Category: Churches | Page 18 | Spiritual Abuse Blogs

Blindsided: Douglas Stauffer’s August 2020 Voicemail

On Monday, August 31, 2020, Douglas Stauffer contacted my husband for the first time since December 2018. Stauffer’s first phone call did not work out, but he called back and left a voicemail (transcribed below), revealing yet another example of what we feel is attempting to manipulate and control our family through fear. Interestingly enough, since sharing his voicemail online shortly after receiving it, Douglas Stauffer and Andrew Ray never followed up as of February 2021:

“Hey Matt, this is Doug Stauffer. I’m calling you at a time when I was sure that your voicemail would pick up, not to blindside you at work, but I don’t think that happened. But now I’m leaving a voicemail. In early July, Brother Ray brought to my attention your wife’s stalking of the two of us. He found out about our attacks while traveling. We remained completely silent, and instead prayed for you and your family. I even added them to our family- uh, to our church weekly prayer bulletin.

Now, we have some clear guidance from God on how to proceed, and our talking on the phone is the first of potentially six progressive steps. The second step will be an open letter that Brother Ray has written, he’ll send to you first. The third step is meeting together or posting the open letter on the internet. We are going to let you two determine the direction of things as they proceed and to what extent they evolve. By now, all of her blogs have been archived along with all of her Facebook attacks against us. We have not yet reported her to Facebook concerning her defamatory harassment and libelous postings, but that could happen soon, too.

I met with you and Crystal twice in 2018 on June 5^th and September 2^nd with witnesses present at both meetings. We all assured each other that everything was settled, and after the first meeting, until Crystal blindsided me with several unwarranted email attacks. Almost three months later on the meeting, in the second meeting, I against stated I hoped that we never had to discuss these matters again. You assured me that that was the case, and your wife agreed, stating that we could move forward, and I think we are all good. Those are Crystal’s exact words at the end of the meeting during my last interaction with the two of you.

What in the world has possessed your wife to get her to write such nasty, malicious, fictitious and defamatory things about us and the church? The way things seem to be heading, I’m afraid they could turn out to be even more psychologically damaging into your wife’s fragile psyche, hurtful to your marriage, potentially damaging to your precious family. We want to avoid all of this, and regardless of how things progress, it’s completely up to the two of you at this point.

This call is to start the process of attempting to head things off before things progress to the point of no return with outcomes quite unpredictable.

If I don’t hear from you in the next few days, I’ll tell Brother Ray to proceed with a rather lengthy letter. My number is ***-***-****. God bless you. I hope to hear from you very soon. Thanks. Bye.”

In this series I share my thoughts and opinions concerning these ministers and the events which led to my departure. Click here to continue reading: “Blindsided: When Closet Skeletons Speak” or click on the link below.

For a list of the complete series, click here.

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Yet Another Private Message from Douglas Stauffer (December 2018)

Two days after Douglas Stauffer’s private message to my husband (Matthew Olds) about my Facebook post, “What Really Happened- Part Two,” Douglas Stauffer sent yet another message to Matt referencing an additional comment I had made on my post following his initial message! Below are the details of Douglas Stauffer’s private message, as well as the actual comments on my original Facebook post.

**Names marked with an asterisk (*) have been changed for the privacy of individuals and their families**

Private Message from Douglas Stauffer to Matthew Olds on December 9, 2018

Douglas Stauffer (December 9, 2018 4 at 1:25pm): “Just received this in an email Crystal Olds My favorite on this was that the man who harassed us to begin with just felt the need to “tattle” on me to my husband about this post as if my husband and I do not talk [laugh/cry emoticon] how childish can you get? He must think my husband is a low-life shovenist who rules with the iron fist of insecurity. But more on that another day maybe.

Facebook Comments/Replies Referenced by Douglas Stauffer in Private Message (above):

Commenter A*: “There are some church leadership who are very insecure. They have to shout and demand that they are in authority because they lack true authority. There are people trying to build their own kingdoms and in doing so they will try to control and manipulate people. They may even convince some to run to them and tattle on others. These leaders also need to understand when one leaves a church that they are not longer permitted to attempt to discipline the person anymore.”

Crystal Olds (me): “Yep, I’d say you hit the nail on the head!”

Crystal Olds (me): “My favorite on this was that the man who harassed us to begin with just felt the need to “tattle” on me to my husband about this post as if my husband and I do not talk [laugh/cry emoticon] how childish can you get? He must think my husband is a low-life shovenist who rules with the iron fist of insecurity. But more on that another day maybe.”

Commenter A*: “Crystal Olds that man is very insecure and is probably having fits over the responses to your post. He should not be in a position of leadership in a church. A man who bullies and harasses another man’s wife because he is a church leader has huge problems.”

Commenter B*: “I hate it when the attitude of the church is that wives not have an opinion or speak truth when necessary. Did this man think Matt just didn’t know? You are not a 5 year old and Matt is not your daddy.
No one need run tattling hoping some righteous man get their port misguided wifey in line.
Sit down and shut up and if you have a disagreement or adverse feeling learn to deal with it because “God’s anointed” must be the one in the right…. that seems to be the attitude far too prevalent in many circles today.”

In this series I share my thoughts and opinions concerning these ministers and the events which led to my departure. Click here to continue reading: “Blindsided: Douglas Stauffer’s August 2020 Voicemail” or click on the link below.

For a list of the complete series, click here.

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Book Giveaway- Christianity Without The Cross

As with all of our giveaways, this is only open to those with a USA mailing address.

The matter of the Westberg Resolution underscores a serious dilemma in the constitutional structure of the United Pentecostal Church. . . .Issues like this resolution are decisions made by a minority on behalf of the majority which is extremely ‘problematic in terms of policy-making.’ . . .The following group of ministers have been identified as among the constituency of this group which carries the banner of doctrinal uniformity: R.D. Whalen, the late David F. Gray, Paul Price, Billy Hale, . . .John W. Grant and others. Such small but vocal groups maintain a great deal of control. These comments reflect a fairly widespread opinion backed up by an examination of the procedural by-laws of the organization which concludes that because only a small portion of ministers actually attend General Conference the result is that the UPC is ‘a minority policy making organization.’ The high figures estimate that less than one-seventh of the ministerial constituency were present for the discussion on this issue at the Salt Lake City General Conference.– Thomas A. Fudge

This is your chance to receive a used copy of Christianity Without the Cross: A History of Salvation in Oneness Pentecostalism by Thomas Fudge, a former United Pentecostal Church member, whose father is an ordained minister in the organization. Fudge interviewed over 200 people and thoroughly documents information concerning their history. One thing you rarely see mentioned is the fact that one of the two groups which formed the UPC was not as hard line in beliefs as the UPC is today. Some believed a person was saved when they came to God in repentance. This can be seen in the very first edition of their official publication, The Pentecostal Herald, where they invited differing articles on the “new birth.”

To view the first 25 pages of his book go here. You may read an article from a Canadian newspaper which described the then forthcoming book as well as an article by Thomas Fudge concerning why he wrote the book.

This giveaway is a drawing and not a first come, first served giveaway. To enter, just leave a comment to show you wish to be included. The drawing will close on Tuesday, December 15 at 8pm (eastern time), after which I will draw the winner. You will then need to email me your mailing address if I do not already have it. Watch your spam email folder. There is absolutely no cost to enter. Don’t be alarmed if your comment does not immediately show as they require approval when you are commenting for the first time.

We always provide these at no charge to our readers.

We also have a giveaway in progress for two copies of Diane Langberg’s book, Redeeming Power: Understanding Authority and Abuse in the Church. The deadline is the same.

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Wingless: Kindred Spirits

It stands to reason that parenting doesn’t come with a manual because every child is different. How easy it would be to know exactly when and how a child will react, or calculate the date at which they will begin to crawl, walk, and talk. Or what to do to turn off a public meltdown like a light switch. There are a plethora of parenting books out there, but at the end of the day, one can only glean general advice that may or may not apply.

Adults are the same way. We’re all uniquely created. Psalm 139:14 (NIV) says, “I praise you, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

My interpretation: “God doesn’t make junk!”

We aren’t junk. I know this now. It’s taken me a long, long time to know this. John 3:16 says that God LOVES us. We sang songs about this, even in the spiritually-abusive churches I attended. But why was this not displayed? One minute, we’re worms; filthy rags, destined for hellfire. We slip up even a little, then we’re separated from God and we can miss the rapture and go to hell. The next, we’re singing ‘Jesus Loves Me.’

This thinking kept me bound in fear constantly as the years passed in the church. Fear, depression, anxiety— all symptoms of underlying mental health conditions, exacerbated by my environment. I saw what I perceived to be strong, “perfect” Pentecostals around me, and it slowly killed me inside to know I wasn’t like them. My heart just didn’t feel as… in it. They prayed an hour a day and fasted regularly. I could barely focus enough to pray more than five minutes without falling asleep. Fasting was a no-go for me because of a medical condition.

When I read the Bible— the strongly-recommended King James Version, like a good Pentecostal— I had trouble interpreting the vague, flowery text (one reason I relied so heavily on the preached/taught interpretations). I wanted to read and write fantasy and sci-fi novels, but anything to do with magic and aliens was seen as evil. And so my imagination was chained unless I covertly sinned and wrote in secret (which, I confess, I ended up doing).

And why did I have such a hard time “witnessing” to people? We were constantly commissioned over the pulpit to bring people to church; to tell them our testimony. I could make friends (though it took me a long time to come out of my shell enough to do so), but, over time, I found that I didn’t want to change them. They were my friends because I liked them.

My initial haughtiness I had when I first got into the church had long since faded, and now I felt low beyond low. I thought it was a sin to love myself. How could I lie to people and tell them that church was a bed of roses and there was joy unspeakable when all I felt was unspeakable sorrow? Over and over, I brought it to the altar. I claimed victory. I’d feel great after an evening service, perhaps, but then that feeling would fade quickly. It was nothing but a band-aid on a wound that cut to the bone.

Between all of my own issues and dealing with Stella’s increasing behavioral issues and obvious developmental delays, I began to feel like an overall failure. And the only advice I could ever get from the church was “Pray about it. Give it to God,” or some other lovely platitude. Even at the altar, when I sobbed and begged God to send me a friend, some real support, I would look around to find no one. No hand laying on my shoulder to pray with me. And I assumed it meant I wasn’t worthy. In reality, that probably was not the case, but when you’re so deep in mire, your vision is clouded.

My panic attacks were coming on strong and constant. I became afraid to be around people more and more. I didn’t want to leave the house, or hardly get out of bed when I was home. Thoughts of leaving this world played through my mind on repeat. The house was going to heck in a hand basket, and things were reaching a breaking point. One night, during a particularly bad panic attack, my husband got frustrated and asked me what was wrong with me. I started crying and told him, “I just want to die! I want to die…”

At that point, I should’ve gone to a hospital. Paul should’ve taken me. Looking back, I know that now. But we were in an environment where mental health was still not talked about as openly, and not doing well was not okay. Paul didn’t know how to handle it. He felt as helpless as I did. Somehow, I survived in that moment. I clung to my husband, and we made it through.

After that awful night, I did something new: I sought help from a psychiatrist.

My nerves were riled with anxious energy, sitting in that waiting room. Would I have to lay on a couch? Tell her about my childhood? Was she going to hypnotize me? Would I still be a good witness to her even after she learned of all my issues? I’d heard all kinds of things about “shrinks,” and I wasn’t fully sure what to expect.

When it was finally my turn to go back to the office, I took a deep breath. I was greeted by a pretty, smiling woman with dark, curly hair in a light gray pantsuit. She introduced herself as Dr. Rolling and had me sit in a black, cushioned leather chair across from her at her L-shaped, cherrywood desk. The sunlight was pouring through the wall of windows at my back. It was a pleasant atmosphere.

“So, tell me about yourself?” she asked.

My story came out slowly at first, but was soon pouring out like the tipping of a bucket. Dr. Rolling listened intently, making lots of notes. She didn’t pass one iota of judgment when I told her about my storms, and my panic attacks— any of it. In fact, she showed more empathy than I’d experienced in a long time. And she offered something other than just well wishes.

I left with a diagnosis of ADHD and an anxiety disorder, but more importantly, I left with help. She started me on new medication to try and help alleviate some of the symptoms. It was explained how my brain chemistry works differently and taking medication for mental health was no different than taking it for high blood pressure or anything else. It relieved some of my fears, and from then on out, I felt completely comfortable going to see Dr. Rolling.

The medication did not completely cure my storms, but it took the edge off. As I would find out, sometimes life has a way of getting you down regardless. In 2010, at age three, Stella was kicked out of her Christian-run preschool because of her increasing behavior issues (she’d bit another child). She still wasn’t potty-trained, in spite of our best efforts. Her language skills were mostly echolalia, repeating words and phrases she’d picked up from us or her favorite tv shows. We had her evaluated by a pediatric neurologist, who came back with a diagnosis of autism. At the same time, she was also evaluated and enrolled in the local Title 1 preschool, where they were better equipped to teach kids who had differences like Stella. I left my job at the bank to work from home for my mother’s online-based business so I could focus on her.

The reaction from the church was mixed. Some people were supportive. Others thought she needed it prayed out of her. There were some who insisted she needed it spanked out of her. All the while, I was fed fear-mongering information from various popular sources at the time, and found myself falling into a deep pit of “what-ifs”, and wondering if I was somehow failing as a mother. This did little to aid my nearly non-existent sense of self-worth as a Christian.

In 2012, life began to shift yet again. I gave birth to our second child, Parker, in January. During my pregnancy that prior year, I had joined an online group of women who were all due to give birth at the same time, and formed some life-long friendships as a result. These women weren’t Pentecostal, but they were amazing, just as they were. None of them wore skirts, or had uncut hair. They wore makeup and jewelry, and even used four-letter words (gasp!). But I’d finally found people I could be honest with and talk about my storms to. I was supposed to witness to these women— be an example of the church and Jesus to them, but instead, I found that I loved them just as they were. I was taught that people like them were of the devil, and that they were bound for hell. But all I felt was unconditional love— the kind Jesus showed.

It’s ironic that the church discourages people from becoming “close” with people who aren’t in the church, when Jesus himself chose to hang out with publicans and “sinners”. He went to those that society deemed as less desirable in some shape or form. He fed them, spoke with them, healed them. It’s my understanding that healing can be invisible. It’s not always the healing of a physical wound— sometimes it’s the building of a bridge across an ugly, ancient rift. Or an anchorless ship finding a safe harbor at last. Or… perhaps a lonely soul finding kindred spirits.

From these ladies, I gradually learned lessons of kindness, acceptance, and grace over the many years to come.

In 2013, I was evaluated and received my own autism diagnosis at last. The church people began to subtly pull away from me when I let the news be known. I remember the uncomfortable aversion of eyes. Even the pastor’s wife gave just about no response when I excitedly texted her, because I finally had answers I’d been searching all my life for. It was disheartening. After all, I wasn’t broken, just different! Why did I suddenly feel like a leper among the people I’d known for years?

My 2012 Mommies, however, held me up and embraced me wholeheartedly. It was this love that held me as life at home and church slowly descended into a new phase of turmoil… that would ultimately lead to my exit from the church and the start of a new journey.

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Wingless: The Child Bride

Those first few years in the church felt like a lifetime all in their own. All the conventions, camps, fundraisers… they kept me extraordinarily occupied. At times it felt like a full-time job. Throw in caring for my three younger siblings, and I was a very busy girl!

One thing to know about churches like Church A, is that young marriage is extremely common. With strict purity culture, young people are often rushing to the altar. One funny anecdote I’ve heard is that Pentecostal girls often go to bible college to get their degree in “holy matrimony.”

I completely admit: I was boy-crazy! Between the ages of 15-17 I had four- FOUR boyfriends! (Not at the same time, mind you.) Not that we went on dates. These were “church” boyfriends. Ones that I would see at services and youth events, and chat on the phone with. Perhaps hold their hand. I think I kissed one of them. As far as I would let my teenage hormones take me. (Because, rules.)

In this church culture, if you were still single when you were past college, you were pretty much a spinster. So I was determined that I was going to find my soulmate! I did what any girl did- I sought God like a crystal ball to determine my future path. Was I going to be a pastor’s wife? An evangelist? Part of an highly sought-after music ministry duo? I wanted some sort of mystical prophesy that would show me the face of the man I was to marry. I was a die-hard romantic who ate up (clean, church-approved) Christian romance novels like they were KitKats (because KitKats are the best candy bars, hands-down, no argument. Anyway, moving along…).

Since I had yet to get an engagement ring by the time I was 17, I decided to plan on college. I wanted to attend the local bible college and get a degree in music. The college itself was not accredited (as many bible colleges in the organization weren’t, unfortunately), but you could legitimize your degree by also attending classes through another local religious college at some point.

A bit awful to say, but attending the bible college would give me the clout I needed to advance in the music ministry. In this organization, unless you had the right connections (and honestly, the right look), you could have all the musical talent in the world, but it would be hard to reach people beyond your local church. I’d taught myself to play the piano and wrote my own songs. I felt like I had a calling to minister to people through this music… but I had to play the game, just like anyone else.

I was in a period of time in late 2003, at 17, that I’d finally decided to take a break from the boys and focus on my future. Focus on God. I’d broken up with a boy several months prior because I just didn’t feel like he was “the one” for me (which at that age, sounds silly to even think about). But then one night I went to a monthly youth rally at a small, local church that was part of our organization… and it changed my life forever.

A lot of people will say that love at first sight is a myth. Perhaps, for most people, it just doesn’t happen. But that’s not the case for me and Paul.
Time stopped when I saw him. A few inches taller than me, dishwater-blond hair, and the most gorgeous ocean eyes I’d ever seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. And the moment our gazes linked… it’s like there was an invisible magnet drawing us together. And I knew. I just… knew.

I was staring at my future.

We only had a minute after service to say a few words to each other before I was whisked away (I’d ridden with my pastor), but in the following week we both desperately tracked each other down until we got each other’s email address through a mutual friend.

I still have a binder with all our emails and love letters. The first one was an awkward, “Are you the girl I met at the rally?” They quickly escalated from there, diving into emails discussing our lives, and trading views on theology. Paul was (is) highly intelligent, funny, and caring. And musically-inclined! (He played bass at his church). We messaged multiple times a day. He was a freshman in college, and would duck into the computer lab to chat or send me a long email.

A week after a marathon of emailing, he asked me on a date. My first date. Of course, it was a resounding YES! Days later, he was stepping onto our front porch (with my one-year-old baby sister banging on the storm door, having just shed her clothes and diaper for the millionth time that day. She’ll never live that one down.)

The rest is history. One date led to barely a day going by without him making the 35 minute drive to come see me in his Buick with the busted front right fender. Even when I was crazy sick with the flu, he came to let me cuddle up in the crook of his arm, all wrapped up in a quilt, not caring if I got him sick.

Six months flew by, and on May 1st, 2004, when I was only 18, he got down on one knee by a windy lake and asked me to marry him. I was so excited, I nearly pushed him into the lake. But I said yes!

I called my dad to tell him the news. He laughed. His words were. “I think you’ll be a child bride, but okay!”

Our wedding day was set for six months after that. Honestly, it was set so soon because we didn’t want to wait for purity reasons… and I wanted to get out of my house.

Our pastor was encouraging of short engagements. We went through premarital counseling and the whole nine yards. But I’d be lying if I said part of my motivation wasn’t to be rescued by my prince charming like a damsel in distress. I wanted to finally be respected as an adult and to get out from underneath my stepdad’s thumb.

Perhaps my motivation was greater than most. I had basically been a second, teenaged mother to my toddler siblings their whole lives and it forced me to grow up before I was ready. And of course, the church didn’t take this into account. They didn’t care that I was trying to juggle school, children, and now a relationship. Church first, no matter what. Even if you’re burnt out. You don’t take breaks.

And so we got married on a mild, November morning at Paul’s church in another nearby town. After the wedding, we lived in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment in my hometown because it was near his work, but started going to his church (Church B) because the congregation was smaller and we were “needed more”. We used our musical talents there. Paul occasionally preached (though his style was more like teaching compared to the typical stompin’ and spittin’ Pentecostal style, as he is more reserved). I helped clean the church. We taught Bible studies and did outreach. Anything and everything one could think of in a small congregation.

Two years later, I was pregnant with our first child. Even then, there was no slowing down. I’d been working at a fast food place (Paul didn’t make much at the factory, and honestly, we barely had two nickels to rub together.) while dedicating the rest of our lives to the church. Three services a week. Prayer service. Youth services. Music practice. It was absolute insanity. The only slowing down I got was when I ended up with high blood pressure and got put on hospitalized bedrest. Our daughter, Stella, ended up being born a few weeks early via C-section because things got dangerous. As soon as I was recovered, she was held by someone else in the congregation so I could go right back to my duties.

All the while, we were barely making ends meet, even with the new, better job at the bank I managed to get not long after Stella was born. Gas alone was $80+ a week because of how much we were driving back and forth between our home town and the church (25 minutes each way). At that time (during the recession), and when you’re young and broke, it was an exorbitant amount of money. Not to mention the miles on our old, used vehicles that were constantly breaking down. Often times, we were left with $70 or less to feed the three of us after paying the huge chunk of tithe and offering money, and then our bills (because tithes came first).

Postpartum depression hit me hard after Stella came. Motherhood was not the bliss I thought it would be. Reflux aside, Stella wasn’t a difficult newborn by any means. But my hormones were out of whack. I was so tired from working all the time, and going to church all the time, and worrying about money all the time. And there seemed to be no mercy anywhere, because everyone was also doing everything. No matter how hard I prayed, things stayed miserable.

Eventually, I ran completely out of steam and hit the proverbial wall. This storm just had no end in sight. Something had to give. So I did something that I was sure would send me straight to hell: I secretly stopped paying tithes.

It immediately gave us a bit of a reprieve, but with the new expense of having a child, not much. We were still dirt poor and worn to the bone. I still had to ask my parents for money constantly. Because we had gone straight from living with our parents to being married, we didn’t have much experience with how to handle hardships either, much less during a recession. It was a strain on our marriage and our mental health (mine, in particular). Throw in my guilt of now being a “robber of God,” my anxiety was through the roof.

Finally, my husband put his foot down and declared that we were going to switch churches from Church B back to my home church, Church A, because Church A was in the town where we lived, and would therefore save us money we desperately needed. I was terrified of change in routine and social structure, and cried over the proposal, though I knew it was the correct decision.

When switching churches within this particular organization, you have to get the blessing of your current pastor. Then that pastor connects with the new one to give the green light. It’s more like a transaction of funds, rather than a change in attendance. “Stealing flock” is frowned upon, even in cases of abuse. It doesn’t matter if we’re talking about grown adults, they are still at the whim of what leadership dictates.

We sat down with the pastor of Church B. Paul explained to him that we were going to start going to Church A and laid out why. Very logical, and to the point. We were going hungry. Our bills weren’t getting paid. We couldn’t afford the gas money anymore. Church B pastor asked details of our finances. He then asked if we were paying our tithes. Though I felt the blood drain from my face as I did so… I lied and said “yes.” (So now, not only was I a robber, but a liar too. Check two for spiritual failure!)

The pastor looked at us and told us, “Well, if it’s just for financial reasons that you’re leaving, I think you need to stay here and just trust God to provide.”

Paul (God bless him) gently reiterated that we were, in fact, leaving. With or without his blessing. Thankfully, the pastor did let us leave on the good terms that we needed for the transition. We weren’t allowed, however, to attend a last service to say goodbye to everyone, as the pastor didn’t want drama/upset. That was painful. But we were free to move onto the next phase of our lives.

But it would be years before freedom truly came.

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