by RazingRuth

It’s hard to explain what those first few minutes were like, as I made my way across the field to the neighbors’. I had a million emotions – fear, anger, sadness, grief, excitement, and uncertainty, just to name a few. At any moment, I expected the sliding door to open and the back yard lights to go on. I expected one of the boys, or – worse- my father, to hop on the ATV we kept in the yard.

Looking back every step, though – all I saw was a quiet house. No one had noticed my leaving, even though I was sharing a room at this point. In hindsight, I’ve always wondered if my sisters had slept through my feverish gathering (maybe they thought I was gathering clothes for a late night load of laundry?) or if they knew I was leaving and knew I was unhappy? Either way, they didn’t stop me or raise any alarm.

My neighbors were shocked to see me standing on their porch. Mr. and Mrs. Kline* (pseudonym) had had their doubts about my family for years. They’d called protective services one day after watching my dad dole out a punishment to my brother. Protective services did nothing – deeming the incident to be within the scope of parental discipline, but the Kline’s intervention made a deep impression on me. I knew someone was watching our family.

Note from Ruth: A few weeks after my last “life story” installment, I got e-mails from someone at IBLP and a rep from Gothard asking me to stop using the character traits as lead-ins to my story. Since I don’t know how I would stand legally, I’ll honor the request and not re-post the traits. I will, however, keep telling my story and if one of the character lessons is directly related to the story, I feel justified in posting it as background.

by RazingRuth

As I’ve said before, my family did a lot of fellowship with other IBLP/ATI/QF families. Our house was a convenient rest stop for families travelling to and from sessions, conventions, and other gatherings. While our house wasn’t terribly large, it did have a large yard and land enough to park trailers/buses/motorhomes or a fleet of vans (the general vehicle of choice for QF families).

One afternoon, as we were cleaning in preparation for yet another gathering, my dad asked to speak to me. He handed me a rake and asked me to help him level a spot under a tree for the Carson’s* trailer. (NOTE* – I’ve obviously changed names here.) He explained that the Carson’s were good friends of his (even though I’d only met them a handful of times and couldn’t recall any special relationship). My dad veered off into the unexpected when he started asking me questions about my future. Dad asked if I had been praying for my future husband or if I had thought about “seriously preparing (myself) for marriage?” I don’t remember what my external response to him was but I do remember thinking that I was uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. After we’d cleared the spot, dad and I got in the cart to go back to the shed and he laid his hand on mine. He said that he’d been praying about my future husband and had received some guidance from the Lord. The Lord had guided him to the Carson family.