Holiday Celebration

As I have been working the last two weeks, I have run across different ideas from different churches that affect children who are my clients. These differences have to do with how holidays are celebrated. Needless to say, I have definitely had a few flashbacks to how holidays were celebrated when I was growing up in a United Pentecostal Church pastor’s home.

Christmas

While I have run across several different churches in my area that do not believe in celebrating Christmas at all, that was not the case while I was growing up. We celebrated the Christmas holiday as the birth of Christ, even though my father was aware that was not actually the birth of Christ. He did however preach against having a Christmas tree, because he taught that the history of the Christmas tree was rooted in paganism. I remember once when my ex-husband, who also was against Christmas trees, gave a very vivid explanation of how these pagans apparently burned their babies in worship to their gods and it somehow had something to do with the decorated tree.

I always found Christmas trees to be gorgeous. Of course, I love pretty things and I always have, so it wasn’t just Christmas trees but also jewelry and make up, fingernail polish and many other beautiful things from which I would learn to avert my eyes because they were “evil,” and could not be admired.

My mother, like me, always loved decorating and had a fancy for pretty things. She made wreaths and flower arrangements as well as garlands with which she decorated our home for Christmas. Our Christmas decorations usually included every element that one would find on a Christmas tree: greenery, lights, ornaments, and often words of scripture such as a Isaiah 9:10.

I loved Christmas and could not wait to help her decorate the whole house. She would usually give us a string of lights and some tinsel to put in our bedrooms once everything else was decorated. This is a tradition that I carry on with my sons to this day. Putting out the nativity was always a very special part of the decorations, because it was the “reason for the season.”

We never believed in Santa Claus, but neither was he made into an evil being. We grew up with adults joking about Santa, so we took it as a joke as well. There was often wrapping paper with Santa Claus on it and we would look at children getting their picture taken with Santa in the mall. I don’t remember ever even wanting to get my picture taken with Santa. My earliest recollection is remembering that I knew it was just some man dressed up in a suit, pretending.

Still, the magic of Christmas was part of my childhood. Not knowing what was in the presents, and the excitement of getting to open them on Christmas Eve after supper, are special childhood memories.

Some of my most embarrassing moments also had to do with Christmas. In a church where the pastor is lifted up to a position of respect just under that of God himself, Christmas was a time when the church people pooled their money together to honor my father as their pastor.  I remember the embarrassment I felt in having to go to the front of the church and open presents with my family when none of the other kids had presents. I always felt very uncomfortable, because some of the presents weren’t anything that I would want, but even as a child I knew that these people meant well and I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. It was so hard to try to make sure that my face did not reveal any true feelings and to make sure that I spoke up loud enough for them to hear my thanks. I always did have the softest voice!

I remember when they started giving family gifts instead of individual gifts to unwrap. This was a lot more comfortable for me, but it also felt a bit odd. The family gift might be a new sofa, or one year it was two lazy boy recliners, covered in dollar bills.  I remember wondering if my mother would not have preferred to go pick out her own sofa. Mostly I was just embarrassed to be singled out in this manner and didn’t feel comfortable with the way things played out. As an adult, looking back, I now wonder if the instinct of a child is not wiser than the adulation of the adults at that point.

Once I grew up and married a preacher in the same cult, Christmas became a bone of contention. He had been raised in a country that was predominately Catholic, as a missionary’s son. His parents were under the impression that Catholics worshiped the nativity figures and that they were not simply representations.  As a result, he would not allow me to have a nativity scene as a decoration at Christmas time, no matter where we were living. To me it felt like taking Christ out of Christmas to eliminate this important reminder from my decorations.

In addition, I was not allowed to mix lights with greenery. I could have greenery and I could have lights, but not together. I could even have ornaments, but not in the greenery. The rules got so complicated that it ruined the joy of decorating for Christmas. My feelings about the holiday begin to be very mixed every year, and honestly I grew bitter at not being able to celebrate freely from the heart.

We were not allowed to use wrapping paper that had Santa on it, and he taught our children that Santa was evil. There were so many rules about every little thing in regards to Christmas, that the focus became more on the rules and less on celebrating the birth of Christ.  I lost the joy of celebration. It became a very materialistic time as he worked hard to make sure we spent the exact same dollar amount on people with the same relationship status.

After we divorced, and once I left the cult environment, I was so excited to buy my first Christmas tree! The kids loved it, and we decorated it together while listening to Christmas carols.  I bought the happiest Santa Claus paper I could find in which to wrap my presents, and since my littlest one was the only son who didn’t already know that Santa didn’t exist, he got to be the one to believe in Santa…briefly ( big brothers had to blab of course).

Approximately seven years later, this Christmas we had two Christmas trees! The house we are renting happens to have two living rooms, and we found a large Christmas tree on sale at a liquidation outlet. In the living room I had our beautiful big tree decorated all in blue and silver, and in the other living room, the smaller tree was decorated like the kids wanted it to be. It had Santa and penguins, reindeer and all sorts of other fun things on it.  Our stockings were hung on the mantle, and we joked about Santa coming down the chimney to fill them. The nativity scene was on the mantle, along with Christmas cards from friends and family. The joy was back in Christmas! We celebrated freely any way we wished!

New Year’s Eve

When I was a kid, New Year’s was always a spiritual celebration. It usually included a “watch night service,” which meant that we had a very long service, lasting from about 7:30 on New Year’s Eve to at least midnight. It was a very serious service, and didn’t feel much like a celebration, at least not to a kid.

The service would start out pretty normal, but often the preaching would be very “convicting.” something to do with the rapture, or how time was running out if we wanted to be saved. Sometime before or after the preaching there would be a time of “soul-searching” to repent and get our hearts right so that we could take communion without “taking it unworthily.”  Looking back, I’m not very sure exactly what curse would befall us if we weren’t right with God when we took the bread and grape juice, but whatever it was, it was a fearful moment.

I remember a couple of times when I had trouble squeezing out any tears, and I felt so guilty, because it seemed like it was almost expected that everybody would cry and weep and wail in order to get their hearts right.

Sometime, usually towards the end of the service, there would be a “foot washing service.” This would have been announced previously, along with the admonition that everybody should wash their feet before coming. The women and girls would be separated into one room, while the men and boys went into another room. The purpose of this ceremony was to humble ourselves before one another, like Jesus did when he washed his disciples feet. Since leaving the cult I have found it very odd to realize that most other churches have never even heard of such a ceremony.

The footwashing ceremony was kind of uncomfortable for me as well, because I’ve always had very large personal boundaries and I am not much of a touchy person. However, the worst moment was always when the lady who had ended up across from me got down to wash my feet.

First of all, for whatever reason, the ceremony usually involved a lot of weeping and crying and praying for one another while you slowly run your hands over this person’s feet top and bottom while the person’s feet are immersed in warm water. Then, you would take a towel that had just dried everybody else’s feet and you would dab this person’s feet, continuing to cry and pray for them. After that, you would give them the towel and put your own feet in the bucket of water, letting them repeat this ceremony to you.

The problem was that my feet are extremely ticklish. No matter how I would try to steel myself to be serious and weep and cry, the moment that person’s hand ran over the bottom of my foot, instinctive action would take place.

My feet would jerk and kick, surprising the foot washer, and causing everyone around to instantly chuckle. It was very embarrassing to be the person who made everybody lose their spiritual vibe and turn such a serious occasion into giggles. After that, it was always a little hard to weep and cry over my feet. I can’t say I miss that ceremony at all.

After leaving the cult, I’ve never quite know what to do with myself on New Year’s Eve. Those “watch night services” usually were the introduction to January’s church wide fasts.  The entire month of January all of the congregants were encouraged to be involved in different types of fasting. Some of them would fast the entire month and have nothing but water, while others would do a “Daniel fast.” Still others would fast one day a week during the month.  The purpose of this was to get everyone’s heart prepared for starting the year out with a “revival.”

For the last few years we haven’t really celebrated on New Year’s Eve at all. We will stay up late watching movies and reading books, and then go to bed once midnight has arrived. This year I wanted to figure out the joy of celebration for New Years as well.  We shall see how that goes, as I really have no idea how to celebrate it. It’s a far cry to go from a sad, serious, and fear filled “watch night service” to a fun celebration. Only time will tell how we manage to put the past behind us and create new traditions that are fun and celebratory.

Shame on You!

As stated before, I was a sensitive child.  I grew into a sensitive teen, who became a sensitive adult.  The age-old question arises, was it nature or nurture? Was it biology, or environment?  Obviously, it is impossible to decipher. Regardless of the cause, I was sensitive. That meant that I was quicker to respond to the slightest pressure, as well as being deeply affected by everything that was said to me.  I was highly conscientious, and hyper-aware of disapproval.  At an early age, I learned to read expressions. A raised eyebrow or dirty look was as potent to me as if words had been spoken over me.  Many people raised in abusive environments have this trait as adults.  It comes from a shame-based upbringing, where fear is palpable.

I’ve written past articles about how I was trained to sit on the front row in church by myself at nine months old. In the moments where I had trouble managing that, I was taken out and spanked…thus, instilling in me from an early age a sense of shame. To be sure, the entire environment of the cult is drenched in shame. It functions on shaming the subservient population so that they will give more power to the ruling class. In this case, the congregants are the subservient ones, while the pastors are the elite.

Shame was also prominent at home. Because of the nature of being a preacher’s daughter, we didn’t just go to church a couple times of week and then go about our normal lives. Church was our normal life, and every day revolved around our ‘relationship with God,’ and our ‘service to God.’  As a result, anything you did at home that was remotely ‘sinful’ received a message of shame. For example, normal developmental stages of childhood include such behaviors as lying to get out of trouble, sometimes lying because you don’t even realize it is a lie, taking things that don’t belong to you, etc.  These are behaviors related to learning the boundaries of one’s environment. Yet, reacting with anger when you were told no, or when people invaded your instinctive boundaries was also ‘sinful.’  All of these things were not only punished with a spanking, but also involved a sermon about what God thought about it.

Shame, shame, shame on you! So, not only would you get a spanking for stomping your foot and screaming, when you were two years old, but you would also be told that God was not pleased with your anger, and you would have prayer. You would be led through a prayer of repentance to help you start to understand that God was displeased with your actions as well.  When I received a spanking for anything, even fighting with my sister, there was prayer afterward, to “get right with God.”

As an adult educated about child development and human nature, as well as boundaries, I realize that many of those things were not even remotely sinful, but were my instinctive reactions to being manipulated and controlled. While on the surface this might seem to be a good way to raise kids, every little mistake became a spiritual issue. You were lost eternally if you told a lie or showed anger toward your parents. This created in me a sense that every moment I could be ‘falling into sin.’ As a human being, there seldom was a day that went by, in certain stages of childhood, where I didn’t do something that could be deemed a ‘sin’

Clinical observations: Imagine the shame and the guilt of a child who really wants to please God, but finds herself continually failing.  The anxiety and panic of somehow failing to be perfect can be overwhelming. Gradually, in such an environment, you become ashamed of your own feelings, so you try to numb them. Stuffing those feelings inside creates a low level of depression clinically termed “dysthymia.”  At the root of most anxiety is this deep sense of shame. In the case of this example, you are constantly anxious that you are displeasing to God, that you are not measuring up to your own expectations, and that you are somehow continually missing the mark. Shame is different than guilt. We all feel guilty when we do something wrong. This is a natural feeling that leads us to repentance, change, or reflection. Shame is different. Shame is there because we are a general failure in our own minds. Shame is there because we do not measure up, either to our own standards or to those of others. Shame is not just felt in a moment, concerning one action, but permeates our lives.

As I grew into a teenager, I learned to feel shame about other things in my life. (For example, as humans grow into the teen years, it is normal to have hormones and to begin to feel sexual attraction.  The bodies begin to change, and secondary sexual attributes become apparent.) For a girl raised in this cult environment, there’s a lot of shame attached to these developments. Of course, every human being knows about sexual development, and hormones. However, in the cult environment, by its very nature of listing rules and regulations, the female body becomes a shameful thing. I am not trying to be crude, but girls with natural curves may especially feel a sense of shame attached to their bodies, because the cult ‘rules’ teach females to hide their bodies ‘to avoid others lusting.’  This teaches girls that they are responsible for the thoughts, and even sins of others.  What a shame!

Over-sexualizing the human body causes a lot of shame, and even some twisted thinking. I remember a young man who was always correcting a couple of young ladies in the church. He kept coming up to them and telling them that their skirts were too tight, or that their tops were too tight. Finally, my dad addressed this with him, and told him “If they’re not dressed right I will correct it, as the pastor.” He said “It’s not your place to go around correcting women in the church.” He then found out that the young man was feeling sexually attracted to these girls, and that’s why he was finding fault with them. The problem really was not with the young ladies, but with his own natural attraction to the opposite sex.  (From the viewpoint of mental health, looking at nature and hormonal influences, even he was not at fault…he was made to feel guilty for something that was quite natural.)

I remember once, around the age of fifteen, feeling ‘convicted’ because of a beautiful dress that I had bought, and loved dearly. It looked so pretty, and it was my favorite dress. However, I became aware of a teenage boy looking at my breasts when I was wearing the dress, I felt that I was being ‘sinful’ to wear a dress that was ‘fitted.’ Granted, I was a little more ‘blessed’ than some of the other girls, just by genetics. Because of this, pretty much anything I wore was not going to hide my body, unless I wore a feed sack.

Yet, in retrospect, I was not the only girl so affected.  A friend of mine in the cult, who was extremely sensitive as well, wore loose jackets all of the time, and would never wear a dress with a bodice. Everything was always very baggy, and she looked pretty tacky on purpose. She also walked stoop shouldered to hide her figure. Her body shame was caused by not wanting to be the ’cause’ for a man to sin with lustful thoughts. She also told me, at one point, that she would never wear anything but plain cotton underwear, because anything else made her ‘have bad thoughts.’  She was a teen girl with hormones and body development given by God.  What a shame that she carried around such needless shame!

The shame in the cult never ends. You are shameful because you fail, you are shameful because you are a sexual creature, and you are a shame because the opposite sex is attracted to you. Shame on them as well! How dare they notice that you are female with curves!

Clinical observation: Now that I have studied human development, I realize that all of these things are very normal and not sinful at all. It is very normal for a young male to be attracted to a young female, even noticing her body traits. It is very normal and natural for all young people to occasionally have ‘dirty’ thoughts. These things are not shameful, but are part of the human existence that God created to drive procreation and families. Obviously, people have to learn to curb impulses, but as far as being ashamed of one’s thoughts or hormonal reactions, it is ridiculous to heap this kind of shame on people.

When I was engaged to my first husband, I was still part of this cult. He was very conservative, an ordained minister in the same cult. I remember telling him as we became engaged to “just let me know” if he had any “holiness standards” that we didn’t have, and I would change my dress or behavior to what he preached. He declared that there was nothing like that at all. A month or so later, his parents came to visit, his mother with her scarf around her neck like a turtle neck…and all of a sudden I got a phone call from him, commenting that my necklines were too low. I was frustrated, because I worked very hard to follow all of the modesty ‘rules.’

We spoke at length about this, and he described to me different dresses that I wore where he had noticed that my necklines were too low. I tried on those dresses, bending down in front of the mirror and even bending down in front of my parents to see if they could see anything. They couldn’t. I called him back, trying to figure out what in the world he was talking about. He told me that he saw too much of my neck and it made his mind wander to other areas. We were engaged to be married in two months! He was sexually attracted to me, as hopefully most engaged young men are to their fiances. There is nothing wrong with this, but he felt shame, which he then tried to project onto me, as causing him to have ‘sinful thoughts.’

After we were married, he would criticize practically everything I put on. Finally, frustrated at the guessing game, I asked him one day to just give me a place on my body where he wanted my necklines to be, and I would make sure that they were always there. He told me that my collarbones needed to be covered up, because the base of the neck was very sexual, and caused men to think about other parts that were covered.

As you can imagine, the entire marriage was drenched in shame. (In retrospect, I realize that he had also been soaked in shame growing up, and that ‘shame’ had basically become his middle name.) However, at the time, I only knew that I received constant messages of shame. If I did not want to have sexual relations with him some night, and he wanted it, then I needed to “submit to him as the Bible said.” If I asked him more than a couple of times to change a light bulb, I was a “nagging wife,” and the Bible talked about those!  I was not to disagree with him about anything, because the Bible said to submit to your husband. If he wanted one of the children spanked, even for age-appropriate behaviors, I had to spank them, regardless of my personal feelings about the matter. This not only invaded my boundaries, but caused me to go against my very own conscience. However, it was a shame to have my own thoughts, it was a shame to defy my husband, and it was especially a shame, since he was my pastor, to disagree with him.

Of course, we began raising our children in a constant shower of shame. Early on, he had the three-year-old and five-year-old in their room, giving them a message about hell fire….describing in very explicit sermon terms what hell is like, and telling them over and over “You’re going there. You’re going there. I can’t save you.” All of this happened because they lied. (Now if you know anything about child development, you know that it is very normal for three-year-old and a five-year-old to lie. A three-year-old and a five-year-old may not even be aware that they’re telling a lie, they’re just responding instinctively.) Even though I was horrified at his terrorizing the children, I could not intervene at that time, because of my own deep sense of shame. He was their pastor, he was their father, while I was merely his wife, and was supposed to be submitted to him. Even though I stood in the other room horrified, and crying for the terror my children must be feeling, I did nothing. Shame on me!

During this time, I remember specifically working on my own attitude, because of the resentment and disagreement I felt at the continual abuse and shame that was occurring in our home.  I engaged in a daily Bible study about all the verses concerning ‘submission’ and daily repentance for my inner thoughts that were anything but submissive.  I prayed for him to change, to be a good father, to be a kind husband, but I really felt so much shame regarding my lack of agreement with his behavior, and that was the main focus of my devotionals during that time.  Some very difficult things happened in our lives right after that, and we ended up abruptly moving.

He had admitted viewing pornography, years earlier, and he felt deep shame, but eventually shifted to shaming me for “not forgiving” him when I had difficulty trusting him alone with the computer.  He would be gone at weird hours of the morning and night, often leaving as I was putting the children to bed and not returning until three or four am. He would tell me that he was at the church “studying” or “preparing his radio broadcast.”  I only knew that there was no computer in our home, but in his church office instead.  I had difficulty trusting that his spirituality was so thick during those hours, because his abuse of the family daily grew worse, and his behavior with me was deeply hurtful.

Eventually, when I realized the children were in serious danger, I left. I had been deeply concerned about one of our children, who had suddenly begun to hoard things, as well as obsessively washing his hands every few minutes. Both of our older children had recently regressed to urinating and defecating in their clothing, after being fully potty trained years earlier.  I felt that my children were not going to survive the abuse unscathed, and my first responsibility was to save my children. While debating and praying about what to do, I found another twist. I discovered this ‘godly man’ involved in sexual abuse of our children. I caught him having one of them touch him sexually.  They were innocent, and I was their guardian. I made my plans to leave, and carried them out. It was a logical decision, because I realized even then that I was going to lose everything to shame.  My life as I knew it ended the moment I chose the children over a “man of god“.

It was worse than I had imagined, though, because he then contacted other conservative preachers, and asked them to contact my father.  They proposed to have a meeting, where they would command me as ministers of God to go back to my husband and submit to him. My dad refused to have me endure that treatment, since he had personally witnessed results of beatings my husband had given our children, including one time when he whipped our toddler with a belt while he was naked, (causing him 30 minutes of screaming due to the belt hitting sensitive male parts).

Though I’m thankful for my dad’s protection in that matter, shame was heaped upon me. My ex continued to preach and be promoted even more with the endorsement of ‘big-name’ preachers within the cult, even when he ended up divorced, with only supervised visitation. Meanwhile, I was reported to have been “crazy,” “ungodly,” and a “liar,” an “instrument of Satan used to try to destroy a man of God.”  I was shamed again, and it was almost more than I could bear.  There was no room in the cult for a ‘divorcee’ (which was a term said in a whisper, as if it was a bad word).  An ex-wife to a preacher was even more unheard of!  What a shame!  I was left in disgrace, trying to find my way alone, slogging through the marsh of shame.  Still, I stayed in the cult.

Note: This post is one of the most difficult I have ever written.  There will be sequels in time.  Writing about this is deeply cathartic, but also extremely intimate. Shame has affected my life permanently and there is so much more to tell about the scars it has left. Yet today I am aware of its existence.  Due to the Grace I have found in Jesus Christ, I am no longer a slave to shame.  I am a child of God.  He bears my shame, and he knows me by name.  Every day is a little brighter since I realized he is not, and never was the author of shame!

Curse of the Cult

Being raised my entire life in the controlling atmosphere of this type of religion left permanent scars on me. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel so angry and betrayed! The cult dynamic leaves you feeling helpless and unable to make it through life on your own.

It’s so powerful because it robs you of your individuality, your independence, and your trust in your own thoughts. It takes away who you are and changes you into a clone. You lose your identity and accept the ideology that you’re going to be some great soldier for Christ, all for the greater good, etc.

In reality what you’re doing is checking your brain at the door, and becoming just another robot marching to the tune of the leader. This pastor is just a man, who has developed his own interpretation of what the Bible says, often to fit his own needs and his own desires. And yet, he himself is deceived into thinking that he’s doing the “will of God.” They have all the power, but they have been trained to think and to truly believe that this is what God wants them to do.

My personal brainwashing began when I was just a baby. I’ve written about how I was trained from a child with spankings that began before I learned to walk or talk. I was under the power of the preacher/father before I had any memory of my existence.

Growing up in this atmosphere, whether by nature or by early early training, I was extremely sensitive, eager to please, and tenderhearted. That left me wide-open to become the biggest clone of all. The model robot I became, and I was very skilled at doing everything I was asked to do. I never went through the rebellion that teenagers go through, for the most part, because I had been trained to be so sensitive to the slightest misbehavior that might throw me out of favor, “with God.”

I did it because I really wanted to please God. I did it because I was scared of what God would do to me if I didn’t measure up. I also did it because I love God. How could I love something I feared so much? I guess because I loved and feared my dad in the same way.

I was taught from early on to be sensitive to my dad’s moods and get out of his way if he seemed like he was tired and grouchy. I was trained not to talk to him if he was busy, because I would be bothering him. I was trained in so many other ways.

I loved his hugs and his cuddles, when they were given, and the rare approval that I saw in his eyes. Yet I feared him so much that I was scared to ask for anything that I wanted. I knew that I could approach him any time to tell him that I loved him or to give him a hug, but I knew that if he looked at me sternly, I was in huge trouble.

That’s the same way I looked at God. For the better part of my life, even as a grown adult, I was scared to make a move without the approval of the pastor. I was scared to think a thought that would be contrary to what was taught by the pastor. I was scared to make a choice on my own without seeking his advice. Many people, grown men and women, we’re afraid to make purchases, or move, or get a new job without consulting the pastor first to get his approval on those choices. The pastor’s approval was equated with God’s approval.

When one lives in this environment, without using their own brain, getting out can be very difficult…even scary. For the first time in your life you have no one else to blame for your mistakes. If anything goes wrong, you have to take responsibility for your choices. You’ve not had much practice making choices, so it’s a pretty sure thing that you’re going to make some wrong choices along the way. That could be terrifying, especially when people from the cult point their fingers at you and say “well you should’ve stayed in the church.. you should’ve asked pastor for advice and followed his advice.”

The thing is, we don’t learn how to make choices without making them. Our brains are like muscles. If they haven’t been exercised, they will buckle under weight. When other people were making small choices like what kind of clothes to wear for school, or whether or not they wanted to try out for the football team, we were not allowed to make those choices.

We couldn’t choose our friends, we couldn’t choose what activities we wanted to do, we couldn’t choose what music that we wanted to listen to, or what entertainment we enjoyed. We never learned to choose what clothing we wanted to wear, what hairstyle we enjoyed the most, or whether not we wanted to wear make up. We were given instructions to follow about all these personal things. We didn’t learn how to make choices.

When we finally break free from the cult and we start trying to make decisions and choices, we don’t really have any background information to use to make the wise decisions. We are in terror trying to decide and often it is difficult to make any decision at all. However not making a decision is a decision, and that’s where we get into trouble. That’s where things get difficult for us, because life gets a little harried.

I’ve had my own list of ‘bad choices’ to try to live with, once I got out on my own and could actually make these decisions for myself. However, I’m learning to make decisions. I’m learning how to balance my budget. I’m learning to make career choices, life choices, and of course wardrobe choices, hairstyle choices and even ‘how to raise my kids’ choices. Do I always make the right decisions? No, absolutely not! However, I learn more and more.

Each failure is only a step in the right direction, because I can take that information and use it for future choices.

Yes, I grew up in a cult. You talk about a dysfunctional family! It was a dysfunctional world where we were not allowed to fellowship with anyone else. I was homeschooled, and my entire life revolved around the cult.

Getting out brought such freedom! But, getting out also brought a lot of terror and fear.

Every day I still deal with the brainwashing. Every day I am filled with self-doubt. Every day I battle those little voices from the past who tell me that I’m “nothing but a worm,” that I don’t have a right to make my own decisions, that I need to lean on the words of someone else to try to understand what God wants of me. It’s the perfect recipe for codependency.

We were taught that we could not make it on our own without leaning on the church and the pastor. We were trained to not make it on our own without the direction and control of the pastor. I sometimes feel completely helpless, trapped, and very dysfunctional. However, I have to cut myself some slack when I stop and think about the years and years and years where I was not allowed to make choices, to think for myself, and where I was taught that I had to have someone else to lean on.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be confident and independent from the past. I know those scars have affected me for life in many ways. However, every step I take to be more independent, and every choice that I make gets me just a little bit closer to being the individual that I really want to be.

Measuring Up

Whatever you did, you did not miss church unless it was very dire. If you were sick, you came to church anyway, unless you were throwing up or had diarrhea. Unless you were contagious you were at church.

When it came to working your job, you had to keep your priorities right. First of all, if you were interviewing for a job and they wanted you to work on a church night or Sunday, you turned that job down and walked away. You needed to put God first. You didn’t participate in anything that would take you away from regular church services.

There were a few exceptions, such as being on your honeymoon. However, many people did not even pay attention to those exceptions. I cannot tell you how many times we had visitors from other United Pentecostal Church or independent churches, people that were on vacation, and even people that were on their honeymoon. You just did not miss church!

Not only did you not miss church, you needed to be there 30 minutes early to pray. If you were not making it a full 30 minutes ahead of time for prayer, you would hear about it, often from the pulpit (in a general rebuke to all).

I remember feeling tremendous guilt, as a mother of four very small children, when I didn’t make it to church the full 30 minutes ahead of time. I felt, whether true or not, like people were judging me for being late. I wasn’t even late, but it felt late because I wasn’t there 30 minutes before church for prayer. However, like most young mothers with small children, it is a huge task to get all those babies ready for church. Then, about the time you think you got them all ready, one of them leaks out of his diaper, or someone gets something on their clothes. Then you have to change that and clean them up. It’s really a chore to get a family to church on time. Also, trying to pray for 30 minutes before church with four kids under the age of 10 can be a real handful. While you’re trying to pray, you get five words out, and a couple of kids are fighting, or they’re talking too loud, or some other childish behavior that’s disturbing others. I found it rather pointless as a mother of four small children to even come early for prayer.

Be that as it may, it was definitely expected. You certainly were not going to have any position of leadership if you were not very faithful with coming early for prayer.

Another thing about that culture was that if you were going to miss service, for whatever reason, you called the pastor and told him ahead of time. If you didn’t, he would be wondering where you were, and you were sure to get a call as he was trying to figure out why you weren’t there. Strangely enough, that is still expected in the church I attend now, although I do not do it.

Many other people find it ridiculous, as we are all adults and can choose to go when we want to and stay home when we want to. It was not that way in the church where I grew up! If you were not in church every service, and early to pray, you had better have a really good reason!

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Religious Traditions

When I was young, we used to have all-night prayer meetings occasionally, and sometimes all night “watch night services”. These were times when we stayed at church all night, praying and on one occasion, fasting.

Sometimes there would be footwashing and communion during these times. There would also be a lot of prayer, and some preaching and singing. Interestingly enough, everybody was so sleepy that I’m not sure how much they were praying or just repeating the same thing over and over again. At any rate, a few of these occasions stick out in my mind.

On one occasion it must’ve been a sectional meeting, because I remember some teenagers that were not normally at our church being there. I was probably 9, 10 years old or something like that. I can remember trying to stay awake and it was so hard for me. We were going to stay there until 6 o’clock in the morning. These teen kids laid down on the pews to take a nap during the session and I remember thinking how carnal they were. I managed to stay awake the whole time, largely because I didn’t want to be like them and their “bad example.” In retrospect, I figure they had more sense than anybody there.

I remember the relief when it was finally over, and watching the sun come up as we went home. Of course, the next day would be completely unproductive, because we were all sleeping the day away. Now, I really do not see the point in that, because you can pray whether it’s day or night, and we made up our sleep anyway.

Apparently, my dad didn’t see the point in it either, because after those few times I have in my memory, we never had an all night service again. During the watch night services, after that point, we never stayed all night long. However, service would start a little bit later, and we would usually make it till midnight, or close to.

I remember communion being a big ordeal. First of all you would be told several services ahead of time, so you could “get your heart right.” Because, the slightest little thing that you had in your heart, whether it be bitterness against someone, unforgiveness, or even some unknown sin you had not figured out that you had done yet…any one of these could mean that you were “taking the Lord’s supper unworthily.” I’m not sure, from memory, exactly what all that entailed, but it was very severe, and it meant that you were going to have some awful punishment from God.

So, there was usually fasting and prayer a few days before you went to take communion. Right before you took communion, there was usually another time of repenting, just to make sure that you filtered out every sin and repented of it. Then you could take communion, but only if you had the Holy Ghost. Otherwise, you were still under that horrible curse of whatever might occur as punishment for taking the Lord’s supper unworthily.

I remember the first time I took communion at a different location, in a more liberal church. I was amazed at the difference. Although it was taken seriously, as in thinking about the Cross, everybody was invited to partake, regardless of whether they had the Holy Ghost or not, even children were included. I was blown away!

I began to think about why all the fear and scare tactics had been heaped upon us at those times, And why the taking of the Lord’s supper was so rare. I really never figured it out. I know the Bible talks about taking the Lord’s supper unworthily, but it never really seemed to be, on a surface reading, exactly the huge fearful issue that I was accustomed to. Anyway, I always dreaded communion, because I was afraid that there might be some stray sin that I had forgotten to repent about. I had this irrational fear that God would strike me dead if I forgot to repent of something.

Also, crying seemed to be a necessity. While I always appreciated the seriousness of the representation of what we were doing, I couldn’t always summon tears about it. I know that Jesus died for us on the cross, and sacrificed for us, but he did it so that we could have joy and salvation. Sometimes I didn’t feel like crying. However, there was something inside me that was afraid that if I didn’t, I would be taking it “unworthily.” When I think about just this one fearful ceremony, I realize anew that there are so many reasons I suffer from anxiety.

Foot Washing was a whole story in and of itself. We were told to wash our feet really good before we came, ironically. Then, all the women would go in one room and all the men would go in the other room. I remember that some women would be wearing their pantyhose when it was time to wash their feet. It felt really weird to be splashing water on feet clad in pantyhose. Everyone would be crying and praying and speaking in tongues while they washed someone else’s feet.

The problem for me was that I was extremely ticklish on my feet. I would be trying to be all serious and spiritual, but the minute their hand would brush over the bottom of my feet my feet would jerk. This didn’t lend to a very spiritual atmosphere, so I’d always feel guilty. However, in time as I grew, I learned to still myself to where the jerking would be less, or I would warn them before they washed my feet that I was very ticklish, and to avoid the bottom of my feet. That way everybody could still stay spiritual, weeping and praying, instead of giggling over my ticklish feet.

After the foot washing, there would be a lot of hugging and apologies “in case I’ve ever offended you”. Now, thinking back, I’m not sure exactly where all the traditions surrounding this really came from.

When Jesus washed his disciples feet, it was because there was dung and dirt on them. He took that role instead of having the usual servant do it, in order to teach them that the master needs to be a servant to his followers. Nowadays there’s no reason to be washing each others feet, unless it’s just for the symbolism. Most everybody has a shower to wash their own feet, and none of us really walk through dung to get to church.

Anyway, throughout my time growing up, as my father begin to fellowship more and more in the “conservative” circles, I began to see some very weird things happen. For example, if a young man had a “hero worship” for one of the preachers, he would often come and say “I just want to shine your shoes would you let me shine your shoes?” Or, he would come and say “I need to wash your feet brother… I just need to wash your feet.”

This was in direct contrast to what Jesus was trying to show his disciples. He didn’t say “Peter you come wash my feet”. In fact, He said “no, you’re not going to wash my feet, Peter. I’m trying to teach you something here. I’m going to wash your feet.”

Although the pastors did wash feet during foot washing services, I don’t remember ever seeing a pastor just walk up to someone and say “I need to wash your feet…I just want to show you I’m here to serve.” Yet, interestingly enough, as I began in my middle adult years to study the Scriptures concerning the role of a pastor in one’s life, the Bible spoke clearly about a pastor being a servant.

This is in direct contrast to what I saw during those times when people wanted to just polish pastor’s shoes, or wash his feet….especially since those preachers often let that happen publicly, (at least the shoeshine).

Anyway, I still don’t see any need in our culture for foot washing services. I think we can show our servant hood to one another in other more practical ways, like providing a new tire for a widow who can’t scrape the money together. Or, babysitting the children of a single mother for free so that she can have a day off. The idea was about servant-hood, not cleaning somebody’s feet.

However, I digress.

In discussing all night services, one in particular stands out in my mind. I was young, but I don’t remember exactly how old. I would say I had probably not yet reached my teen years, or if I had it was early on in my teen years. I just remember one “watch night service” where my dad brought an alarm clock, and began preaching at about 11 o’clock at night. He was talking about the end of time coming (in the rapture). As it got closer and closer to midnight, he began to talk about there just “being a little time left.” It was a very emotional and impacting message, (obviously, since I remember it so many years later). The fear was tangible, and I literally felt for a few moments during it that the rapture would definitely take place at midnight.

He didn’t say that, of course, but it was a very powerful object lesson. The repentance and fear in the building was palpable.

After the new year being such a serious thing for most of my life, it feels odd now to be celebrating a New Year’s Eve with my children at home. I know a lot of people play games or have friends over, and we have played games at times, but even now, every New Year’s Eve I think about those services with the fear and the exhaustion, the communion and foot washing. I wonder how many children are sitting in church, paralyzed with fear, thinking the rapture is about to happen, and afraid they may not measure up.

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