Adventures in Recovery ~ What About the Kids?

by Calulu Don’t know about anyone else but one of the biggest regrets I have is that I raised my kids in the madness that was my old cult church. They didn’t ask to be part of that. We, Jim and I, drug them into it with all the best intentions. My two kids ended [...]

Adventures in Recovery: You Gotta Serve Somebody

On Schisms and Authority

by Calulu

I was working recently on a large graphic design job when it struck me about the differences in the way authority looks inside of the Fundamentalist Patriarchal culture and from the outside.

It was one of those design projects for a larger firm and I was working as an independent contractor. A design project where I was given the basic elements the client wanted in the design but not much else. Punt, pass or run with the ball, it was my call. My idea for the project really jelled quickly as I was working with those basic elements, I had a very good idea going in a totally different direction than was suggested at the meeting. I quickly worked up two or three variations of my ideas and presented them to my agency contact, very excited by my new ideas.

Even as I was working as a contractor independently without a boss breathing down my neck and as a side job completely removed from my day job at the art studio I wasn’t entirely on my own. Final approval was through my agency contact, my authority on that job.

We’re all under some sort of authority, be it family obligations, jobs, bosses, governments, or from inside ourselves. Most of us know in ourselves that there are definitely authorities that you must obey regardless of how we feel about it. Don’t believe me, try running a red light about a hundred miles an hour and rejecting the authority of the cop that tries to ticket you. There’s three hots and a cot waiting down at your local pokey with your name on it if you resist. I should know, I have a stairway to heaven high pile of parking tickets in my name. My rebellion is tame but it’s there.

All this led me to thinking about authority and how many people in the more rigid portions of fundamentalist Quiverful land chafe about any authority that they don’t consider coming right from the hand of God.

We pay a great deal of lip service to the idea of authorities when we’re under conviction of that particular type of religion with its own controls. But we don’t respect it. We look for ways around it when it runs counter to some small petty detail.

I’m not talking about those of us that tried mightily to appease the demands of an angry tin-plated demigog that female submission seems to spawn in weak men. Those fundamentalist Frankensteins most of us did profess to obey. I’m talking about the spiritual authority of others and the reasons behind it.

They talk a good authority game, these self-righteous ones, making ever more complex rules about things as silly as covering ones head or not making move one without consulting the pastor. Usually just for control or to make themselves feel better than others or more righteous. But heaven forfend someone in our church decides that the only true way to heaven is head coverings in blue only while you believe that red is the only true color. You can’t agree, you consult this or that religious authority without taking in any advice that runs counter to your belief in the righteousness of red. Instead of looking for solutions or trying to understand the other side and compromise or even agree to allow each to do what they feel is right this usually explodes into open warfare. Splits occur between the two and they rope in people to each side, squaring off like the fate of the world depends on it. Lies are told, stories exaggerated to the point where the people on the other side of the issue are demonized and painted as the devil’s capering minions.

Adventures in Recovery ~ Souvenirs From The Circus

by Calulu

Remember when you were a kid and would go to the circus or the carnival? Sure, there were elephants and chimps, usually crapping everywhere. The air was scented with cotton candy, popcorn and the smell of animals. I remember the games, balloons, darts, tossing things. Besides the lion tamers and the freak show part of the carnival there were usually fortune tellers, people that would look at your palm or into a cheap hunk of round glass and predict you’d meet a tall, dark and handsome stranger. It was exciting and thrilling, wasn’t it, when you were a kid?

When I was a member of Possum Creek Christian Fellowship we used to have something like that, but we called it a ‘conference’. Sometimes there were people there that purported to hear from God for you. They didn’t have crystal balls or tea leaves in the bottom of delicate porcelain cups.

At first I thought it was as equally ridiculous as the palm readers and fortune tellers of the circus even if you weren’t being told something as mundane as the ‘tall dark and handsome’ thing. I recall scoffing over it, saying there was no earthly way the things you were being told were real. But eventually, with enough time and drinking the Kool-Aid I started to believe in these ecclesiastical fortune tellers too.

I’d forgotten about this aspect of my old life until this week. I spent the week clearing out the large storage room over our garage. It’s being set up as my design studio, with all my art supplies, drawing desk and computers for those side jobs I’ve been taking on recently to supplement my studio and teaching income. I found a box that contained my old Bible and various tracts, photos and journals from my years at PCCF.

One of the more interesting bits were three pages of notes from an intense ministry weekend that my husband James and I attended about seven and half years ago. You have to realize this wasn’t long after James had confessed to a depression so deep that it made him consider suicide. He wasn’t long out of the mental ward. None of us knew at that point that it was a combination of internal dissonance between what he knew and believed and what the men of our church were pressuring him to believe. We didn’t know about his chemical imbalance due to a parathyroid gland tumor. We just knew he was deeply unhappy when our life was nearly perfect in most ways.

At a conference at RCCF a big ministry from the Wilmington, North Carolina area was claiming to heal people of depression and many other ‘spiritual’ problems by deliverance ministry, prophetic words from God and prayer. Somehow James got to talking to them and before I knew it scheduled us to go down for a ‘deliverance’ on Thanksgiving weekend.

I was furious, even if I did at that time believe people with various prophetic words for me that were supposedly from the Lord. I was furious I was being drug away from my children during a family holiday for something I did not want to do. I felt no need for ‘deliverance’. Part of me seriously feared what they might say.

We went. It wasn’t helpful, it was just all kinds of weird. It might have fit in well with a freak show or circus somewhere.

Time Heals All Wounds ~ Part 10: It's in the Lord's Hands

All beautiful the march of days, as seasons come and go; The Hand that shaped the rose hath wrought the crystal of the snow

by Shelly Cruz

I walked over to the phone, and dialed Cecilia’s number. My first thought was that it would possibly be disconnected, but who knows, maybe they finally moved. Cecilia always talked about how the time would come, and their house would be demolished, and then they would have to move. They were living rent-free in an old farmhouse. Someone had blessed them years ago with a property. They had to care for it, and in return they could live there for free, but once the owner passed away, they’d have to move.

They were even given a 15-passenger van as a blessing too! Regardless of their ways, the Lord always saw fit to bless them, in abundance, too. Oftentimes, I wonder why all the big families always get so many blessings? If being Quiverfull, is an Old Testament mandate, why does it seem like extra-large families always get extra-large blessings?

I have seen this in church many times, the family with the 8+ kids, receive box loads of children’s clothing for their children. They get free food dropped to their doorsteps, their mortgage paid for them, or they get a blessing of not having any mortgage at all. Do people feel sorry for them, or are they really the “chosen ones”? I know I should not be questioning these things, but sometimes I do. It seems, to me, like the most legalistic people I know are the ones who get enormous blessings.

Anyway, the phone rang three times, and then someone picked up, ”Hello, whom may you wish to correspond with please?”

Time Heals All Wounds ~ Part 9: Draw Near to God

All beautiful the march of days, as seasons come and go; The Hand that shaped the rose hath wrought the crystal of the snow

by Shelly Cruz

It was not until a period of distance was placed between my family and Cecilia’s, that I began to see the blessing that Cecilia gave me. It was an ABUNDANT blessing in disguise! At the time, I felt sad, lonely, depressed and even angry with her and with her whole family. I felt that Cecilia divorced our friendship, and I had no idea why.

I went from being a babe in Christ, to a woman, desiring nothing more, than to love my Savior Jesus. God was changing me little by little each day. I began to pray for specific things, and within weeks, sometimes days, prayers were being answered.

As I spent time in prayer, I started hearing the Lord speak directly to me. I became sensitive to hearing his voice. Good things began happening in my life. It felt amazing! I felt on fire for the Lord, and wanted to scream it from the rooftops! I felt that I had been lost, walking around in limbo for so long, but now I was found.

I clung to this verse: “Draw near to God and he will draw near to you.” (James 4:8)