That Time I Was A Fundie

Friends Are Friends Forever

I look at this photo of a photo from an old scrapbook, and warm memories flood back, of friendship, family, commune, a new spiritual identity, fresh faced with innocence of expectations of the years spreading beyond.  Then, in a flash, I'm flooded with the reminders of, the reality, of what did come about in those years after, now also a part of my fading past.

In the time of life reflected of my photo, it was a charmed time of innocence, the earlier years of being a church goer.  As a born-again Christian, I was drawn to the promises of unconditional love from God, from my family within the walls of the church, a sense of hope and belonging, at last.  But as the years stretched forward the times of warm bible studies filled with too much delicious coffee, worship songs, bible scriptures, long-winding unending prayers turned into restrictions enforced by nonfluctuating condemnation from the leadership and other members.  (Full transparency: the latter was not the former, the former being the ones in the photograph above.)

Where was the unconditional love and familial commune I had once sought and thought I had found?  Gone with the realization that I had fallen prey to the manipulations of spiritual leadership abuse, corrupted by the influences of absolute power, that I had never truly believe existed or wanted to believe existed until then.

As I have said in previous blogs, within the church, it was increasingly taught to flee the trappings of the world, this was enforced by insisting that we abstain from certain aspects of popular culture, read only the books approved and sanctioned by the church, and fully and only immerse ourselves in the ways of the church.  At first, recalling the younger days (see: the photo), I happily agreed to these standards, as if wanting to perpetuate the great love I felt in the beginning, hoping to restore the dying fragments of those happy times, but to no avail.

Perhaps my mental illness truly saved me from being saved.

Having been given the diagnosis of Bipolar in 2006, I was forced into the world of mental health therapy, psychology, forced to examine and look at myself through a variety of in depth therapeutic practises.  I could no longer run and allow various external sources to be a false salve, a drug, to hide from my pain.  The notion of psychology was a no-no in the Christian Fundamentalist worldview.  I was ostracized, silenced, and in short unable to show my new findings of self throughout my journey through recovery.  This led to a disconnect within what I believed to be my church family.  I could not be honest with them without fear of some sort of reparation, condemnation, loss of the friendship.  The cracks in the system that was the church were beginning to show for me, as I started to see the truth of the words "hypocrisy" and "legalism" written loudly on the walls of my mind.

So, in 2010, timidly and without truly knowing that I was, I left the church, one Sunday morning, clutching my bible and coffee mug to my chest, I let the back gate of the church building fall behind me with a crash as I stepped into the big world I had been taught hated me, hated Jesus.  This I would discover as I went forth was a blatant lie.

The reason that I am sharing the above is because all of this has been on my heart for awhile now.  As I believe recovery is lifelong in that as we are shaped by the influences of our past, healing is an ongoing process.  However, more so, is the fact that a dear young friend of mine recently entered the fundamentalist world last summer.  She accepted, became a believer, and was baptized into the same fundamentalist church world I used to attend.  The same place she was dunked and raised again, thus was I once upon a time.  Somewhere I have that snapshot of myself being prayed over by the hot young male pastor standing knee deep, in the warm pool made to look like a pond, water, before he dunked me backwards, only to re-emerge into a fresh new world...or so I had hoped.

As I watch her share her new views and photos across Facebook, they take me back to my early days, such as the photograph at the top details.  It was a rosy, shiny happy time.  I look at my friend's posts and silently hope that that her new found joy and connection will remain, that it won't become what it did for me, that the truth of what I experienced will not be part of her life's journey.  But, with a element of despair, I feel that may not be the case.

As I am unable to see into the future, I can only remain in hope that perhaps she and her friends will be the change, the evolutionary force, that the church needs to transform to relevancy and compassion, turning away from the hateful condemnation the Christian Conservatives dwell in all too  much, veering off from the teachings of Christ. 

Come what may, whatever happens, her journey is her journey and happens for a reason, as mine did.  As she is my friend, I am here for her, no matter what the next turn around the bend may be, as I also remain for my other friends of my past still a part of the fundamentalist world.

You've Got A Friend

On The Day I Left Calvary Chapel

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.--- Lao Tzu

It was a Sunday morning like any other in the months of intensive delving deep into the world of all things Christianity and recovery, from Sunday services to bible studies to Christian recovery groups to various self-help groups, my life had been, was, at the time all about getting healthy.  That was my job, in fact, and it was full time.  A few years previous to that fateful Sunday, I had been diagnosed with Bipolar.

That Sunday started like any other Sunday.  I got up for church, with a tinge of anxiety that I had been battling based solely on my recent church history connected to not one but a few Calvary Chapels. Looking it back, it seemed to come from the almost enforced decree that the members come to every service possible, serve in every way possible, give until it hurts, and then maybe feel some sort of acceptance from God, the church, and also had something to do with my finally starting to realize that and feeling the opposition from the church leadership.  Something along the lines of, 'Hey, that girl seems to be thinking too much.'

So, I drove the 45 minute drive to the Calvary Chapel I was attending at the time.  I sat through the worship service, sang the songs, listened to the pastor teach his lesson on whatever book in the bible we were dutifully slogging through, based on his choice, what he thought we should be taught at the time, being hit over the head with the doctrine of not the Bible, not Jesus, but the truth as Calvary Chapel sees it.  I see that now, anyway, then it was any other day.

Except that I was miserable.  And lonely.  And only starting to see it.  In a sea of my church family, I felt lonely, disconnected, as if I didn't really belong, in fact, had never belonged.  

After the service, I walked around and tried to chat with some of the people I had called friends at this specific Calvary for the last two years, tried to make some connection behind the aimless chatter and forced uncomfortable laughter that always left me more wanting, more empty after the encounter.

Finding none, I headed to the church coffee shop, where due to the church not wanting to shell out the money to buy coffee mugs, they had asked us all to bring along our own to have while at church.  I walked straight to the shelf where my mug was, the same I had been given by a friend when I had graduated college, and I picked it up.  I said, not to myself but not really to anyone else, "I just want to take this home for awhile", and stared around, no one had noticed.  No one ever really did, ever really had.

I slowly walked to the back door.

As I made my way towards the exit, I had no clear idea what I was doing, only that it was time to leave, for the day.  Only that I probably wasn't going to enter either the front or the back doors of this church again, but that was buried deep within.  What I really knew through and through, if I had been completely honest with myself, was that I was suddenly and completely no longer comfortable there. That I had been fighting for almost five years through at least three different Calvary Chapels in the area to feel at home, find some friends, feel accepted, comfortable with myself, to discover God and who I was, find forgiveness, healing, a family...and that hadn't happened no matter how I had tried to bend myself to their will and their beliefs.  

I came to the back door and pushed the door open, getting ready to step outside, walk down the alleyway towards the gate that led to the parking lot.  Did I look back at all, hoping that a friend would call out to me, want me to come back? They didn't, I don't think I looked back either.  

I stepped outside.  Clutching my purse and my mug, with my keys at the ready, I made my way towards the back gate.  At the gate, I paused.  I actually paused.  I felt some sort of guilt for just leaving, so much of my freedom to choose had been swallowed up in the church rhetoric and control.  I did have the freedom to choose when I left the church, but I had always come back before.  Deep down, I knew I wasn't coming back anymore, even if I had yet to admit it to myself.

I pushed the gate open and let it slam behind me.

And, then I was outside, truly outside, of Calvary Chapel.

I had no idea what was to come after that.  I didn't know then how angry I was, how angry I would be for years to come, angry that something that had seemed so beautiful, so full of love, was actually so toxic.  That made me sad too.  Very sad too.  I didn't know that I would also be heartbroken for years over the loss of the friends I had lost by leaving.  I didn't know the journey that would come by taking that first step out, not just away from them, but back to myself.  That by leaving that behind I would finally and truly find myself.

I didn't know that after I walked that journey away, toiled through the years of a difficult marriage, healing from the abuse of my life, sorting through it all, that I would find freedom, freedom to love again, to love my Calvary friends who no longer call and that I would forgive them for that, for all of it, to love and reconnect with the family and friends I had pushed away during those years, find the freedom to love myself fully and completely, and find the freedom to truly know and love the Divine, and be loved by the Divine truly in return.  

I didn't know any of that then.  I just knew I had to leave, that it was time.  Then, I just took the first step.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. ---Lao Tzu

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9ayN39xmsI

Not Another Blog With Biblical Scriptures

"Forgetting what lies ahead and straining towards what is ahead, I press on..."--Philippians 3:13

Basically, I don't see anything wrong with this verse, as moving forward from the past is the only path we really have in this life.  Time on this earth is linear, we move forward into the future and as of yet time travel has yet to be accomplished.  

So, I get it.  Its healthy to not linger on the past, to forget what is behind in order to continue forward towards your goals, in order to achieve your dreams.  Good idea, sounds reasonable.  

On the surface.

But, when I read it, a whole plethora of memories not so good floods up at me.  A painful realization of a time in my life when pressing forward was more important than honoring, remembering, and cherishing the past.

During my time at Calvary Chapel, I spent most of it in Sonoma County, the place of which I grew up.  In its belief that they had the final say on the literal translation of the Bible, Calvary put an emphasis on this verse.  And, in the place where I had memories from before, old class-mates, childhood friends, and the like, it became a pit of an emotional disaster.

As I mentioned previously, Calvary was very exclusionary in their world-view, not just towards the Non-Christian or Non-believer, but even going so far as to exclude other similar minded churches from being called " Truly Christian".  In addition to that, as I have mentioned before, emotions, intellect, advanced education, reading other books besides the Bible or those not dictated by the leadership was strongly discouraged, even frowned upon.  Your spiritual walk and obedience to Christ was questioned if you partook in any of the above activities.

What this resulted in, I have discovered, is a loss of understanding of self and identity as well as the inability to think for yourself.  

From some thorough examination, I have discovered Calvarys heightened focus on the "forget what lies behind" part of this verse to be disastrous to one's understanding of self, identity, and life purpose, even one's own spiritual walk.  For at Calvary, we were persuaded that any outside relationships with non-christians, whether past friends or current, were to be dealt with in the light of "bring them to church and get them saved", for there could be no closeness with someone who did not walk with Christ, at least in the Calvary worldview.

What this resulted for me, and I think for others, was a depreciation for the experiences and relationships of childhood friends, classmates, camp friends, even families.  Now seen through the eyes of what the church taught, my past memories with these friends were skewed by the judgment of the sins committed.  You were forgiven but it was constantly, by the church, drudged up about all the bad stuff you did in your BC (before Christ, for those not familiar with the lingo) days.  Thus, you were constantly in a state of shame for these past indiscretions.  What were you to do then was to move forward to heal.  The only way to change was to forget.

But, that is not possible.  Healing from the past never works if you try to merely forget.  We all have our past issues, pains, and grievances.  Stuff we carry around with us that color our understanding of our current relationships and situations.  Not dealing with that leads us to continue the cycle of destruction over and over again.  Perhaps that's Calvary Chapels true motivation, keeping the people submissive is easier if they are constantly in a place of shame.

During my time at Calvary, I had my breakdown and subsequent diagnosis with Bipolar.  The only thing that really healed and helped me was therapy, both group and individual.  Real therapy, not Christian where you read the Bible, studied some verse, and felt better.  No, that's band-aid therapy, that's almost a kin to doing a drug to cover the pain.  Very much like, in my opinion.

During my years of therapy, I did not dwell in the past or live there.  In actually, the years I spent trying to forget I dwelt more, whether living in regret over past mistakes or reliving old hurts.  In short, I didn't move forward no matter how much I said I did.

Therapy brought about true healing and forgiveness for those wrongs and hurts I caused and had done.  Through extensive therapy, I looked back, re-wrote the past, and then released it.  

However during my Calvary years pre-breakdown, I cast aside the childhood friends I care so much for.  After the breakdown and the therapy, I sit face to face with them, remembering the lovely times of our shared pasts yet cheering each other on as we move forward to our glorious futures.

Its those long-time friends that, despite my treatment of them during the Calvary years, that have remained with me.  Its the Calvary friends that have now cast me aside, choosing themselves to continue to "try and forget".  I do so hope that works for them and if not I pray they find true healing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wBDDAZkNtk

It Begins With An Ending

Lisa pushed open the door of the computer lab and felt the cold blast of the Oregon winter force itself upon her skin, pricking her nerves further with the pang of loss and loneliness. Her boyfriend or whatever he was had finally ended things and had left her with a shattered heart and an empty feeling of despair, leaving echoes in her soul, loose memories rippling through her mind of a time when she had more confidence, a warmer time of bliss and love.

As she made her way, plodding slowly, she knew another night was upon her of homework and red wine, after the cafeteria dorm dinner, with her friends, both ways to block out the emptiness with a constant busyness and buzz.

In the state nearby, in the small city of Santa Clara, Jen Ames hurried home from her friends' house, zipping her windbreaker over her t-shirt to block out the chill spraying from the ocean. School had ended a few hours before and she had gone to her friends to study for the test the following day. Now, she hurried home to have a quick dinner before joining her parents' and her new friends for the Golgotha Temple bible study.

She did like this church better than the droll Methodist church her mom used to drag them all to—For here, the services were cool, vibrant yet relaxed. The senior pastor always wore Hawaiian shirts, the worship band played contemporary Christian songs that spoke right to her heart, the pastors taught in a way that made the Bible understandable and relevant to her life.

In his home in Northern California, Levi Temple sat dejectedly staring at his computer screen in his darkened study. Above him, in the bathroom, he could hear the bath water running for his children's post-dinner nightly rituals. His wife, Lorena's, soft voice came through the walls as she spoke to the children, working them through the process of bath, bed, and beyond.

She had given him the pass for this nightly ritual, as she could see his mind in a storm. It still affected him, even after fifteen years of leaving Golgotha Temple.  They had made a play of his name, Levi from the Levites the servants of God and his last name Temple, as if he was married to the church, a servant of the church.  He could feel the pangs of shame, the memories of the suffocating control in his youth, and his eventual abrupt departure that left him with a loss so far-reaching he could still feel the after-effects these many years later. He heaved a sigh outward and blinked back the hot tears in his eyes. Resting his hands on the keyboard, he begin to type, his story, his memories, and his thoughts on what had happened to him.

“Maybe this,” he said to himself. “Maybe this will help.”

Crucify

Golgotha Temple

Sitting in a strip mall restaurant, looking over the sunlit concrete ocean of parking lot, the cars filled with people busying themselves in their evening activities, post-work, what's next for them, home, bars, soccer practise, I shudder to think, bible study...The exterior of this moment with its plasticity and cemented exterior brings to mind a former life...I find my mind filling with old memories of myself, in a different time, a part of me that I wish not always to remember, a time when I wore loose turtlenecks to hide every ounce of my horrible flesh, a time when my insides felt rotten and I hated the sight of me, a time when from the pulpit the Pastor preached about my degradation and waited while I bowed my head in submission, a time when I sacrificed myself, my own desires, interests, passions, and creativity, for the good of the whole, but in doing so, lost all sense of purpose in life...a time when a forced smile masked the depression and pain inside, a false constraint so much like the turtlenecks I wore...a time when looking pretty on the outside was more acceptable than self worth and evaluation on the inside, when all that mattered was that you conformed to their interpretations of the Bible(or face the ostracizing effects) in so doing, peace and joy was promised but never obtained...

As I recall this time of my life, I'm filled with anguish not so much for myself but for those still trapped inside. It is for them, then, that I begin this story. However fiction it may be, beacons of truth will shine through, reveal the darkness pretending to be light, and bring freedom to those enslaved to the deception.

Because Of You

Healing Dream

I had an amazing dream right before I woke up where I had a conversation with one of my abusers, the pastor that mentally & emotionally abused me.

We were in a movie theatre & somehow I ended up sitting next to him. At first, it was somewhat amicable but then I started opening up to him about my new life.

Me: (handing him my license with new identity) See.

Him: I do not accept this person. This is not how you were created when you were born. God doesn't make mistakes.

Me: I didn't say that. But it is who I was created to be, inside. Who you knew before was just a cover.

Him: I do not accept that. I cannot be your friend anymore. You are not right with the Lord.

Me: I feel like I'm being judged by you, without you really listening to me. My whole view on life has been transformed, who I am is transformed. The way I view life and spirituality has grown. I'm open-minded--

Him: Oh, that's a red flag. You shouldn't be that. Its of the enemy--

Me: See, that's a problem with the Christian right. They have their view of certain words, without stopping to listen to what the person is saying. In fact, they never really start to listen to the person they are "trying to save". They have their script & they stick to it, based on their impressions & preconceived notions taught in their own little world of how the world is.

Him: I cannot be a close friend of yours. I can still be happy having only a exterior only connection to you. You are not right with the Lord, you are in sin. You have wandered from the path. When you were walking with the Lord, you were so happy.

Me: Actually, I haven't. If you really wanted to listen, I would tell you that, I have truly found myself, I've truly discovered & keep discovering all that it means to be spiritual, I finally feel whole, I have finally found my life purpose & my calling, my true vocation. Lastly, when you knew me then, I was not happy at all. I am happy now.

I woke up with that last comment.

My "Fundie" Addiction

Full Definition of ADDICTION

1

:  the quality or state of being addicted <addiction to reading>

2

:  compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance (as heroin, nicotine, or alcohol) characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal; broadly :  persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful

I find myself at times what is or would be my addiction.  Relationships? Possibly.  Then, it hit me.  At one point, an addiction for me was my faith, or rather, being a part of the conservative fundamentalist church I attended for a good portion of my younger days.  

Why do I consider this to be an addiction as such? Well, Christianity in its conservative right-minded form appealed to me because of its emphasis on love and inclusion, feeling to be part of a group and thus running from the feeling of unpopularity that had been built in me since middle school.  In so many ways, I desired that sense of family feeling in that community, something I had never truly experienced anywhere else, a sense of belonging and being a part of something outside myself, rather a sense of being known completely by another person or multiples of that.

In the end, I used this religious belief and connection as a drug, in a sense, a way for me to numb out the painful issues that had brought me into the church in the first place.  

As time went on, the drug became more all encompassing.  I couldn't live without it but the more I took it, swallowed the teachings without thinking (or trying not to), I found myself more discontented and alone.  In short, I needed more to drown out the pain inside myself.  

http://www.elementsbehavioralhealth.com/behavioral-process-addictions/can-religion-be-an-addiction/

In the end, I couldn't.

For the more I got involved with the church, the more I began to see the dark side, the negative effects of it in my life.  The more I got involved, thus, I couldn't deny this fact for the more I tried to conform, the less I could.  As those that professed grace and acceptance, the more the opposite was true.

I ran...not knowing why or how.  Just a gut instinct made me run, seeking grace, forgiveness, love from other sources, other churches, friends, even lovers.  Just more stuff to numb the pain until I couldn't run anymore and I faced myself, my ultimate truth, where we all must find ourselves.

Leaving that abusive church behind, I found myself going through what I can only describe as negative withdrawals.  I had left the only community I had really known, what had been my world, what I saw as truth, for 5 years, give or take, of my life.  Although there had been judgment, there had also been love and friendship.  I no longer had those.  I had to look around far and wide to see who was still standing by my side, finding none from those I had "fellowshipped" with.  Not only that, but I began to see that was taught me as "gospel truth" was actually a point of view of those doing the indoctrinating.  What a shock!

Breaking away meant not only leaving the church but forgiving myself and those involved from any wrong-doing and releasing them to their fate, to their own life paths.  In that forgiveness, I found healing and freedom, a new found community of other "refugees", I found love once again for those still part of the church, for those in my life past and present, and mostly for myself, at last.  I no longer tried to hide from myself by numbing myself out, in short, I was no longer afraid of seeing myself.

Life become enjoyable at last, truly living and not hiding.  This I pray and hope for all my friends, involved with fundamentalism and outside that world.  We all deserve to be free, to be fully alive, and fully in love with ourselves. 

We all need to "break away."

BreakAway

https://www.patreon.com/user?u=859546&ty=h

Unbreakable "Calvary Refugee"

This is why I absolutely love the new Netflix series, "Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt", it speaks to me directly.  When I first saw the little blurb about it, a young girl escapes from a cult, I was intrigued because that's my own story...and then it made me laugh very very hard.  And, I learned once again that our own personal tragedy can be funny and in that laughter we can find healing.  Well, I did.  I found commonality.

Unlike Kimmy, I wasn't trapped underground, yet psychologically I was, trapped.  Fed a bunch of lies about the world, held back from forming my own opinions and shaping my own identity, from continuing to shape deep meaningful relationships with those on the outside,  my family and long-time friends.  In a very real sense, I lost a lot of time.  But now, I'm gaining it back.

Starting Over Again

Why did I allow myself to do this willingly? It seemed like a lot of fun, at first.  But then it slowly began to be not so fun.  It became restrictive and at best judgmental.  In a place where I thought I had family, I felt more alone and isolated, frightened really, than I ever thought possible.  The only thing to do then was to run as far away as possible, into the great big scary world.

And, then my eyes were opened, once again.  The scales, as it were, fell away.  And, what I saw truly surprised me.  The world was no longer scary, was not really coming to an end full of depravity and grotesque sin.  People were still really good at heart, full of love and acceptance.  Friends that I hadn't really been there for were still there for me, happy to take me in again with open arms.  I found myself over and over again; I found family, I found love.

Like Kimmy, I look up at the world daily with great big eyes of wonderment.  It really is a beautiful, awe-inspiring place with so much to see and do.  For so long locked away, I now gaze outwards, all around me, with such fascination and joy.

In truth, I'm in a better place now, one that I never thought could ever be again.  I'm happy, I'm full of joy and peace, and honestly, I am unbreakable.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt Theme Song

And, I'm free.

Free At Last!

I'd like to dedicate this entry to my fellow "Calvary Refugees", David Templeton and Jessica Heald with so much gratitude for sharing their stories of recovery and healing.  I also extend my gratitude towards my fellow cult survivors, Richard Royce and David Demoss, may they continue to find healing and renewal in their journeys.