. There will always be women who lack the natural love for their children. There will always be earthquakes, pestilence, famine, and other natural disasters. The love of self and money will always exist. It will always be The End Days.

 

Jul2

Suffer the Little Children

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TW: Sexual abuse/molestation

Growing up fundie is a minefield of oppression and repression. Everyone has feelings or emotions that do not fit in with the will of god, so we are taught to pray, study the Bible, find out why god is testing you.

Fundies accept anyone into the fold- hell- the worse of a person you were before you found Jesus- all the better! What a jewel in the crown of the one who led you to the Lord!! I remember when Ted Bundy was executed and all the talk in Christian circles was how amazing it was he had made a profession of faith before his death. How amazing! (Basically, this taught me that you can do whatever you want- so long as you get saved at the very last minute!)

Naturally, within this mindset, there are people who will take advantage of this system. There are also people who don’t seek proper treatment/counseling because temptations are a form of spiritual warfare and clearly not the sign that there’s actually something very wrong. And, of course, there are those people who will rise through the ranks and use their position of spiritual power to abuse others- trusting in their good deeds and commitment to Christ to cover for them in case they ever get caught.

As a pastor’s daughter, I witnessed the results of abuse, abuse itself, and was also the victim of abuse.

A man molested me repeatedly from the ages of 3-5. This man also molested my sister- which I was forced to watch. Years later, he also molested my brother. Good thing this man is in prison now! Oh wait, he’s not, he’s a relatively successful pastor.

Inappropriate touching by babysitters also happened multiple times.

I didn’t say anything. I knew it was pointless. I was misunderstanding- I was being too sensitive. The responsibility of the terribleness always fell back on me.

I had tried to tell my parents about the man. But I was little- a 4 year old doesn’t know how to properly convey the bad things that are happening to them- they just don’t know (nor should they need to!!) the terminology. It ended up coming out as “I don’t like Mr. S.- he gives mushy kisses.” “Oh, he’s just being affectionate because he loves you,” I was told. I didn’t know the words to convey that this man was sticking his tongue in my 4 year old mouth and forcing me to watch as he masturbated on my baby sister. What 4 year old knows those words or concepts?!

So with that dismissal, I kept my mouth shut. I fought going to their house, but was never taken seriously. When we were there- especially if we were being babysat, I did my best to find an adequate hiding spot. I distinctly remember being dragged out of a cubby beneath a set of stairs where I had been hiding in the dark, folded in on myself to become as small as possible with the hopes of disappearing- or at the very least becoming invisible.

We were never taught that our bodies are our own, or that our physical space was something that we could demand respect for. As pastor’s children we had to shake hands, give hugs, sit on people’s laps- all without having a say regarding how comfortable we were with these actions.

And all this while knowing that we could never accuse our abusers. They were upstanding citizens, they were doing the Lord’s work, it was demonic to make such horrible accusations against a fellow Christian.

With no outlet, abuse becomes internalized. With no justice, abuse becomes guilt.

I find it hard to believe that my parents didn’t know or even suspect anything! My sister wet the bed far beyond the appropriate age- a classic symptom of abuse. We all fought on going to that particular house- did they never think there was a reason behind that? Did they just turn a blind eye? Did they suspect something but considering the person, find it hard to believe that a child of the Lord would be allowed by the Lord to abuse the most innocent?

I know I’m not the only PK with this story. Sometimes I wonder if PKs aren’t bigger targets because of who they are. I know of multiple PKs who are also victims of childhood sexual abuse.

And it will continue. Because fundies don’t trust an outsider to deal with an issue. They prefer to pray, try to solve problems within the flock, and pray some more. Clearly someone isn’t “right with God” if this is happening. Clearly once someone is “right with God” this won’t happen again. Clearly these incidents are the result of demonic influence- no need to call the police- what do they know about combatting Satan and his horde of demons?! Matter of fact, the justice system might exacerbate the problem as jail is full of people under demonic influence!

It’s ironic that personal responsibility is removed for Christians. They preach about free will- but actions are always the result of either divine or Satanic influence.

And so predators continue to flourish and abuse within the church. And they will continue to do so because no one is willing to stop them.

 

 

Jun29

Losing My Religion

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A lot of people think that my dad’s suicide was what caused my lack of faith, my betrayal of my childhood, and my continues cynicism. But that’s not entirely the case.

I was always questioning things I was taught. I got tired of hearing the standard “Because God said so” or “God made/wanted it that way” answers. To me, that was never enough. My continued questions were met with annoyance, frustration, anger, and attempts to demean and humble (or humiliate) me.

One of the earliest incidents of this that I can remember took place when I was about 3 or 4. My parents told me that potatoes have “eyes.” “No they don’t,” I insisted. My parents probably thought this was fun , surely they had to understand my toddler brain picturing eyes in the only way I knew them. The debate lasted the entire drive to church. After services, my parents asked the pastor to take me aside and confirm that potatoes do indeed have eyes. He pulled me into a darkened classroom and insisted that I accept the fact that potatoes have eyes. I did so, albeit reluctantly, but I lied- right to the pastor’s face. I still didn’t believe that potatoes have eyes. No one had bothered to explain that the root buds on potatoes were also called eyes, had they done so- my toddler self might have been able to understand the argument. But I was humiliated- a sting I feel to this day.

Although this event is marked permanently in my mind as a reminder not to question religious authority, it really didn’t discourage my curiosity. My questions only grew bigger and deeper over time. My dad was none to happy that his oldest child was constantly questioning the beliefs he was preaching to his congregation. He grew more and more frustrated. By the time I was a teenager, my questions were met with the admonishment to pray about it and let the Lord reveal the answers to my soul.

This was a cop-out in my opinion- especially due to the fact that I had never established a  “personal relationship with Jesus Christ.” I didn’t know what that meant- and I still don’t know what exactly that entails. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.

I made multiple professions throughout my childhood, was baptized a handful of times. But, for whatever reason, I never felt any different. There was no “flood of peace” a special connection with the Divine. I always figured I hadn’t been sincere enough, wasn’t humbled enough, was missing some sin to confess. My inability to just accept things as they were taught was my stumbling block. My prayers felt flat and forced. Reading the Bible only gave rise to more questions. I began to feel that there was something wrong with me- or maybe there was some inherent flaw too large to allow Jesus to be part of my life and come into my heart.

And then, around 17 or 18, I simply gave up. I was tired of going through the motions, of faking the smiles and the beliefs. I was tired of being held up as an example to the children in the congregation. I was just tired of giving so much and not feeling anything in return. I was tired of hearing everyone else talk about experiences with the Lord- “Jesus laid this on my heart,” “the Lord led me to this,” “God has plans for me.”

If anyone should be having those Divine experiences- certainly the Pastor’s daughter should be one of them! But I never did. I never had a moment where I felt what everyone else claimed to feel. The only thing I felt was resentment.

That exhaustion of “faking it” was what led me away from religion initially.

Dec6

Bible Stories, Part 2

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One of the absolute worst stories in the Bible is the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. There are just so many effed up elements to this story that it’s hard to know where to even begin.

1 And there came two angels to Sodom at even; and Lot sat in the gate of Sodom: and Lot seeing them rose up to meet them; and he bowed himself with his face toward the ground;
2 and he said, Behold now, my lords, turn in, I pray you, into your servant’s house, and tarry all night, and wash your feet, and ye shall rise up early, and go on your ways. And they said, Nay; but we will abide in the street all night.
3 And he pressed upon them greatly; and they turned in unto him, and entered into his house; and he made them a feast, and did bake unleavened bread, and they did eat.
4 But before they lay down, the men of the city, even the men of Sodom, compassed the house round, both old and young, all the people from every quarter:
5 and they called unto Lot, and said unto him, Where are the men which came in to thee this night? bring them out unto us, that we may know them.
6 And Lot went out at the door unto them, and shut the door after him,
7 and said, I pray you, brethren, do not so wickedly.
8 Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes: only unto these men do nothing; for therefore came they under the shadow of my roof.

So Lot, ever the good father, offers his two virgin daughters up to the mob in place of his two angelic guests. Wow. You would think, that being faced with a crowd of potential rapists, the last thing a father would do is offer the services of his daughters- especially considering he is playing host to heavenly beings. He couldn’t ask them for some help- some divine intervention? Nope, send the kids out! Oh- they’ll be fine, none the worse for wear. I’m sure the mob will treat them with the dignity and respect my daughters deserve.

9 And they said, Stand back. And they said again, This one fellow came in to sojourn, and he will needs be a judge: now will we deal worse with thee than with them. And they pressed sore upon the man, even Lot, and came near to break the door.
10 But the men put forth their hand, and pulled Lot into the house to them, and shut to the door.
11 And they smote the men that were at the door of the house with blindness, both small and great: so that they wearied themselves to find the door.

So the angels were able to intercede with divine powers, hmmm….

12 And the men said unto Lot, Hast thou here any besides? son-in-law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whatsoever thou hast in the city, bring them out of this place:
13 for we will destroy this place, because the cry of them is waxen great before the face of the LORD; and the LORD hath sent us to destroy it.
14 And Lot went out, and spake unto his sons-in-law, which married his daughters, and said, Up, get you out of this place; for the LORD will destroy this city. But he seemed as one that mocked unto his sons-in-law.
15 And when the morning arose, then the angels hastened Lot, saying, Arise, take thy wife, and thy two daughters, which are here; lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city.
16 And while he lingered, the men laid hold upon his hand, and upon the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters; the LORD being merciful unto him: and they brought him forth, and set him without the city. 
17 And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said, Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed.
18 And Lot said unto them, Oh, not so, my Lord:
19 behold now, thy servant hath found grace in thy sight, and thou hast magnified thy mercy, which thou hast showed unto me in saving my life; and I cannot escape to the mountain, lest some evil take me, and I die:
20 behold now, this city is near to flee unto, and it is a little one: O, let me escape thither, (is it not a little one?) and my soul shall live.
21 And he said unto him, See, I have accepted thee concerning this thing also, that I will not overthrow this city, for the which thou hast spoken.
22 Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do any thing till thou be come thither. Therefore the name of the city was called Zo’ar. 
23 The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zo’ar.
24 Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven;
25 and he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground.
26 But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.

Dick move. Lot’s wife- who isn’t even granted a name, is forced from her home, her friends, her family, her life. We know she had other children left behind- since Lot spoke to his son-in-laws who had married his daughters. Did she have parents, siblings, other extended family left in the city to burn? What about pets, her home- seriously, I think most people would look back to see what is happening, wondering if there is any chance that there will be survivors or anything left to salvage. Her reward- she becomes a pillar of salt. Nice. I was always told that if you go to the Dead Sea- which many Christians believe is the site of Sodom and Gomorrah, you will see pillars of salt. I was there a few years ago- I didn’t notice any pillars of salt, and nothing that resembled anything that looked like a female figure. (It was unbelievably hot there though, but the water made my skin feel fantastic.)

27 And Abraham gat up early in the morning to the place where he stood before the LORD:
28 and he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and, lo, the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.
29 And it came to pass, when God destroyed the cities of the plain, that God remembered Abraham, and sent Lot out of the midst of the overthrow, when he overthrew the cities in the which Lot dwelt.
30 And Lot went up out of Zo’ar, and dwelt in the mountain, and his two daughters with him; for he feared to dwell in Zo’ar: and he dwelt in a cave, he and his two daughters.
31 And the firstborn said unto the younger, Our father is old, and there is not a man in the earth to come in unto us after the manner of all the earth:
32 come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father.
33 And they made their father drink wine that night: and the firstborn went in, and lay with her father; and he perceived not when she lay down, nor when she arose.
34 And it came to pass on the morrow, that the firstborn said unto the younger, Behold, I lay yesternight with my father: let us make him drink wine this night also; and go thou in, and lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father.
35 And they made their father drink wine that night also: and the younger arose, and lay with him; and he perceived not when she lay down, nor when she arose.
36 Thus were both the daughters of Lot with child by their father.
37 And the firstborn bare a son, and called his name Moab: the same is the father of the Moabites unto this day.
38 And the younger, she also bare a son, and called his name Ben–am’mi: the same is the father of the children of Ammon unto this day.

Firstly, eww. Secondly, yeah right- I’m so sure this is what could have happened! Lot’s daughters, who also don’t get the benefit of a name, conspire to get pregnant by their father- since they think every man in the world is dead. Isn’t it a remarkable coincidence that both girls are able to get pregnant after one attempt- and with a blacked-out-drunken man? Lot was so drunk that he didn’t know when they came in or when they left, yet somehow, he was able to perform sexually. Really???!!! It’s nice how the story shifts the blame of incest onto the daughters. Lot has no responsibility in the equation- he was just that drunk! And never mind that he must have had one hell of a hangover after the first night that he’s pliable to get black-out drunk again the second night! I just can’t imagine it could have possibly happened the other way. Lot’s alone in a cave with his two daughters, gets them drunk- or maybe just tells them he’s the only man left in the world- oh that’s totally implausible.

I once argued with a street preacher about this story. He firmly believed that Lot’s daughters were basically vile sluts. I pointed out to him the effect that alcohol can have on the mechanics of a man’s ability to perform- especially an older man- especially a man who has consumed so much alcohol that he is unaware of anything.

The street preacher had to stop and think for a minute before going to the old stand-by cop-out- “That’s what the Bible says so it must be true- it’s inspired by god!” Yeah, real inspiring. Real inspiring for women- in this story the women either die or screw their father- inspirational! They get no names, just the legacy of not listening to and/or trusting in god. Women get to be property of their husbands and/or fathers- with dire consequences to acting on their own. Women need direction, women are too emotional and act rashly, women are known only by their relationship to a male and by what happens to them when they don’t follow the direction of that man.

These are certainly lessons that every young woman should learn. Don’t think for yourself- bad things will happen.

(Bible verses from http://www.bartleby.com/108/01/19.html)

Nov30

Bible Stories, Part 1

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There are two stories in the New Testament that have always pissed me off. I’ve never received a satisfactory explanation that has helped me understand them any better.

The first comes from Luke 10:38-42.

38 Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house.

39 And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard his word.

40 But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? bid her therefore that she help me.

41 And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things:

42 But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.

(https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+10%3A38-42&version=KJV)

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So hippie Jesus is once again travelling around the countryside, taking handouts wherever he could get them. Martha and her sister, Mary, invite them in for a nosh. So Martha’s going crazy trying to get everything ready. You know she has to feed more than just Jesus- he’s got an entourage. If Martha believed that Jesus was the Messiah, or a great prophet, she certainly wasn’t going to feed him anything less than food worthy of the savior of Israel.

Martha’s hustling about, and she sees her sister just lounging around, sucking up to Jesus. Maybe Mary thinks Jesus is hot, maybe she’s genuinely interested in his words, maybe she’s only feigning interest to get out of helping.

So Martha’s like, “Yo- JC, how’s about sending my sister in to help me prepare all this food for, ya know, YOU, and all the ragamuffins you’ve brought with you.”

Ever the hippie, Jesus tells her off. “Don’t sweat it bro-sis, your sister is learning about me and hearing my words, which is obviously much more righteous than you slaving away in the kitchen. She’s chosen me over feeding me, even though that was the reason I had stopped here, but you know, whatever.”

Poor Martha! I always imagined Mary sticking her tongue out at Martha and turning back to Jesus, her face a portrait of innocence and worship. Ugh.

Obviously, I’ve identified much more with Martha than Mary. I don’t know what the point of that story was- people have tried to explain it to me numerous times.

“It’s more important to hear the word of god than to be consumed with earthly worries.”

Oh really? So did Jesus not expect to be fed? If Martha had also sat and stared admiringly at the savior, who would be preparing this meal that Jesus obviously expected?

Bottom line: Martha busts her ass to feed Jesus and not only does not receive any form of gratitude, but is also rebuked for asking for some help from her lazy sister.

Does this mean we should all just sit around in church, day after day, accomplishing nothing, starving to death, because his words are more important than actually doing something???

(My husband just made an interesting point- he said that this is where Catholicism has a leg up over Protestantism. In Protestantism your salvation is dependent solely on faith. At least Catholics take your deeds into account as well!)

The second story comes from Luke 15:11-32

11 And he said, A certain man had two sons:

12 And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living.

13 And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.

14 And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.

15 And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.

16 And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.

17 And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!

18 I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee,

19 And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.

20 And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.

21 And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.

22 But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet:

23 And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry:

24 For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.

25 Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing.

26 And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant.

27 And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound.

28 And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him.

29 And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends:

30 But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf.

31 And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.

32 It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.

(https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+15%3A11-32&version=KJV)

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A man has two sons. The younger son, obviously a jerk, asks for his inheritance so he can go live it up and party. His father, for whatever reason, complies. Fast forward a little bit of time, the jerk son is broke and comes home. The father is like, “Yay!! My son is home! He wasted all the money that was supposed to last him a lifetime- but whatever- here he is to live in the basement, and be a burden on myself and then his responsible brother for the rest of his life! Hey everyone- let’s have a party to celebrate the return of my loser son!!!”

The older son, who never left, who stayed and worked for his father, who didn’t squander away his inheritance, is like “WTF dad?! You didn’t have a party to celebrate the fact that you have one good, responsible son! Ya know- me! I don’t recall you killing a fatted calf to party it up over my staying and working for you this whole time while that loser was out there partying! Hell- I didn’t even know it was an option to ask for my inheritance while you were still alive- seems like that’s seriously rude!”

The father replies, “Well, yes, your brother was kind-of a jerk. But he was always my favorite anyways. I mean, I thought he was dead- but here he is- he made it home!! You’ve been here the whole time, kinda playing it safe aren’t ya? I mean, you’re really not a risk-taker, I kinda admire a risk-taker!”

“Hey dad- this doesn’t mean that my inheritance gets split to give him half does it?? Dad?????”

Once again, the responsible person gets screwed. The slacker gets celebrated.

It doesn’t really fit in with the Protestant work ethic! I’ve had this story explained to me in a couple of ways.

1. If a heavy metal band gets saved, and then begins singing for Jesus- that is more awesome than the person who’s been singing for Jesus their entire life. Why? Because they have a better chance of leading more sinners to Christ- They’ve redirected their talents to glorify god. Yes, god loves and appreciates the singer who’s been there the whole time, but the redirected talent…well, that’s something.

2. A person who comes to Jesus after a life of sin is more precious because they’ve made the decision to believe. A person who’s raised in a Christian home has always had the belief there and never faced any of the struggles that brings a person to the Lord. The first person will appreciate the gift of god’s love more than the second person because it’s always been a part of the second person’s life.

So in other words, god would love me more if I did nothing productive, except maybe sinned…a lot???

Maybe that’s where I’ve been doing it wrong!

Nov29

Fall from Grace

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When I was 18, I went off to college. I picked a college that was out of state, one that seemed the most liberal of the choices presented to me. Here was a school where women were allowed to wear jeans!!! Granted, they couldn’t be worn to class, convocation, or other school functions, but in your free time- jeans!!!

So maybe that was a shallow and stupid way to pick a school, but I’ve heard worse (my husband picked his college based on its proximity to his favorite football team!).

My hope for college was that I would be surrounded by some very zealous Christian peers with whom I would immediately bond and who would also lead me to discover what hole in my spiritual self prevented the “personal relationship with Jesus Christ” that I had struggled to find for years.

I also hoped to over-achieve academically as I’ve always put a huge amount of pressure on myself to perform grade-wise. If I can’t be the prettiest, I can at least strive to be the smartest!

So off I went. After a tearful, and admittedly fearful goodbye, I was terrified at being left alone in a new state, surrounded by people I didn’t know.

It was an immediate disillusionment.

I had intended to follow all the rules. My new roommates had other ideas. They had all been raised much more liberally than I- so right off the bat I was the weird one, once again. There were four of us in the room and I had nothing in common with any of them. Two of my three roommates were from the same state as me- I had been hoping for a broader range of diversity. Disappointment.

I got my class schedule and was excited to start classes- at least there was something at which I could excel. I noticed that one of my classes required me to attend church services every Sunday. You would have an usher at the church sign your attendance card. The service was televised nationally and the pastor would remark about how wonderful it was to have all these young people in attendance. “That’s because we have to be here for class credit,” I thought bitterly. Disillusionment.

Every Wednesday, convocation was held. A sermon, hymns, church. They would even take an offering. “We’re already paying to be here and they’re taking an offering?? Seriously???” Disgust.

My R.A. took me out on the town one evening, just driving around so I could see what the city looked like. We drove by the school president’s/the affiliated church’s pastor’s home. Plantation style, guard dogs, security men, barbed wire atop a tall wrought-iron fence, four brand-new vehicles in the parking area. Outrage.

As part of my tuition-assist program, I worked in the cafeteria. It was awful. On Fridays I worked the ice cream bar, where I had to scoop ice cream for greedy, impatient, bratty Christian kids. On Saturdays I worked in the dish room and I couldn’t believe how much food was thrown away. My supervisor, who was also my R.A., told me that we threw enough food out in a day to feed the homeless of the city for a week. Contempt.

The kids I ended up hanging out with were in the same boat. We all had different backgrounds, but we were all disgusted by the school. Naturally, we got into trouble.

One afternoon, I was called into the Dean of Women’s office. There I was accused of being part of a Colombian drug ring. Seriously- I couldn’t make this up if I tried. I was told that the FBI was monitoring my actions. Someone, one of my not-so-friendly roommates, had reported that they had overheard me and the only roommate I got along with discussing how one evening we had smoked pot. The HORROR!!!! Somehow, my one and only experience with drugs had evolved into participation in a drug-smuggling ring! It was insanity. I had no response. What can you say when someone accuses of something that is not only ludicrous, but also completely foreign to your brain???

Despite my alleged drug-dealing, I was put on probation. A week later and I was called back into the office. This time I was accused of attempting to plant a car bomb! I am not shitting you. A car bomb. As I was walking, a ring had fallen off and I had been searching in the grass to find it- which I did. I don’t know how this was interpreted as criminal behavior, yet there I was- me who couldn’t have hot-wired a car if my life depended on it, me who didn’t even know how to drive(!)- being accused of attempting to plant a car bomb. Insanity!

I was asked to leave the school. All of my friends were also brought in under ridiculous charges and asked to leave as well. Later I found out that there had been such a surge in freshman enrollment that the class was getting out of control. I think they expelled eleven of us in total, presumably to set an example.

My parents told me I couldn’t come home unless I admitted myself for psychiatric evaluation. Ha, no. I knew there was nothing wrong with me. I was 18, out of the house for the first time, intoxicated with even the small amount of freedom the school gave us!

I didn’t go home. I went with an expelled friend to Florida for a month. We stayed with her grandmother, who was awful. Eventually I had no choice but to come home.

I had dreaded coming home, but it was worse than I had imagined. I was a pariah. My parent’s disappointment manifested in my every interaction with them. I wasn’t supposed to spend too much time with my siblings so my rebellion wouldn’t rub off on them. Every problem within the family was blamed on me, on my behavior, on the stress I had caused, on the blow to reputation that was my fault.

I attempted suicide.

Recovered, moved out, attempted suicide again.

I was so disillusioned with everything. I felt abandoned by god, abandoned by my family, totally isolated. Yet there was still this drive to fix things, to make things right, to live up to the pastor’s daughter role that I could never achieve.

Sometimes I wonder if being brought up, as a Christian, as a pastor’s daughter, caused the depression and anxiety I have suffered with since forever.

Does internalizing the belief that you are a perpetual sinner that needs god become a standard to which one can never live up to? Does feeling the pressure to be a role model to your peers, and everyone else for that matter, cause permanent anxiety? Does the fear of pissing off god cause hopelessness when you realize you’re a human who makes mistakes? Does the threat of hell, eternal damnation and torture cause despair when you just can’t live up to what’s expected of you- when you can’t achieve that special relationship with Jesus that everyone else seems to enjoy?

In my case, yes.

My experience at a Christian college turned me off to organized religion forever. It wasn’t long before the cracks in my immersion in Christianity caused the whole belief system to come crashing down. It was a spectacular crash. Arguments with my parents about church attendance, not being allowed to see my siblings because I was a “bad influence,” interference in my relationships, I felt alone, abandoned, participation in religion made me feel like a fraud.

Sometimes I still feel those Christian influences rising up in my mind. A hymn starts playing in my head, a Bible verse pops up during an unrelated conversation. Surrounded by others, I often get a jolt of anxiety that this party, group, meeting- none of this is Christian, none of this is godly! It’s been so impressed in my mind about what are moral, Christian values, and what are not, that attending parties can often make me feel momentarily panicked- oh my god- I’m surrounded by alcohol, rock music, unmarried couples practicing PDA, “bad” words, all of the things I’ve always been told to stay away from. I often laugh to myself that these feelings still come up years after my participation in religion has ended, years after my belief in god has faded. They’re still there, and I suppose they’ll always be there. Because if there’s anything that Christianity does- it makes you feel like you’re never good enough to merit god’s gift. It makes you feel perpetually unworthy of Jesus’ blood. It makes you ask questions you’re not supposed to and search for answers in ungodly places. It makes you feel human, and that’s not good enough.

Mar22

Cosmos

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We’ve been watching the new Cosmos show and it makes me feel two ways- angry and stupid.

I feel stupid because I’m actually learning a lot from this show. I feel like I’m playing catch-up with everyone else (who had a “normal” education).

And it makes me angry that no one ever explained evolution to me- it was just a brief “evolution teaches that man comes from monkeys.” Like one day, a chimp or ape gave birth to a human and we were off and running. Well, obviously that makes no sense!! I don’t know that I ever actually truly believed in Creationism- but it was the only thing I had ever learned….that is, it was the only origin idea that had ever been drilled into my head.

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It wasn’t until I took biology in college (as an “adult learner”) that I actually had to learn what exactly evolution entails. And it made sense….dammit. Because when something you think is wrong turns out to be right, it messes with your head- especially it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. It’s like you’ve been walking around saying the sky is yellow- and people look at you funny- then one day someone says “Hey- take off those glasses” and you realize that not only is the sky NOT yellow, but you’ve been wearing these glasses the whole time and never even knew it!

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When the process is actually explained- it makes a lot more sense than “God said let there be —”

My dad once told me that this is what the world was really like before the flood.

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Really. Dinosaurs were domesticated and friendly. We used them to do household chores and industrial labor. Really.
I bet Noah and his sons were pissed when they realized that the lawnmowers, dishwashers, cranes, and heavy lifters had been wiped out in the flood and now they were going to have to do all the work!

Do you know why dinosaurs were so big? Because I was taught that dinosaurs were actually just lizards that grew to tremendous sizes because of the water canopy. Oh, you don’t know what the water canopy was? I’m not surprised.

You see, back before the flood, the earth was surrounded by a water canopy. Basically almost like a placenta or embryonic sack. Seriously. This water canopy filtered out harmful UV rays, radiation, and bad chemicals. So people and animals lived longer…hundreds of years longer. Look at Methusaleh- he lived to be 969 years old (Some traditions hold that he died seven days before the flood- lucky him!)! Noah himself lived to be 950 years old. The water canopy enabled god to flood the earth and basically murder everyone.

So back to dinosaurs- dinosaurs were really just lizards that were hundreds of years old and had never stopped growing- thanks to the water canopy.

Early on, I was taught that every living thing that exists now was created by god in the beginning. So every breed of dog, cat, plant, bird, etc was personally created by god. Later on, that changed to the tree theory- like only one pair of canines or felines was needed on the ark and from that pair came every breed since then. Two dogs on the ark eventually created wolves, dachshunds, cocker spaniels, and great danes. Wait a second- isn’t that evolution???????

No, apparently not. Nothing mutated, it just so happened that god gave the genetic code for every breed, species, sub-species all in just two animals. Amazing! Miraculous! Yep.

I would wager that the majority of fundies are terrified to learn about evolution because they’re scared it might make more sense than the bizarre story of Eden.

So far, I’m loving this show. The Carl Sagan version was good too, but I think that Neil Degrasse Tyson is much more approachable and affable than Sagan was. Maybe it’s a dumbed down version I can appreciate more. I’m definitely not up to the quarks level yet, but I’m learning.

Feb20

Jesus is my anti-depressant!

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I’ve actually heard people say this, and not ironically or sarcastically. A lot of fundamental Christians do not believe that mental illness is actually an illness. Rather, depression, anxiety, and every other mental affliction are manifestations of a lack of faith or belief and/or caused by demons.

There’s no going to counseling conducted by a licensed therapist or psychologist. A person might receive counseling from their pastor who will look for root causes in their behavior or past sins that might be causing the present problem.

Basically, if you’re depressed or anxious, you’re not trusting enough in God.

Maybe you did something bad when you were a child, stole a candy bar or something, and never properly asked forgiveness from god and now that past sin has come back to haunt you until you make it right with god.

Not trusting enough in god also leaves a person susceptible to demonic attacks which can lead to all sorts of mental issues.

A fundamentalist Christian can’t be diagnosed with mental problems- they have to trust in god to make them well, or, my favorite- “get their hearts right with god.” You can’t just trust a doctor, silly. Trusting a doctor means you’re trusting science. Next thing you know, you’ll be believing in evolution- and we all know what happens after that! Yep, it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from becoming a full-blown homosexual who practices Satanism.

So because of this attitude, many people with treatable mental illnesses go untreated. There was once a man in our church who was under attack from demons. He insisted his family all sleep in his bed and call him Mr. Montana. Obviously this behavior was the result of a demonic attack and not some sort of mental illness.

Fundamental Christianity underscores the belief that weakness is the cause of mental illness. Many people refuse to take psych meds because they feel they should have control of their emotions and behavior- and these are just your average, every-day person without the Christian factor. Add in the belief that you’re also doing something wrong, not believing and trusting in god enough and a person suffering from depression will never seek treatment. There’s no way that you might have a chemical imbalance or a genetic predisposition to a mental illness. We were made in god’s image and is god every depressed?? Maybe not- but he sure seems to have some sort of personality disorder in the Old Testament.

The same also applies to addictions. A person needs to recognize that demons are attacking them and that god is the only way to quit shooting up heroin. God’s the only thing that can save an alcoholic or drug abuser. Not meds or rehab. I assume this is why we had people detoxing on our couch when I was a kid.

So I wonder….if fundamental Christians had a different attitude regarding mental illness, would my dad still be alive today? Today is the twelfth anniversary of his suicide. He had been receiving some counseling- but quit going. He had been taking some psych meds, but also drinking heavily. Maybe it was all too little, too late.

Ironically, my dad’s faith in god is what caused me to lose mine. I had slowly been losing belief in anything I had every learned about god and Christianity. After my dad’s suicide, I threw just about all of it into my mental garbage can. If God was supposedly so loving yet could still allow a person to commit suicide- especially someone who had been a pastor for decades- then what was the point? I heard all sorts of things like, “god needed to bring him home,” “he didn’t mean to kill himself,” and my one of my favorites “well…he’s probably in hell- that’s what happens when you commit suicide.” The absolute best was “god only gives us what we can handle.” Oh really??? How does that apply in this situation at all? God obviously gave him more than he could handle, although he probably just didn’t have enough faith.

It’s too bad he couldn’t see that his problems weren’t spiritually based. It’s too bad he didn’t get help before his behavior got out of hand. It’s too bad Jesus was his anti-depressant.

 

 

Feb2

Families That Pray Together Stay Together…..or not

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I think many of us have heard the saying, “Families that pray together, stay together.” Maybe in some happy, fairy-tale land this is the truth. I don’t see how the act of praying can actually be a family bonding experience. If prayer is the glue that holds a family together, our prayers certainly did not act like any sort of Super Glue or bonding cement. 

As it stands now, our family is fragmented to the point that repair is probably impossible. This person talks to that person. This person doesn’t talk to anyone. No one talks to this person. Some reasons are justified, but most are not.

It’s really quite sad. Especially since there is a new generation involved who are growing up without knowing everyone.

I don’t think our family ever took the priority that it should have- it was always trumped by the church and its members. You’d think that homeschooling would’ve been a bonding experience, but it really wasn’t in our case. I think every one of my siblings, myself included, could not wait to get the hell out of the house.

Unfortunately, this need to escape led some of us to marry too early, to the wrong people, and also left a spate of divorces in my generation, myself included.

My father had wanted to be a pastor for as long as I could remember. My earliest memories involve our apartment in Minnesota when my dad was attending Bible college. After some theological disagreements, my dad left after only one semester. Then we moved to Winston-Salem, NC so he could attend a different Bible college there.

My mom always says that she was against him going into the ministry. My dad always seemed to be chasing some churchy rainbow. When people asked me why I moved so much as a child, I always tell them it was because my dad was in the military. It’s not a total lie, he was in the Army Reserves- but that’s not the real reason we moved around so much. We moved so often because of the “callings.” Messages from God, only heard by our dad, leading our entire family from one place to another, seemingly on some sort of divine whim.

After my dad finished college, we moved back to Pennsylvania, but not for long. Suddenly he was hit with the “calling” to start a church in Brooklyn- because if there was ever a place that lacks for churches and religion- I’m sure it’s New York City. We didn’t stay long, that venture was a flop.

Back to Pennsylvania we went. 

My dad campaigned for a church in the Poconos (campaigned is the term that’s used for a preacher basically auditioning for a pastor job). He got it and we ended up moving there. We stayed there for about three years, but that church imploded. They tried to vote him out, but lost by one vote. So people just stopped coming. After a few months, there was only one family left in regular attendance. 

Then, another “calling,” hooray. Now we were moving to the coal region in Schuylkill county. Wonderful. Because Catholics aren’t really “saved.” My dad knew this because he had been raised Catholic. 

Over a decade passed, and that church was a spectacular failure. A handful of members cannot support a pastor and his family, and the people of the area were set in their ways- resistant to “The Good News.”

Eventually my dad had to admit that it was time to give up. 

I guess he must have considered himself a huge failure, or maybe it was the regimen of being a pastor that had kept him in line. Either way, soon after leaving that area, my dad began drinking heavily and using drugs. Divorce was inevitable.

The stress fractures from over the years finally gave way and my parents divorced. My dad continued to self-destruct, my mom remarried.

A few years later and my dad was dead. Suicide. Some people, in an attempt to make us feel better I guess, insist that he didn’t mean for his stunt to go as far as it did. It’s a moot point. When you tie something around your neck, you’ve got to think that most likely you are going to die. And whatever his intentions were, the result was death. That was twelve years ago.

Since then, the family has disintegrated to a ridiculous level. While I am on friendly terms with most, if not all, of my extended family, my immediate family is another story. 

I think in some ways some people have tried to distance themselves from the past, and in doing so sever the bonds, and cut out the people, that connect them to the past. I guess they don’t understand that you can’t hide from your past, no matter how many new friends or family members you glom on to, your past will always be part of you.

I think some other people have dealt with problems that led them down the road to do terrible things that can’t be forgiven by society or even family. Not that any past problems are an excuse to act out. Maybe a contributing factor, but definitely not the sole reason behind or for bad behavior.

As it stands, there are only two immediate family members that I am in contact with. The others made decisions that cut me out of their lives. It’s really sad.

I think about praying before meals, or at bedtime and think, “Well that didn’t make any difference in the long run.” Maybe our prayers weren’t sincere enough, or we didn’t believe strongly enough. Or maybe it’s just another ritual that means nothing in the long run.

I’ve heard the saying, “Put God first and everything else will fall into place.” Oh really? That’s definitely NOT how I see it. It’s more like, “Put God first at the risk of everything else in your life falling apart because you don’t pay any attention to other things that are going on.”

Maybe that’s why we’re supposed to close our eyes when we pray. Then we won’t be able to see the world falling apart around us.

 

 

Jan18

My Homeschooling Experience

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I hate when people ask me where I went to school or what school I graduated from. As soon as I say I was homeschooled most people look at me as though they’re expecting me to sprout another head. I usually feel like I have to defend homeschooling because it feels like an attack on my intelligence.

I had been homeschooled for 4th grade, and the school year passed uneventfully. My parents were using some Christian homeschooling curriculum but I can’t remember what exactly it was. But it was fine. I was given an aptitude test before the school year began and then the curriculum was based on my scores.

In 5th and 6th grades, I attended a Christian school. But it closed at the end of 6th grade. We then went to another Christian school which closed partway through the first term of 7th grade. So I had to attend public school, and I found that prospect terrifying for a few reasons.

1. I had never before attended public school.

2. I had always been taught that public schools were places where it was taught that it was okay to be sinful.

3. Changing classes and teachers? Oy.

4. Public school students- they probably all believed in evolution, had sex, smoked, drank, and every other godless activity out there.

I had good reason to be scared. Public school did NOT go well for me.

The first thing that ensured I would never fit in was that I was not allowed to assimilate. The uniforms I had worn to private school now had to be worn to public school and I stuck out like a sore thumb. In our home, girls were not allowed to wear pants…let alone jeans. I was allowed to wear jogging pants for gym, but that was it. Oh it was awful.

The second incident that marked me even further as an outcast happened in history class. Our teacher was going over world history. At some point he got to the history of the Jewish people. He said that the word Hebrew had come from the Arabic word Abiru which means dirty- the first Jews were nomads and therefore a dirty (literally) people. NO! The area we lived in at the time was notoriously anti-Semitic. Let’s give the next generation some good reason to think that Jews are sub-human. I had to say something, and I did. I argued that point with the teacher, during class, which was a huge mistake on my part- as far as ever being accepted goes. I don’t regret it because I still think that’s an awful thing to be teaching. The end result was that now everyone in my class…and by the end of the day- the whole school (teachers included), knew I was Jewish. Awesome. Now I couldn’t even go to my locker without dealing with some form of harassment- verbal and, at times, physical attacks (which the teachers conveniently ignored).

Now math has never been my strong suit. At this school I was destined for failure. The math teacher separated the boys and the girls and taught exclusively to the boys. If a girl tried to ask a question she would be told that “Girls are too dumb to learn math.” That seriously happened, and this wasn’t the 1950s, this was 1989. Given that the teacher avoided teaching the girls’ side of the room, you might think that he gave us a break on our grades. Nope. When my dad later confronted the teacher, the teacher said it wasn’t his fault I was stupid. Nice.

My first, and only report card from public school had nothing higher than a C….something (besides the Bible-failing incident of 2nd grade) which had never happened before.

So what happened? 

I quit going to school.

I was tired of the abuse, tired of not knowing what was going on, really just so tired of being picked on…all of the time.

My sister was experiencing similar trouble in 3rd grade. Her teacher was constantly picking on her and being downright abusive. So our parents decided to homeschool us all. (There were three of us that were school-age.)

At first the school district put up a fight. The truancy officer came to our door multiple times. Lawyers were called. The school district finally had to back down. To add insult to injury, the school district was notified that they also had to provide our school books. Their revenge was to send the oldest, most damaged books they could find.

I had envisioned the experience of 4th grade- structure, parental participation. Not this time around. Our dad was working full-time, besides being a pastor. Our mom was going through some sort of depression that kept her in her bedroom for most of the day. 

Mom would wake us up about 7 am. Then we would have to sit and read selected Bible verses/chapters/stories while she went back to bed. We usually went back to sleep right where we were sitting. I’m a light sleeper, so I could hear if she got back up to make sure we were reading the Bible. After Bible reading/nap time, we could have breakfast and then we were supposed to go do our actual schoolwork.

Now there are some things that are just about impossible to teach yourself: math, foreign languages, some scientific theories. But this is what I had to do. I had to try to figure out how to learn these things on my own. If you already struggle with math- especially algebra, geometry may as well come from another planet.

I would ask my parents for help with math and I would always receive the same reply, “I went to vo-tech and took business math- I can’t help you with that.” Great…thanks. Now what am I supposed to do?! I mucked though somehow…I know I didn’t learn it, I still can’t understand higher math (I think mostly because I think it’s useless- I never plan on building a house or sending a rocket to the moon). 

Science was one subject that our parents were proactive when it came to our education. Proactive in the sense that we must never be exposed to the ungodly theory of evolution. We were taught that the theory of evolution says that man came from monkeys- that’s it, nothing about genetic mutation or favorable traits. Well on face value who could believe that? For a “field trip” we went to a college that was sponsoring a debate between a creationist and an evolutionist. He faced questions like “How come no babies are born as monkeys?” I wonder how he didn’t just lose patience when faced with the passionate ignorance of the audience.

I tried to teach myself Spanish on my own. No help from my parents there either. The “vo-tech” excuse was trotted out again. 

On top of the homeschool frustration, our family life was deteriorating at an ever-increasing pace. My parents would often argue about when the Rapture was going to take place. Not peaceful debates, mind you. But screaming, breaking dishes arguments about whether the saved would be raptured before, during, or after the tribulation. 

On top of that, there was my baby sister to look after. Mom was in her room all the time. Maybe taking care of my youngest sister was a crash course in home economics. I would try to keep the other two kids on schedule with their schoolwork and help them when I could, which of course made them resentful of me because who did I think I was?! 

The house had to be kept clean. Mom would emerge from her room at some point in the afternoon, conveniently not too long before our dad was coming home from work, to yell at us about the house being a mess- which my dad would walk in on, which would get him to yelling at us as well. As the oldest, I usually took the brunt of the blame since I was supposed to be in charge of the other kids. Then it was time to make supper, clean up after supper, do more schoolwork, and maybe play in the backyard (which counted as phys. ed.). 

It was awful and I hated life. I crammed as much school work as possible into the next couple of years and was approved to graduate two years early. Yay! I wanted out so bad. Constant stress, pressure, walking on eggshells, trying to manage a house, and also take care of three other kids, and maintaining the pastor’s daughter image was just too much. If I’d known of a place to go, I surely would have run away. Instead I took to cutting and eating disorders which at least provided some, albeit twisted, outlet for the pressure to be “practically perfect in every way.” I can’t imagine that no one ever noticed, but no one ever did anything about it. To take me to counselling would have cast a bad light on the perfect pastor’s family image. 

I’m not trying to throw my parents under the bus. I believe that they initially had good intentions. But when it came to acting on those intentions…well, it just never happened. Once in a great while there might be a trip to the library or a “field trip” to a zoo or something, but that happened so infrequently as to be aberrations rather than the norm.

I graduated a few weeks after I turned 16. I probably shouldn’t have. I received a diploma that I later found out was useless, and would be for another couple of years. The homeschooling organization that had issued the diploma had yet to be accredited by the state. I had applied to nursing school, passed all the prerequisite testing but was then told that I’d need to get my GED. I didn’t. I know what a GED looks like, it doesn’t take anything into account. It just looks like you quit school and then thought better of it.

At my graduation party, attended by church people only, my mom told me to get a job or get out. Fine I’ll get out. “You can’t, you’re still under 18 and my responsibility.” So I got a job as a nurse’s aide and turned over just about every cent I made to my parents.

When I was 18, I started looking at colleges, only Christian ones of course. I picked one that was out-of-state. Anything to get away. That, of course, went badly as well. But that’s a story for another day.

Did homeschooling prepare me for the real world? Hmmm….not really. It’s a good thing that I never planned on being a scientist or an architect- I would’ve been in real trouble regarding my math skills.

Was my homeschooling a positive experience? No. I think that if our parents would’ve been more involved it may have been a different story maybe. The only time there was definite parental involvement was when it came to religious education which really isn’t much help once you start working or move on to higher education.

If I had children would I homeschool them? Not unless there was some really important medical issue or something along those lines. 

What were the best aspects of being homeschooled? I could work at my own pace- so some things, like English and History I could finish really early on in the school year and then I’d have more time to tackle the hard subjects.

What were the worst aspects of being homeschooled? No help or guidance. No interaction with other people. Being isolated when I was a teenager has really made it difficult to interact with others now. The pressure really caused some depression and anxiety issues.

Now I know some people have had wonderful homeschooling experiences. They had parents who were involved and really took on the role of being a teacher.

I also know of some who had far worse experiences than I did. We were spanked and punished, but we were never beaten senseless or forced to spend the night outdoors.

I guess my experience is somewhere in the middle, but closer to the negative side. I suppose one could say that neglecting our education was a form of abuse…I wouldn’t know how to argue against that.

What I do know is that it was a mistake. If we had been allowed to assimilate, things might have been different. If we hadn’t been taught to believe that public school was a horrible, godless, sinful place- things might have been different. If our parents had been more involved, things might have been different. If we had been part of a bigger homeschooling organization, or there were more homeschoolers in our area that we could have interacted with, things might have been different. I don’t know.

Every experience teaches us some sort of lesson. In some cases, the lesson is how to do it. In my homeschooling experience, the lesson was how not to do it.