The Adulterous Harlot

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a wife. I loved all things wedding. One of my very first memories is of being a flower girl at my uncle's wedding when I was 3. I had a little white satin dress that my mother made, with tiny Peter Rabbit buttons on the sleeves (Peter Rabbit had nothing to do with the wedding, but I really liked those buttons and my new aunt did not feel that these would have any bearing on her special day). From that day on, I planned my own wedding. I wanted the happily ever after fairytale princess day. The thing is though, no one ever tells you about what happens after happily ever after. 

Let me back up a bit. As I have mentioned, my parents were really into raising me in church and having me read the Bible cover to cover multiple times. It is no secret that Christianity and divorce don't get played in the same round of Apples to Apples. I was raised among so many couples who lived day to day in loveless marriages because they didn't want to break commandment 7, "Thou shalt not commit adultery". Once you got married, that was it. 

I loved the idea of being married, but I was also terrified of being trapped in a terrible marriage. I knew better than to want just a ring on my finger. I dated a guy for 4 years who had an amazing family who loved me and would have given me everything I ever wanted. But I didn't love him. I broke up with him right before he proposed (I knew about the plan, he wasn't stealthy). 

I had not called off the near engagement for any reason other than a lack of love, but I understand that since I was only single for a week and a half before I started dating someone else that it did not look that way. The guy I started dating had been one of my closest friends for 5 years before that. We had worked at several jobs together and had always been close, but it wasn't until one day at work when I was getting the crap beat out of me by a patient on PCP, and for the first time in our friendship we both happened to be single, that he decided to ask me out. I had been close with his family. I had spent Summer vacations with them. I had cried and shared my deepest, darkest secrets with his mother. Of course I said yes. We ended up picking out our children's names on our first date. He came over to my house that night and ended up staying there every night since then, and more of his things kept appearing at my house. It wasn't planned, it just sort of happened. 

5 weeks later on New Year's Eve while on a weekend trip with his parents, he proposed. I thought he was kidding. He wasn't planning it and didn't have a ring. I told him he was crazy, but he insisted that this was what he wanted. On the way home we stopped at a mall and bought a ring. The next year and a half of betrothal was not what I had imagined it to be. His family had understandable concerns about us getting married and I spent a lot of time convincing people that I was not eating for two, but that I just really like carbs. I grew up hiding most of my life from my father and lying to him about almost everything I did, so I also understand that a mother would be concerned that I would treat her son the same way. I have a very strong personality and sometimes my type A attitude can be perceived as aggressive and contrary when I only mean it to be an attempt to participate. He was always very close with his family and it broke my heart that I was causing him to grow apart from them. I gave back the ring and told him that he would be happier with his family, but he again insisted that I was what he wanted. 

We went through the conversations with my father and the Pastor who married us about how marriage is forever and how divorce is a sin. We went through a nightmare of wedding planning that caused handfuls of my hair to fall out and at one point I lost a few toenails because I was so stressed. I painted red polish on my bare toe skin so that my feet wouldn't look so ridiculous. Everyone had a different idea of what the wedding should be like and what they wanted to do. The day finally came and I donned my giant white ball gown and "glass" slippers. I hated it. I hated the whole thing. The day I had dreamt of for 24 years had finally come and I was miserable. I spent that night in tears because I wished we had just eloped and not spent so much money on something that we didn't even enjoy. The only reason that I got to taste my cake was because my gramma had saved her piece and gave it to me 3 days later. 

On the honeymoon we met two other couples with whom we became friends. Each of us had a spouse who was either an RN or PA, and we all just clicked. I remember thinking that 1 in 3 marriages ends in divorce and I wondered if our new group would fit that statistic. 

The next 14 months, in my mind were great. We never fought. We did everything together. All of our friends told us they wanted what we had, and I agreed. I was married to my best friend. I think that may have been part of the problem. It was more of a friendship than a romance. Just as things seemed to be going as picture perfectly as they could be, my entire world changed. We both had good jobs, we were 3 weeks from moving into a house we had bought that was closer to his parents, we had a dog, and we were talking about starting a family. We went out to what was my favorite restaurant and talked about all of the things that were falling into place. During the 10 minute drive home from the restaurant, I learned that he wasn't happy. He told me he no longer wanted any of the above and needed some time to think. He packed a few things and I didn't hear from him for 2 weeks. 

I had no idea what was happening. My picture perfect life was slipping through my fingers. I called my realtor to figure out what to do with now 2 houses hanging in the balance. My gramma took my dog so that I could work a zillion hours. I found out that I would be starting a family sooner than I had expected but I didn't tell him the news because I was not looking to attempt to trap him into staying. Seeing as how I was born with a defective uterus, I lost the baby before I even had the chance for him to panic. 2 weeks later, he told he he wanted a divorce. I was surprised how easy it was to fall out of love. I have a massive support system of friends and family who made sure that I came through the process better than ever. My realtor (who was a friend previously) ended up doing all that house hunting and work for free, took care of us backing out of the closing, plus managed to deal with my tearful phone calls at 2 am. I'm pretty sure I owe him free babysitting for life. Dreamy Eyes won the "friend lottery" and I showed up at his house, announced that I needed to be snuggled and would be spending my life on his couch until I felt better. (I am still sitting in the same spot as I type this. I am no longer sad, but the snuggles are pretty great. Shh!)  

I spent a lot of time worrying about how disappointed my family would be with me. No one in my family is divorced. I became "poor cousin Heather".  My father told me that I was wrong for agreeing to sign the papers and told me that I had better be content with never being married again, because no good christian man is going to marry an adulterous harlot. I got a lot of Bible verses quoted at me, you know the ones. Over the years I have become proficient in arguing in Scripture, so I brought up Deut. 24:1-2 "When a man hath taken a wife, and married her, and it come to pass that she find no favour in his eyes...then let him write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house. And when she is departed out of his house, she may go and be another man's wife." Boom! Nope, still an adulterous harlot who was completely at fault for not being a perfect wife in dad's eyes. I was told by several of the church members that since I had now had my eyes open to the pleasures of the flesh that come with marriage, that temptation would now be greater and I would need to guard my heart fervently. They were pretty offended when I told them I didn't think it was so much my heart that would need guarding as much as other, more southern body parts. 

I made it through the next 4 months fairly well. I went on vacation by myself. I stopped saying "no" when I got invited to do something a little irresponsible. I learned to mow my own lawn. I kissed in the pouring rain. I learned that spiders are easier to smash if you slow them with aqua net. My work partner went through the same thing a few weeks later, so he and I spent a lot of time at Pinkberry. I threw an awesome party but had a giant melt down when people wanted to play a card game and I realized that he had taken the deck of cards. One of my friends happened to have 4 decks in his car and gave them all to me on the condition that I just please stop my hysterics. 

As the court date grew closer, I became more and more upset that I would have the title of "divorced". It just sounded like a title that would cause someone to dismiss the idea of a future with me because I had been a failure of a wife. Dreamy Eyes told me to stop being ridiculous and listening to people who are terrible. He told me that I could introduce myself as anything I wanted. Instead of saying "I'm Heather, and I'm divorced", I could say "I'm Heather, and I'm a unicorn princess". 

The court date came. We actually had the most civil divorce possible. We both cried, he let me use his handkerchief and told me he was sorry. We sat there as all the other couples went before us because his name had to begin with a "W", therefore putting us at the bottom of the list. We watched them argue and high fived over the fact that we handled things better than those people did. We went out for drinks after and agreed that over all, we regretted nothing. People say I'm wrong for this. They tell me that I should be angry or want to light him on fire. I don't think that they get to be in charge of my feelings. Why spend my time being angry over what was essentially a break up with paperwork? Church people tell me that God can forgive me for committing the transgression of destroying a sacred bond. Hey, he's happier being close with his family again, and I traded up for way more handsome. On my death bed, when I look back at my life, I still get to say that I married my best friend. 

When it was all finally over, I went to Dreamy Eye's apartment where he and a few of my girl friends were waiting with wine and the most amazing cake that was ever made. 

If you can't tell, the cake says "HAPPY UNICORN PRINCESS DAY!!" and has a tiny purple unicorn wearing a tiara that Dreamy Eyes formed out of a cupcake foil. 

If you had told me a few years ago that I would be 27, no longer married, working 4 jobs, childless on purpose, independent, and happier than I could have ever imagined, I never would have believed you. I still talk to the other couples from the honeymoon. One couple just had an adorable baby girl, the other is having fun being young and seeing the world. The statistic was correct, and I was the one who made it so. Sometimes your fairytale isn't what you expected it would be, but that doesn't mean you can't make your own version of what happily ever after means to you. For me, happily ever after means being an adulterous harlot  a unicorn princess. 

"But you're pretty! Why are you still single?!"

I am 27. When I was 25 I became single for pretty much the first time in my adult life. I had boyfriends/a fiancé/husband since I was 18 with "single" gaps lasting 2-3 months, and another lasting 11 days. Entering the dating world as an adult is not an easy thing. At first I loved it. I'm not terrible looking, I'm pretty friendly, and I shower at least once a day. It wasn't difficult to get some confidence-boosting, male attention. At home, I was on my own and didn't have to worry about acting a certain way to impress a guy all the time. Now that it's been almost 2 years (and my biological clock is turning into a time bomb) I have poked around at some online dating sites and have been open to being set up by friends, chatting at a bar, or any of the ways that one would go about starting a courtship that could lead to the overall goals of 1. Having a non-empty uterus and 2. Having someone in the house tall enough to reach the damn spiders who have learned that they can live if they can get higher than the door frames.

I have been on dozens of TERRIBLE dates, and have messaged back and forth with probably hundreds of guys who 1. Have no business being anywhere near my breathing space, let alone my uterus, and 2. Make the spiders look like loving, adoptable companions.
I get a few messages a day on the dating site apps. Most of these are the standard "Hey! You are really pretty!"..."I would love to take you out and get to know you sometime"..."hey gurl, ur pics are beautiful and u have an awesome profile. Hit me up." (Liars! They did NOT read my profile because I specifically state that I will not write back to you if you do not spell out your words.) Once these guys get through my very long process of harassment and being completely  picked apart, and they still are interested in talking to me, I usually get asked "How/why are you still single?!" Usually I tell them that I am just picky and I haven't found the right guy. But I realized that is only partially true. The reality is that I have become accustomed to living on my own, acquiring my own habits for which I do not judge myself, have built myself a "must-haves" checklist, and found that I will probably end up turning 40 and just adopting a kid on my own, because I scare away most "normal" guys. Don't believe me? Here are some examples:

I like food, but I don't like flavor. I could eat buttered noodles every day for the rest of my life and probably be happy about it. This doesn't seem like a big deal until you want to get take-out and have to exclude the places on my "uses too much flavor" list. (Yes, that is a real list that lives in my phone)

One day a male friend of mine and I went for a walk. He made sure that I was always on the inside of the sidewalk. Now when I walk anywhere with a guy and they DON'T do this, they are immediately cast off of my potential uterine-filling list. (Also a real list)

I like Disney movies, mostly Disney princesses A LOT. I have most of the costumes in my closet, most of my non-workday outfits have some type of princess theme, and I can answer almost any text in a Disney princess screen cap. I have turned down a date with an otherwise pretty decent appearing guy because he would not admit that Mulan was not a princess! 

Also, here's how I met a friend of mine...

Me: Hi! I'm Heather. 

Sean: I know. 

Me: How did you know that?!

Sean: You are dressed like a princess, I thought Joe was kidding about you. 

I do not handle being hungry well. Anyone who has ever been my partner at work knows that if I start to get cranky, get me a snack.

I am a very aggressive cuddler. Well, normal when I'm awake, but sleepy Heather is a different story. If you would like to escape the grasp of sleepy Heather's cuddles, I have been told that it takes an Indiana Jones style process of replacing yourself with several pillows.

I don't like to be tickled. Ever. If you tickle me, courtship time is over.

If we are doing partner workouts at crossfit, I like to pair with a girl wearing make up, because I can usually lift a little more than she can, and that makes me feel like a badass.

Sometimes if I'm lonely and binge shopping online I check the gift wrap option because I like getting presents.

I am really, really paranoid about bathroom habits. When I was married I used to look forward to days when he had a longer shift than I did so that I could poop in a house without anyone possibly even walking past the bathroom door. Now that I live alone, my life is freaking amazing.

I want to be snuggled, but not when I'm doing something important like eating my fries before all the cheese and gravy become coagulated. Back off.

When I decide on something I want to eat, and for some reason I can't get that thing, instant tears. Not because I'm bratty, but sometimes that might have been the only thing that didn't make me want to vomit. My body is kind of a wonderland.

I think pink camouflage is dumb. No one is having a Mary Kay party in the woods.

When I get stressed I like to pick things. Mostly the endless options of zits on my face, but I'm trying to quit that, so that means if any guy is shirtless and within arms' reach, I am going to pick at their gross back zits. Note: I am growing as a person and have learned to ask permission first.
(I mentioned this to my doctor and it seems this is an actual thing and it's call "excoriation", which is a fancy way of saying that I self-mutilate my face when life gets too rough. I told my mother and she said that I have done this since I was a toddler. So you know, I have always been super normal.)

If you ask me "what do you want to watch?" We are going to watch Dr Horrible's sing along blog and I am going to sing all of the songs. If you are not interested in learning the male vocals, I am not interested in your sperm.

I don't like when guys do something on a first date that they aren't planning on doing for the rest of my freakin life. Either open my car door forever, or don't do it at all. (Hint: if you do open my car door for me, while you walk around the front, I get to check out your butt, and you get to fart without me noticing. Win-win)

Babies = squishies. If you tell me that you have seen a squishy today, you had better be prepared to give me every detail of your interaction, or shut your stupid face.

I am very close with my girlfriends. We are comfortable with each other and have no problem greeting each other with a kiss. It's not for your pleasure, and no, if it went further, you couldn't watch.

I can't fall asleep happily when there is silence. I prefer the TV to be on, or at least the radio. Comedy stations are preferred because sometimes songs will spark a deeply hidden memory and set me off on a road straight to nightmare town.

Coffee makes me very, very, very happy. Sometimes I don't have to drink it, I just hold the cup close to me. It's like a security blanket kind of deal.

I think matching socks is a waste of my life. If you want your socks matched, that is your problem. If you match my socks, I apparently get upset. Stop wasting your life matching MY socks and/or trying to figure out why that upsets me.

I snore.

I have mostly male friends and we all work ridiculous shifts. If you are insecure about me texting any of them back at random hours of the day, you need to stop that and see yourself out.

If I say "I don't want shots" and you insist that I join you in doing them anyway, I promise you that you will have to deal with vomit and tears very soon.

I vomit when I'm stressed, tired, excited, too hungry, have been moved somewhere too quickly, have thought about something unpleasant, or have smelled something that I don't like. I wasn't kidding about this wonderland.

I get really grateful when given a present. I usually cry and give you a Miss America style speech about how I don't deserve it.

Speaking of that, I cry a whole bunch. Usually there is no warning. Just tears. Sometimes I am as surprised as you are. I have a very fine line of rage-to-sympathy for others. One can never be sure day to day where I'm going to fall on that line.

There are two types of people in this world. People who admit they pee in the shower, and liars.

I have adapted to my own level of clean and comfortable. If there is something sticky on a handle, I can adapt for weeks of touching the other parts of the handle instead of wiping it off.

Dirty clothes live in the washer, clean clothes live in the dryer. Easy.

If I say something affectionate and you say "thank you" instead of saying something affectionate in return, I have a really hard time accepting that. I admit, this one's on me. But I don't like it.

I don't mind being corrected if I am wrong, because I enjoy learning. But, if the point you are making is invalid and/or poorly presented, I'm all set and it is going to be quiet time.

Sometimes when I get sad I put on a giant puffy dress, pour a bottle sized glass of wine and watch Dirty Dancing until I feel happy again. Or until I have to go to work.

I like Death Cab for Cutie. However, that CD is too sad to live in the house. It lives in the car. If I am eating an egg roll in my driveway it's because the CD isn't over yet and I got hungry. Mind your own business, you nosey-ass bicyclists.

I usually only have to list a few of these before they either 1. Stop talking to me, or 2. Tell me they don't find any of that to me a potential problem and I decide that they are hiding a whole mess of their own personality that I don't need.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some Netflix to watch in my princess dress while eating nachos and using my mismatched socks as napkins because the paper towels are in the basement, and the spiders have claimed those as their own.

Socialization beyond siblings

   If you were to ask any homeschooled kid what the reaction is when people learn that they are homeschooled, I would be willing to bet that 9 out of 10 times the answer will be the same: "But what about socialization?!"

    I cannot begin to tell you how many times I was asked this same question throughout my childhood, and even more so in my teens. As a child, this question was mostly directed at my mother, but as I got older I learn to parrot the answers that should be said to "the world".
There was a standard group of responses that all of my friends and I had learned:
"Our siblings are our best friends."

"We are able to be MORE social than children who are grouped by grade and only learn to interact with those in their age group. We can start a conversation with ANYONE!"

If I was feeling snotty: "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"We have the option to join any of the sports or social clubs at the public school, if we choose to do so. We just don't feel that is necessary for our education."

"You should see how many pen pals I have! I meet them at our massive conferences once a year. It is like socialization overload!"

"I talk to hundreds of people each week about crucial matters, such as where they will spend eternity, not who wore the same outfit twice in a week (please, we all had quite the assortment of jean jumpers). Speaking of which, if you were to die right now, do you know without a doubt that you would go to Heaven?"

"Sometimes I talk to the bill collectors while I am waiting for my mom to get to the phone."

 I remember going to dance class when I was about 4 and sitting on the bench with all the moms. I hated sitting on the floor with the girls. Barney was a terrible influence and only encouraged disobedience and whining.  I had no desire to sing his ridiculous clean-up song, nor to make cheap looking crafts out of that bottomless bag. The moms offered more. I liked discussing their thoughts on when they would be potty training their youngest, when they should force veggies or just cave and let my friend have chocolate, or overcoming our addictions. They smoked, I sucked my thumb. We worked on it together.  

  I'm sure you all share the memory of being made to play with the kids of your parents' friends. These kids ranged from kids who ate soap to kids who would leave me in their rooms while they snuck out the fire escape to go play with their "real friends". It's ok, I read their diaries while they were gone.

   I did make a best friend all on my own when I was 5. Liz, who lived next door to my grandma. Even though we met when we were 5, it was one of the best choices I have made. Now when I get to see her (maybe twice a year) it is like only 10 minutes have passed. I don't know what I would have done without Liz. She was my magic mirror, my only window to the outside world. I got to hang out with her school friends sometimes, but I never really fit in with them.

  ATI pushed the sibling-being-your-best-friend thing hard (other than Jesus, of course). You were supposed to take a sibling (and Jesus) on any date you went on. What I find really interesting now as an adult is how differently I see verses or passages than when I originally heard or read them growing up. ATI claims to be based completely on scripture. It is, if you pick the parts that match what they want taught. As I write this, one of my Sunday school memory verses popped into my head:  Prov. 18:24 "A man that hath friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother."
God doesn't even expect your siblings to be your best friends! We were meant to get out there, be part of a team, or drama club, or where you can have a common bond over something.
The sibling-friend plan worked better for the other homeschoolers.  They all had 6-15 siblings. With that many kids running around, one is bound to click with you. I have one sister and she is 7 years younger than I am. It's difficult for a 12 year old to be best friends with a 5 year old. Even now at 20 and 27, while it is much easier to talk to her and I consider us very close, we are at totally different places in our lives. I love her more than anyone I have ever loved. I would take down anyone who makes her sad (except for me of course. When I make her cry I usually have convinced myself that she needed to hear whatever it was I said. I am admittedly a bit narcissistic). I would do anything within my power to make her happy, and I would rather die before I see her suffer.  She is the most caring, sympathetic person I know. We are able to talk about anything and have no boundaries. Hey, when life gets rough and you have surgery that prohibits you from bathing, you end up very grateful for that kind of sister. I also plan on being the one to deliver her children.
That being said, we are completely opposite people. We drive each other absolutely crazy (I asked her if it was okay to write about this and she took mere moments to agree). Our mother probably is not thrilled with still having to play peacemaker when we want to rip out each other's hair. We have always been opposite. Growing up I was the most outgoing child you could meet. I talked to anyone who I could make listen to me. My sister did not. She learned to talk and developed at a normal age, but she would only talk to members of our immediate family, and eventually a very select few close family friends. "Shy" didn't describe her level of quiet when we were around people who were not on her "talking list". In Sunday school she had one little girl who she would talk to, and she would whisper to that girl if she needed anything and the girl would relay the message for her.
Our mother was my sister's main voice until she was about 10. I tend not to be a very understanding person, and being as outgoing as I was, I refused to speak for my sister. If she wouldn't order her own food, she would have to stay hungry. My mother must have been asked hundreds of times what was wrong with my sister. In our homeschool world, this behavior wasn't odd. Most families had at least one kid like that and they had a "buddy" who would speak for them. If we had been in a school setting, I know that she would have needed to speak to people outside of her comfort zone long before age 10. I'm not sure what changed, but now she is the most social person you'll meet. She will talk to anyone, and she developed a boldness she never had. I can't tell you how proud I am of her for that.
Our cousins were also homeschooled, but I feel like the age differences, and now geographical differences kept us from forming as close of a bond as we could have.

 I didn't realize why everyone focused SO much on wanting me to be social! To me, I didn't notice that being partially isolated would ever be an issue. It bothers me that ATI was so focused on keeping us in our homes with our siblings and not having many outside friends. If we did have outside friends, they needed to be "like-minded". We were to "live in the world and not of it". If we had friends who believed something different than what we did, God did not want us the have them as friends.  Liz was not "like-minded". She listened to popular music, went to movies, had sleepovers, wore the clothes that were in style, and got a tattoo when she turned 18 (I also have one now) but she was good at being supportive and not making fun of my sheltered ways. She would include me in her normal activities as much as she could.

 Socialization is not something that is optional! It is key to our survival. People crave human bonding and closeness. We form alliances. We build social circles over any common bond, as you can prove by a few quick internet searches. Before writing this, I gave it a try. I searched dozens of different activities, interests, even the most bizarre topics I could think of and asked "does anyone else...?" (Note: this is an ill-advised search if you have been left alone with a Bloody Mary).
No matter what you like or type of person you are, there is someone out there who shares that and desires that feeling of not being alone in the world.  Now that I'm taking psych classes for college (yes, I'm studying something that has nothing to do with ironing my husband's shirts while wearing pearls!) I see how people who have been placed in isolation suffer severe mental illnesses and some who are isolated from childhood never recover.
It is even Biblical. From the very beginning, it was "not good for man to be alone"!

  Although I am very outgoing I had a LOT of trouble adjusting when I made my way out into the world. I still have an issue with my brain-to-mouth filter and have no problem sharing anything and everything. I made several enemies before I made friends. It was awful trying to learn my place in social circles and learning when I should be quiet and mind my own business.  I had no idea how to handle conflict in a friendly setting. I was picked on almost constantly. I was usually left out of parties and even church activities because I was weird. I know that not all homeschoolers have the same social handicap. Mine however set me very far back. I looked back over my diaries that I kept when I was about 14 or 15, back when A.I.M. was the greatest way for a kid stuck in the house to talk to friends! I can see now the huge desire for socialization and that I had been trying to assure myself that I had friends. Each entry that I wrote in my diary ends with a list of every person I had talked to that day.

  If you met me now you would never guess that I had been sheltered. You would not think that I had a problem functioning in society. I have friends who have been my friends for years because when I met them I told then that we are going to be friends, because I like them, and that's just it.  I don't have acquaintances, I have best friends. (One of whom will read this and tell me that I clearly don't know what "best" means). I don't take a single one of them for granted. Each one brings something to my life that another cannot. They have been there when my world was falling down around me, they have saved my life, carried me when I was broken (literally), shared the happiest moments, and no amount of distance or time can change our bonds.

    Oddly enough, as defensive as I was about it when I was growing up, I now see lack of socialization as one of the biggest downsides of homeschooling. There are some milestones in life that you just don't face when you are home. I had my first bully at 20. I didn't have to learn to share very much. I didn't play at recess. I didn't trade my lunch. I didn't stress over a prom date. You may think it sounds silly, but I wish I did those things. 

The poor bill collectors probably wish I had as well.

Oooooooklahoma! Where the cult will try to wash your brain

When I was 17 I went to one of ATI's training centers in Oklahoma City. ATI has several training centers, each for a different program. They have one for training young men in search and rescue, one for young women to learn to care for patients as CNAs, one is a college, one is for LITs (leaders in training) aka "The Rebels", headquarters, and several others. Note that women were not allowed to train at the search and rescue program, and men were not trained to care for patients. The training center where I went was for a program called Character First!
I will admit, this was my choice. My parents didn't "send" me, I wanted to go. When all you know is being homeschooled and immersed in ATI, you want to be like your friends. That's how cults work and how easily people are able to get so trapped without even seeing it happen. To me, this was my "normal".

I had become convinced that the teachings of ATI were the way life should be. I agreed with them that there was no reason that young adults should waste their most valuable years by sitting in classes at college and should instead be out on mission trips or something that would help them "store up treasures in Heaven". Plus, I was a girl. I was going to find myself a preacher boy and pop out a baker's dozen of his babies. I didn't need college to do that.

At many of the ATI seminars there were Children's Institutes, which was basically the children's version of the adult seminar. I thought that being part of the team of people who got to travel around the country and lead the CI's was the greatest thing in the world. They all seemed so happy and perfect. You couldn't apply to be on this team. You couldn't ask to be part of it. You had to be "discovered". You got on the team by being noticed by one of the ATI staff and standing out as someone who would make a difference. Most of the team told me that they had been discovered after working with Character First! (CF!). I finished my homeschooling a year early and graduated in Spring of '05. That Fall I was off to CF! I was set on being outstanding and getting a spot on the CI team! Spoiler alert: You don't get asked to be on the team and used by God if that is your intention. Apparently going into it with a confident attitude vs one of humility gets you nowhere.

CF! Is a program that is taught in public schools. In theory, it's pretty good. It teaches kids about things like obedience, attentiveness, responsibility, loyalty, kindness, etc. (there are 49 character qualities). The teams of CF! leaders would go to classes and teach lessons with songs, skits, and crafts. The kids loved it, for the most part. The kids had a hard time understanding why we dressed like prairie people. I shared in their confusion.

I arrived in Oklahoma very excited. I would spend the next 3 months there, showing the staff how ready I was to be part of their team and be all about the ATI life. My father flew down with me and brought me to the training center, because I had never been away on my own before. I wanted my mother to bring me, but that wouldn't work because women shouldn't travel alone. I had a room on the 8th floor which was the girls only floor. The boys lived on the 3rd floor. There were a few floors of classrooms, and some of apartments where the families who were in charge of the training center lived. The building used to be a hotel, and it was fairly nice. I met the other young adults who were on the Fall semester CF! team, I believe there were only 3 or 4 guys and 20-something girls. There were also a few people who were only there for a week who were going to learn the program and take it home to use at their churches or youth groups.

It did not take long at all for my excitement to fade. I had a roommate. Roommate and I did not hit it off. I was a Baptist and she was a Calvinist. Not as bad as putting an atheist with a priest, but it wasn't pretty. Both of us were very much set in our ways, we fought, and we did it a lot.
If you wanted to pay less for your semester at CF!, you could sign up for chores. I think all but one of us signed up for chores. They ranged from laundry, cooking, vacuuming, polishing the brass in the lobby, bathrooms, and standard upkeep. Chores weren't awful and were usually done in groups. However, there was not a limit on them, such as a set number of hours a day or an assigned task. My favorite chore was laundry, and now when I watch Orange is the new black, where the very religious girl who says things such as "There ain't no room for gays on the rapture bus!" is part of the laundry team, it if feels a bit like déjà vu.

I did not fit in well with the rest of the team at all. I was already an EMT and was very comfortable with being around guys and working with them. This did not go over well at all and I ended up in trouble with our leaders often. We had to attend etiquette classes, and I was the only girl who was willing to shake hands with the boys. Most of the other girls had made vows never to touch a man before marriage, and seeing as I had not yet become strong enough in my faith to make that commitment, I had to be the shaker of the hands. Of course, this made me their version of a harlot.  When you were in trouble, you were given a "heart check". This is similar to a time-out for an adult. You were sent to your room with your Bible and you had to read and pray until you saw what sin you were allowing to take over your heart. Sometimes if your offense was severe enough you were given food and water and a leader was posted outside of your door to make sure you didn't sneak out. That happened to me a few times.
I will share with you a list of some of my offenses.
-I sat down at a dining table where only boys were seated so far. The rule was that a boy and girl could never sit alone together. There always had to be a 2-1 ratio. A boy could sit at a table where girls were seated, but a girl could not sit at a table where only boys were sitting thus far. You were also required to leave an empty chair between a boy and girl, unless you were siblings.
-I was assigned to teach with a boy as my partner one week. He was a jerk, very full of himself, and had no justified reason to think so highly of himself. As our teaching day grew closer, I told him that I had been working on lesson plans and wanted to go over them with him. He ignored me and later sent his sister (who was a leader) to tell me that when teaching with a boy, I was to let him do the lesson and my job was to agree with everything he taught, "just as God had designed, for the man to have rule over the woman". I was given a heart check for approaching him to talk about lessons, because he said I was flirting and trying to trick him into spending time with him.
-While cleaning the bathrooms, I was caught humming a song from a worldly movie. I believe it was The Little Mermaid. Of course, she was rebellious and if that was the spirit that I let control my heart, I would need to be broken.
-While sitting in the dining room, one of the boys threw a small chocolate bar to me. I threw one back. I was given a heart check because I threw a Hershey kiss, which could give him the wrong idea and lead him to have impure thoughts. First of all, he started it and didn't get a heart check. Second of all, he was 19 and had a pulse (I assume so anyway, we never got closer than our six inch cushion because we had to leave room for Jesus), I promise that my gift of chocolate was not the spark of his first impure thought. This was my second flirtation offense and I was no longer allowed to vacuum the 3rd floor.
-On one of our bimonthly trips to walmart I bought tampons. These were taken away from me when the leaders went through my bags because tampons would steal my virginity. I tried to point out that I had used them before, so technically these wouldn't be taking my virginity, but I got the Romans 1 lecture about not continuing in sin. Clearly the devil sticks that I had been placing inside my body was the reason that grace was not abounding in my life.
-Some girls got in trouble for standing on the ledges outside the windows, which was something they did a lot because it was "wild and daring", but I didn't see the appeal. I figured if I walked out there, I'd have a way-to-easy method of ending this awful time there early.
-We all had to memorize Psalm 37. I am very good at memorizing and being quite dramatic and animated helps me with my process. I actually still know it all. I was excited that I had finished memorizing before the set time frame. This backfired though because I was being prideful about my skills instead of having a humble spirit and deflecting praise to God for putting a hedge of protection around my brain from Satan so that I could fill my mind with scripture. I couldn't freakin win.

After the first week of training, some of the less strict people were leaving and I was so sad. The only friends I made were in that group. One of the guys was really nice and we snuck into the stairway to hug each other goodbye. The hug was worth the chance of a heart check. One moment of swooning in 3 months is not a lot if you ask me.
I learned that the leaders had full control of my life for the next 3 months. They could ask you to stop whatever you were doing so that you could do more chores, get an extra lesson assignment, lead a Bible study, be lectured about something, etc. We had an hour of free time each day, but that time wasn't safe. I was so tired. I figured out that the only time the leaders were not allowed to bother you and you were safe was during meals. There were 3 time rotations of each meal. If you were in the dining room, you had to be eating. So, I began eating 12 meals a day. I gained 50 pounds in 3 months. It was worth it just to be left alone.
Roommate and I also got heart checks together sometimes. It wasn't a secret that we didn't like each other. We ended up realizing that the religion fight was petty and we were WAY better off forming an alliance. Kind of how The Parent Trap played out. We figured out that if we got in a fight, we would get a heart check together, and not get a leader posted outside the door. Not having a leader outside was key because they would check on you. If we got a heart check together, we could take a nap.
Because I gained so much weight, I was banned from sugar. There was a small store in the lobby and they weren't allowed to sell me snacks with sugar or caffeine.
Roommate and I ended up writing to our mothers to help out with this. My mother sent us the food we liked and her mother sent us tampons. It felt like prison, we had to get stuff from the outside. We also covered for each other. She didn't tell that I had a cell phone if I let her use it to call her secret boyfriend. We weren't allowed to watch TV, so Roommate and I used to act out scenes from movies to keep ourselves entertained.

When I say I hated it there, this is an understatement. Since we were teaching in public schools, we couldn't talk about God or the Bible. I knew that this was a rule, and I complied because that is the way the world works. We were allowed to talk about God if a child asked us a question. I got in trouble for phrasing my answer "Well, I believe..." Instead of presenting it as just pure fact. We taught Bible clubs after school in some of the low income housing projects. I didn't like those because I was never allowed to teach any classes. I was assigned to sit amongst the kids and pray silently for the devil not to disturb the class. The leaders told me that I wasn't allowed to teach because I didn't seem like my heart was pure and they didn't want any children led astray. What pure hypocrisy is that?! It didn't go over well when I asked them if having so much judgement in their hearts made them better used by God than I was. If a child had any questions, I was to direct them to one of the "approved soul winners" because they didn't trust that I was able to "lead someone to salvation", even though I had been "soul winning" with my church hundreds of times.

Each day that school started, no matter what school we went to, everyone had to say the Pledge of Allegiance, sing the national anthem, AND the state song, which (I kid you not) is Oklahoma!  I knew the song and as you can guess, I was in trouble for that because Oklahoma! Is a worldly movie because it has that girl in it who "cain't say no".
I also was not allowed to teach for a few days because it was Humility week and pride is the opposite of humility. In my lesson I said that some forms of pride are good, such as being proud to be an American, or proud of a child for doing the right thing. Nope! Apparently that is also a sin!

I no longer wanted to be on the traveling CI team. All I wanted was to leave that place. I did end up making friends. Not many, but some. One girl I know has also since left the ATI cult and likes my blog so far. I knew she was ok, she wore eye liner.
A few of the girls would talk to me when we walked during our free time. So many of them had been terribly abused and wanted to stay at the training center so they didn't have to go home. Some of them planned on staying as long as possible and working with kids there since they could never have any of their own. I asked why they couldn't have children and none of the answers were medical. In fact, many of them had never even been to an Obgyn.  They had been raped by either their brothers or boys in their churches and were truly convinced that they were now unfit for marriage because they were no longer pure. Some when they were as young as 5. If I tried to tell them that the things that happened to them were not their fault, they would tell me "that is a lie that the world tells you". They believed that they had to have tempted these boys in some way and gave them urges that they could not control. I was told I would never understand. I only have a sister. I had no brothers who I could tempt. "Being raped is just part of growing up this way, you are just one of the lucky ones who didn't have it happen." I really, really hope that since then these women have gotten the help that they need and no longer think that they are worthless. Recently it has come out that there were sexual assaults happening at almost every training center, with many of them coming from the founder himself. None of my ATI friends were surprised by this news.

The best thing that happened to me during my time there was acquiring lice. A few other girls got it as well. Roommate managed to avoid the bugs setting up camp on her head. Instead of doing chores, I had to get my hair picked through every day which took about 2 hours because my hair looks very much like Merida's from Brave. 

The 3 months I spent there made me see that this was not a way that anyone should spend their life. I was glad that I was not someone who they would want for the traveling CI team, and I never wanted to be part of anything ATI ever again. I know that many of my current friends who have spent time at any of the training centers agree, and the one in OK was known as the most lenient of all the training centers. I can't even imagine what it was like at the others.
We all heard about the rebellious spirit of the girl who escaped from the center in Illinois. That girl is one of my best friends and I am so proud of her! That's right, proud. As I write this, with my stethoscope resting around my neck, my heart check is just fine. Although, I could go for a secret nap right about now.

To be continued...

"What's the worst thing you've seen?!?!"

Eyes. 

I am a paramedic in a busy city and I have been working in EMS since I was 16. More often than not, when someone finds out what I do, or sees me in uniform running errands, they will ask the question that every one of us in EMS is asked. 

"What's the worst thing you've seen?!" 

I'm not sure what answer people desire. Do they want to know about mangled cars wrapped around trees? Do they want tales of blood and gore? Are they looking for some grand story of how I pulled someone back from the tight grips of death? Nobody calls 911 because they are having a great day. 

The "sparks" love that question. I used to be like that. Waiting on the edge of my seat for the "big call" where I got to be the hero. That isn't how it works. 

I was asked that question last night by a patient. She was serious when she asked, and we actually really got into the discussion. I thought about it for a while. Seeing body parts thrown everywhere is certainly unpleasant, but I am busy looking for the people I can help. Having someone bleeding everywhere with bones sticking out of skin is messy, but I am focused on controlling the problem, not looking at the gross factor. Some people would list childbirth as the worst call, but I LOVE being the one helping to deliver a baby, and that is beautiful to me. Last time I was at a delivery I think I cried more than the mom! 

Part of growing up in a strict Christian home is learning many, many verses. I remembered 2 in Matthew 6:22-23a "The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness."

It dawned on me, no matter what type of call I have, the eyes are the thing that bother me the most, and the thing that literally haunts my memory. 

I tell my partners that I can stomach just about any type of call except eyes. I mean it. I hate any type of trauma to the eye, or even just an infection, and I have had to suppress the urge to vomit any time someone has an eye complaint. I will happily take all of the transfers, the GI bleeds, and the trach calls if my partner will just take the eye related complaints. 

Eyes can tell you so much about a person. We can communicate with just a look, and that is something special that spans not only the human world, but crosses into communication with our animals as well. We can establish a bond and a trust without being able to speak the same language. We can convey such emotion. We can see if someone may have jaundice. We can see if they have been using drugs. We have to confirm that the eyes are still when we pronounce a death. We can see that someone may have a potential serious brain injury. We can look into some that look like forest pools and become lost. We can see life.

One of the earliest calls I remember is when I was working a cardiac arrest on a family friend. I was in charge of his airway, so I was sitting above his head. I closed his eyes, but every time we hit a bump they would open. It didn't scare me, but it upset me. I hated looking back into his eyes thinking that I was the one who was breathing for him now. We did everything we possibly could for him and everything went as it should, but he died. The only thing worse than looking into his eyes was walking out of his room and looking into his wife's eyes. She and I worked together. She saw me and didn't need to be told. She could read my eyes.

Probably the most disturbing thing I've ever done was stand face with a man who had taken his own life. I was called to pronounce him dead after he had been found hanging in his garage. It was a very small space, so in order to get the EKG strip that the police needed, I ended up having to stand right in front of him, inches from his face. I always pictured hangings like on tv where they are high on gallows. This wasn't like that. He was so low that he was standing on the floor with his knees bent. His eyes were wide open, staring straight at me with no life behind them and all I could think about was how he looked like he could so easily have stood straight up. 

I have looked into the eyes of people who truly believe they are the devil himself. They speak in tongues. They are very strong, and their stare can chill me to the bone. I have looked into the eyes of pure gratitude and helplessness in an elderly woman who had fallen in her kitchen and broken her hip after spilling boiling water on herself and being trapped on the cold floor for 3 days. She was burned, freezing, and soaked with her own waste, and so glad that we found her. 

It is difficult for me to look into the eyes of someone who's pupils look like saucers, and is barely breathing, because after I have given them the medicine they need to breath on their own again, that blank stare turns to rage. It doesn't matter that I saved their life, I took away their high. 

I remember going to a call for a car that had driven under a tractor trailer. The car was crushed, but it needed to be confirmed that the driver had died and had no chance for revival. All of the police and fire fighters on scene were saying what we all say to make things like this a bit easier, "He didn't know what hit him". When fire had finally moved enough debris for me to crawl into the car to confirm death, I was able to see that the man had been decapitated by the truck. I was the only one small enough to get into the car, and the only one there to see the look on that man's face. Never before had I seen such a look of pure terror. He knew exactly what hit him. 

One night I was at a scene where a man had been ejected from a car and run over so much that the only way to tell he was human was the clothes. As we were walking through the scene I saw something shinny and not bloody like everything else. I pushed it a bit with my foot and saw that it was his eye. 

Not all of the eyes that haunt me are from my patients. Not all are from adults who made poor choices. How do you look into the eyes of a 4 year old who looks up at you with such innocence and confusion and tell him that he has to go play at the neighbor's for a while because you couldn't wake up his mommy who he had found lying on the floor surrounded by empty alcohol and pill bottles? How do you forget the time that you had a state trooper run up to you and hand you a screaming, naked, freezing 2 year old boy, covered in abrasions and dirt, who had been abducted from his home by mom's angry ex-boyfriend? I watched the look in his eyes turn from terrified to trusting as I swaddled him and held him as tightly as I could, and just kept telling him how much I loved him and that he was safe now. 

It's wonderful looking in the eyes of a patient who you watch go from pain to comfort. I love watching the look of relief in a family's eyes when they see that their loved one is alright. I love holding a newborn and seeing them open their eyes for the first time. I can ease worry with a wink, I can show I care without a word. Eyes are powerful. I can forget some of the gore and disgusting smells and things the media love. I can't forget those eyes. Their images are burned in my mind.

 It may not be the exciting answer that people want to hear when they ask me, but it is my honest answer. 

This wasn't at all about being homeschooled, but I woke up and just started typing. This is what came out. 

Love, Heather 

Toothpaste and top sheets

I am very particular in how I do most things. I have very strong feeling about (not towards) a more than healthy amount of inanimate objects, for which I blame my 5 year old self and my love of Beauty and the Beast. I hate sleeping with the open ends of the pillow cases towards the middle of the bed. I will re-fold clothes if I don't like how someone else did them, and I have plates and cups that I like WAY more than other ones. Over the last year and a half or so, Joe, my boyfriend, (for the sake of brevity) has been seeing these many habits that I have, and for the most part, has adapted around them. Joe usually makes sure that the spoon I like is clean and he eats off the ones with the stupid giant handles. He knows that I like to drink wine out of the curved top wine glass more than I like it out of the glass that looks like its top was cut off, that everything else tastes better out of my princess mug that his mother sent me, and that although I feel an unnecessary amount of guilt about it, I like the brand name saltine crackers in my chicken noodle soup so much more than the store brand crackers, and he keeps his kitchen stocked with the things I like at all times. He even purposely got the brand name crackers in the "stay fresh packs" that are half the size of the normal ones, and provide me with exactly the right amount of soup-to-cracker ratio. After just re-reading that sentence I realize that many of you (Joe included) will think that is a ridiculous thing to be excited about. But I am! To me that is just as special and made me just as happy as if he had given me his kidney. Provided that I needed a kidney, and that he was a match to donate one to me. Otherwise, I would still be grateful, but probably not as excited about his choice of gift.

Even with how particular I am about most things, if I don't have some odd, strong feeling about something, I rarely even think about it. I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle. I understand that this is a point of contention in many homes, but it's just something I don't think about. Joe likes to squeeze from the end and asked me several times to stop squeezing it from the middle. When it starts to become empty I push the toothpaste towards the cap, but sometimes when I'm in a hurry, I forget. One night I squeezed the toothpaste from the middle and then handed the tube to Joe so that he could use it. He told me that I was no longer allowed to put a top sheet on his bed until I learned to squeeze the toothpaste the correct way. Now, this may seem like a ridiculous punishment, but for me, this was very upsetting. I don't know how anyone could sleep with just a fitted sheet and not put the top sheet with it. I also don't like having just a comforter over me and nothing tucked in at the bottom of the bed. If Joe makes his bed, he just leaves out the top sheet and I would always re-make the bed "the right way". I didn't argue and accepted my sentence of having no more top sheet until I proved that I respected his toothpaste squeezing preferences. It never even crossed my mind that he was kidding.

Throughout my entire life I had been taught that men had rule and authority over women. Pastors, who were always male, had authority over the church, which was a symbol of Christ and His bride. Husbands had authority over their wives. Ephesians 5:22-25 "Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto The Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the savior of the body. Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it." Very often during the quoting of this, the loving part is omitted. Women are taught to obey men without question. Children are to obey their parents, as is true in most cultures and is part of growing up, but are taught never to ask why. My father has told me and my sister countless times "Obey first, understand later." That is all well and good to teach a child obedience because in some cases, it could save their lives. If more adults would learn to obey the proper authorities, everyone's lives would be much easier...for the most part. Working as a paramedic, I am used to life or death situations being part of daily life. I work closely with police and firefighters who also share that. I know though that not everyone is going to obey, and that is natural. Even the Bible says that everyone was born with a sin nature. I do not feel that we should obey blindly though. We should be able to know why we are doing what we are doing. Obeying a command not to run out into the street is different than obeying a command to sit in the back of a bus.

I remember going to a conference at what I refer to as "the mothership" church in Hammond, IN, when I was a teenager. My parents attend a church not far from their home. The pastor there came from the Bible college that was started by this mega-church, a.k.a the mothership. My parents' pastor, in my eyes, is one of the hundreds of "cookie-cutter pastors" that this mega-church produces (for clarification: ATI is the homeschool group in which I was raised. The church my parents attend, and the afore mentioned mothership are entirely two different things). At one of the sessions at this conference that was only for women, the pastor's wife was teaching about how women should always obey anything their husband told them to do, and never, ever to question him, because what he was asking was clearly God's will. You were however allowed to question your husband if he went against the Bible or if what he wanted was illegal, and in that case, he was obviously being tempted and lied to by the devil. If your husband IS being tempted by the devil, this is still your fault as the wife. Don't think that you are off the hook just because your husband asked you to steal a car, not even close! Now you have more to worry about because YOU were allowing sin to be brought into the home and into your husband's life by not doing everything in your power to make sure that your husband was happy and free from distractions so that he could understand what God wanted! They do not cover this heavy stuff in Better homes and gardens!
If your husband asked you to do anything for him sexually, you were not allowed to say no. Rape was not something that existed in a marriage. It doesn't matter if you have a headache, a long day, or had gotten only an hour of sleep from being up all night with the baby. Part of your job as a wife was to satisfy your husband. If you were uncomfortable with an act that your husband wanted preformed, or if your husband didn't like period sex, woman, you had better get on your knees! (See, even cults teach you double entendres!) If your husband cheated on you, you must not have been meeting all of his needs. Everything was the fault of the wife and her disobedience, just like Eve. Husbands are told to love their wives, and why would you force someone to do anything they didn't feel comfortable doing, just for your own selfish pleasures?

I knew that what she was teaching was wrong, but things like that are still deeply rooted in my head. As I first ventured out into the world I was very good with authority and always had a fantastic work relationship with my bosses. I was great at being told what to do. As I mentioned, I am now a paramedic. As a paramedic, I have the highest level of medical care on an emergency scene. I love my job, I love being the one who makes the tough calls and the one who can stay (mostly) calm when someone is having the worst day of their lives. Being the highest level of care and sometimes command does not come naturally to me. Gender stereotypes are still very present in the world today no matter how much we think we have overcome them. Almost every time I arrive on a scene for a 911 call, whether for a stomach ache, a car crash, or a cardiac arrest, the natural instinct of most people is to tell the large, masculine firefighters what is wrong and to ignore the small woman with the medications which will probably help you. If I am working with a male EMT partner, people naturally tell him what their problem is. Unless I arrive on a scene with only my regular partner, who is a female smaller than myself, 9 out of 10 times I have to redirect attention and establish that I am in fact the one who is in charge of making the decisions.
Joe is also a paramedic for the same city and he was unaware that this was even a problem. Just a few weeks ago my female partner and I were at a very chaotic scene where family members were climbing onto the patient and not allowing us to work. I had asked them several times to step back, but my efforts were futile. Joe had been sent to the scene as well, and as soon as he asked the family to step back, they obeyed and Joe noticed no issue with them. while grateful that I was able to work on my patient, I also felt a twinge of jealousy for his broad, masculine shoulders, extra 9" of height, and commanding presence. I in no way feel that being a small female prevents me from being an effective paramedic, in many cases it is even helpful. I can crawl through small spaces, or win the trust of a woman or a child a bit faster, but every now and then being a "half sized medic" has more challenges than I would like. I have spent the last 10 years working to break myself out of that habit and not questioning the commands I give. For the most part, everyone works very well together. My male partners are amazing at helping to direct the decisions to me. Once in a while though, my orders are questioned, or even ignored. I have to fight an almost paralyzing fear with all that I have to stand up for myself and give an order to a man, let alone contradict him!

For weeks I squeezed the toothpaste from the middle. Sometimes I would forget but quickly go back and fix it because I didn't want to endure any more nights longing for the beloved top sheet. Joe had apparently forgotten as quickly as he had made the joke. I had not. Joe's subconscious tends to want those around him to be warm. Sleeping next to him without a top sheet is stressful for me. If I push the comforter off of myself, sleeping Joe instantly springs into action and covers me again, securing the cover with his legs and arms. If I elect to sleep on top of the cover, I get too cold. Night after night I longed for the top sheet, but I didn't mention it because I didn't want to risk losing it for longer. Joe has never given me a reason to think that he is the monster that my brain had created, but once you are brainwashed into submissiveness to men, it takes a lot to retrain your way of thinking. The other night I was being snarky and I purposely squeezed the toothpaste in the middle, right in front of Joe. I quickly fixed it. He laughed and said that I could put the top sheet back on his bed. I was elated. I gave him the biggest hug and ran to make the bed. It wasn't until then that he realized I had taken him seriously. He couldn't fathom that I had actually spent all these weeks of effort and worry because of a joke he had made. Poor Joe had to deal with the huge flood of emotions from all the past memories he stirred up, but he felt bad and gave me so many hugs and dried my tears.

He also decided that it was probably best just to ask me nicely to stop leaving the top off the shampoo in the shower.

Only the good die young, or: Only sluts have good stories

Growing up in church and in the homeschool group, The Advanced Training Institute (ATI), we had a lot of speakers who would come in and preach or speak to us about the horrible path they were on that brought them to church (men preach, women speak, but only to other women or children. Heaven forbid a woman teach a man anything. If a woman knows something a man does not,  God obviously did not intend for him to know it). They had been involved in drugs, alcohol, gangs, prostitution, or had been to prison. Of course, there were also the ones who had been saved from such things as rock music, short skits, and premarital sex.

They always had such grand stories (testimonies) about how God saved them from this terrible world they were in and how grateful they were to be saved from their wicked path to destruction.
The adults would tell us how blessed we were that we never were exposed to such sinful ways as these people had been. Of course I was very happy and proud of these people for having the strength to turn their lives around, but there was always a bit of jealousy and conflict that went along with these messages. They could get up and give their testimony of all they had seen and done and the trials they endured before eventually finding salvation. All we would say was something like "I was saved when I was 4. Then one time I told my mom I practiced my violin for 20 minutes, but I only practiced for 15. Then lying became too much for me to bear on my own, so I confessed my sin to my parents and I was forgiven." 

Instead of learning to love everyone, we learned to be judgmental and quite stuck up.

One of my girl friends asked me last week "Remember when we used to have to clean the make up stains off the school bathroom counters before we ran a seminar and then had to take time to pray for the sluts?"
That was something that happened all the time. If we saw a teenage couple kissing, or someone enjoying rock music, or smoking, etc. we were made to stop and pray for those "sinners" to turn from their ways and be more like us. We were to be good examples at all times. If we did something wrong, it could ruin our perfect testimony and cause someone not as strong as we were to fall into temptation, which is rude. It was strange to think that if I listened to Billy Joel, I could be responsible for an armed robbery!

If we knew of someone who had once been the ideal Christian but had been spotted at the movie theater or some other vile form of mass sinning, they were called a "backslider". Mostly under your breath (Back-biting was a sin that we committed often). The backsliders probably got a carbonated beverage when they were at the sin palace seeing a Disney movie containing things such as magic, and disobedient children. Next thing you know, they will be wearing open toe shoes and causing boys who wear their hats backwards to lust after them.

We all had to have a "life verse". All these awful sinners had cool life verses like Psalm 40:2 " He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings." 

They could relate to the prodigal son. We were stuck with life verses such as Psalm 37:23 

"The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way." When I went away to ATI's "college" we all had to memorize Psalm 37, and we were constantly reassured that we were better than all these "worldly" people. 

If I brought up Matthew 7:1 "Judge not, that ye be not judged."

Or John 13:34 "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another." I was told I was taking it out of context and that I was not to befriend these people who would lead me down a sinful path, but that I would love them by praying for them and not allowing them to influence me. 

My grandmother shared in my dilemma. She hated to hear the story of the prodigal son because his wonderful brother was the good kid, he stayed home and worked for his father and always did the right thing, but the backslider son went off and did whatever he wanted and still got just as much as the good son.  I'm always reminded of this when I watch Christmas Vacation and Ruby Sue says "Sometimes I think all that Santa crap is just bull. If he was so real, how come we didn't get squat last year? We didn't do nothing wrong, and we still got the shaft." 

In our eyes, the only way to spice up our testimony was to start being like the bad kids. My friends and I bought a few Beatles CDs, learned the songs, then broke the CDs and brought them to church so we could lay them on the altar and be returned from our ways and once again be used by God. I don't think it works as well if you do it on purpose. Nobody fell for it and all we did was get yelled at more because we knew better.  The plan to keep us perfect young people had failed after making such a fuss over the wonderful transformation that happened in the "bad kids" lives and making us a giant disappointment if we strayed. I have found that no matter how much you shelter or protect your kids, they are going to get in to some kind of trouble. It's part of growing up. I've met public schooled 25 year old virgins, and pastor's kids who are cutters. 

As I grew up I realized that no one likes you for being a stuck up, self-righteous little snob, and praying for someone but not talking to them or being a part of their lives is not a way to love them. Now that I am out of that cult I have adopted some of the "ways of the world", and I don't feel that I am a terrible person for it. Some of my old friends who are still deeply rooted in that world I left behind are not allowed to talk to me, per their husbands. Most of my friends have either broken out on their own, or are working on it. We wear pants. We go to the movies. We listen to the music that plays in the grocery store. We still try not to murder people or deal drugs, but that is just good manners.