Abuse Within the IFB Bubble

Below find a link to the personal testimony of a brave lady who suffered abuse with the IFB system. She now shares how she struggled and survives. Please take the time to read her story. This kind of thing must end.

A Personal Story of Abuse from Wendy Terrado

A Teapot in the Dark

In my last regular post, I ended again with that long walk to my van. Faith gone. Disillusioned. Crying. Frightened. In spite of the bright August sun, I was in the dark. I didn't know anyone or anyplace I could look for guidance. All of my regular sources bore the stench of betrayal, and I turned inward.

I feebly attempted to appear happy. It was nice to stay at home, but I grew restless quickly. I tried to make up for the loss of income by clipping coupons, and looking for deals. And I learned that I HATED clipping coupons. (Seriously, still do). I started working fervently on a wedding for a friend, and that became a welcome distraction, but I still felt sick at heart, and numb. Numb, at least until the realization of what had happened in a place that I had loved and defended for years washed over me. So I capitulated between disinterest, empty euphoria, and tears. 

I had a health issue that had grown worse during the year or so before that made my emotions all the more volatile. After a falling out with the bride I was helping, I turned over all the work I had done, and was not able to see the fruits of my labor at the wedding. And, honestly, the dark got even darker. And I was bitter, bitter, bitter, and so sad. God had deserted me. I was sure of this. And Satan whispered often to me that I was of no worth, and that God was distant and uncaring.

There were many conversations with acquaintances that ended in "If you could just pray and find a good church, you will be so much better." At that point they might have well told me to slather my self in syrup and stand on ant hill. Prayers ended in tears and bitterness, and church services? They turned my stomach. "All these stupid people gobbling this stuff up. What have they done differently than me? Just wait. You'll all find out just how futile all of this is." This inner monologue went on and on. I am still grateful that no one could read my mind. It all just. . . . hurt, both physically and mentally.

It would be a wonderful thing to say that all of this is now resolved, and that every, single day I am a happy, giddy Christian flitting about Greenville with wings strengthened by God's grace, but that's a lie. Many days are still dark. The story of my dark times continues, but I will soon share what God does for a sad, short, stout gal who has lost her faith, and trust.

Even as I write this, my heart heaves with a recent, new hurt, and my emotional state is, let's say "fragile." (Goodness-I do seem to cry in some way with every single emotion. I am soooo not a Vulcan). I struggle with a loss of support from someone close to me. I know that God sent that person along to help me during the dark times after leaving Bob Jones. But, for now, due to a transgression on my part, that support is gone, and I'm not sure I will ever gain it back. 

I say that not to discourage, but to share a lesson I am learning right now, in this moment. Because God did bring me through those dark times before, and

He did show me the light even when I tried to close my eyes tight and turn away, I know that He is still there. He does still care. I know what my heart wants, but I am willing to follow Him, even if it pulls me away from people very dear to me. No, I don't want that to happen. Not. At. All. But God sees all, and He will provide what I need. He is never the problem. It's me. But, He loves me anyway. That's pretty amazing. 

So, my plan in my next post is to share a few more details of my lessons learned, and how God works in those details.

Prayers for all of you.

Serve God. Love others.

Teapotjan

Teapot's Long Walk

At the end of my last post, Satan had delivered his one-two punch of guilt and self doubt. I was leaving a job I had truly loved, and a place that I had thought rested on the pinnacle of the Christian faith, and I was walking toward my van to leave both forever. And everything was black. Everything. My faith in man and God was gone, and I did not want to move forward.

I resigned of my own choice. But that decision was based on how the administration of my department had treated me as a woman, and co-worker, as well as the lack of support from the school administration. I had fought, since my husband had left the school two years before, to receive the same benefits as my male co-workers. After a long year of paying tuition for the only child enrolled at that time, and a struggle to work until five and throughout the summer without the benefit of paid child care, my struggles seem to pay off, and I was granted back tuition and child care. I was exceptionally happy, and I felt validated. The news came while my family was on vacation in South Dakota, and I actually looked forward to the end of vacation and my return to work.

Someone posted the other day on Facebook saying that if you can tell your story without crying, then you are healed. But, even four years later, I still can't talk or write about this without shedding a least a few tears. 

When I returned to work after vacation, things became much worse. I had a staff co-worker lie directly to my face, and then deny it. I overheard comments and implications about how I, along with one or two other department employees needed to be forced out because we demanded too much training for our student workers. And I found that many of the female students did not want to deal with that same co-worker because of the questionable things he said to them. Scheduling changes in training were made and I was not informed, along with many other actions and talks that I now realize were harassment. At one staff meeting, I made the statement that if I were a man, I would be more respected. One co-worker said to me under his

breath "You know, there's an operation for that."I did report it, and I was brushed aside. Yet I still heard in chapel, and in faculty staff meetings that all these kinds of decisions were made by godly men, making prayerful, godly choices. And I kept trying.

But day after day, I returned home from work, crying, stressed and sick. Rumors about me and my family flew around the school, and made their way to my church. It wasn't that I was worried about the rumors because that's just what they were. But it was those who heard them, knew they weren't true and did nothing. At all. In fact, the main rumormonger was promoted above to "keep him away from the students as you requested." As the school year passed, I knew I had to leave for my own health, and for my family.

That long walk was only a hundred feet or so, but by the time I reached the driver's side door, I had determined that God must be watching from very far away, if indeed He existed, and that I had been an idiot to trust that He would bother with me.

So, here I am again-at that van. The walk is over, but the next few months were very dark. Again, I say that if God had not watched over me, and lead me even in my blindness toward Him, I would not be here to write these words.

Next, I'll finish the details of those darkest months, and share how God in His wisdom and grace delivered me.

God is Good,

Teapotjan

The Teapot Has Left the Bubble! A Look Back

Way back at the start of spring before weddings, and graduations, and broken air conditioners, and cars that wouldn't start, and a few weeks with a sweet friend with Alzheimer's, and the loss of a beloved aunt, I wrote a blog about how some happenings had triggered a return of an old enemy: bitterness.

All the things in that list, along with a few recent ponderings brought that post back to mind, along with that same old feeling, along with its more malicious buddies, guilt and self-doubt. I think these three emotions are some of Satan's most malicious weapons in the lives of Christians.

If you know me, or have read any of my posts, you know that I have physically stepped away from the IFB (Independent Fundamental Baptist) movement and all of the churches, speakers, and groups similar to or related to them. In fact, four years ago on August 27th, 2011, I walked out of the entrance building on the campus of Bob Jones University, leaving behind a job of 11 years, and a lifetime of IFB mentality. The Bubble surrounding the university and all of its satellite churches, had popped for me, and the regular world loomed before me. And, as I walked to my vehicle, my faith in God dropped out from under me.

I was scared. I was angry. I felt betrayed, abused, used, stupid, and very, very alone. And that's where I left that post long ago back in April.If God had not smothered me in His grace, I'm not entirely sure I'd be alive to write this post. That was not a good state for someone who already battled clinical depression.
The problem was, and still is at times, that much of what I had been taught all my life had been man's opinion of God's Word. I had based my life choices on these teachings. I worked at being the "ideal Christian" daughter, teen, college student, wife, school teacher, and mom. When I failed, as I often did, the guilt could be overwhelming. It seemed incredibly difficult to be what God wanted me to be-futile really. But, I was assured Sunday after Sunday that this was the way a Christian's life should be spent: in a desperate struggle to attain Christlikeness. Cue the song "I've Got the Joy-Joy-Joy-Joy Down in My Heart" in a minor key.

Oh the guilt, the wretched, wretched guilt. Not repentance. Just a hopeless feeling of guilt of not being good enough. Of failing yet again. Paying for a moment of what I thought was guilty pleasure with far more guilt than pleasure. 

On the way home today, I had a flash back when Barry Manilow's "I Write the Songs" came floating out of my van speakers. I instinctively reached out to change the station because that song had been "uncheckable" since 1975 until about 2011 for me. I laughed, and then listened to this "evil" song that had I listened to only when my parents, pastor, and teachers would not know of my grave indiscretion. Some of you may think I'm exaggerating, but those who grew up as I did know that I truly am not.

And then? As I continued to listen to the innocuous, but "uncheckable" lyrics, I became bitter. Just for a moment. But there it was. Flashes of the lecture on the evils of rock and pop music ran through my mind. Good grief! What a religion to cause good-hearted, God-loving people to feel guilty over listening to anything

secular besides very old songs,opera and classical music! How does that help the cause of the Gospel?

The answer is that it does not. If Satan can use guilt to cripple one of God's children to the point of hopelessness, then he has scored a victory. A hopeless, guilty Christian will never be as effective in God's service as a Christian who has embraced the full knowledge of God's grace. And after enough years of guilt, and failure? Cue the self-doubt.

I remember thinking as a young mother that I failed my children everyday that they didn't go over their verses for Awana, or when I was just too tired to get to church on my own. (My husband's schedule has always been difficult, so I was often a "single" mom through no fault of his). I also remember, the passive-aggressive suggestions from leaders in the church and their wives that I surely could do better in my attendance, all the while never offering to help or making one phone call for encouragement. Hmmmm. That's another blog post right there.
I wallowed in self-doubt. I asked for help, and I was told to "believe and pray." I already was. But, I thought I must be doing that wrong, too. Yay! Guilt AND self-doubt. Satan delivered his one-two punch, and I was down for the count.

This is getting long, but up next, is that walk to my van.   

Prayers and blessings,

Teapotjan

Abusing the Abused

Tom, cowered and limping walks into his local bank asking to meet with the loan officer, Howard. Tom's face is drawn, and dark shadows surround his eyes. He avoids looking directly at the loan officer at first, but after a deep breath, he looks up and says "I need help. My store was robbed two years ago by the Mayor's son, Robert. He stole most of my inventory, and I have never quite recovered the loss. I didn't report it because I was so ashamed that I couldn't protect my store. But, I've come to the point that I must do something in order to buy food, and escape from the fear of being robbed again." 


Howard motions Tom to sit, and after 

confirming that Tom has spoken to no one else, begins: "Well, we shouldn't take this to the police because public knowledge of the Mayor's son thieving ways would really hurt our little town's reputation, wouldn't it? But I'll be glad to lead you through the process of recovery.I really, truly want to help you, Tom. You're a good friend, and the city loves you." And then Howard begins his questioning. 

"First, did you in any way ever invite Robert to steal your merchandise? You know, did you ever give him a discount or a free item?Because that's like an open invitation to someone like Robert. Oh, and did he take anything that you were glad to be rid of? If so, he really kind of did you a favor, didn't he? And finally,have you called Robert to tell him that you have forgiven him for stealing your things, and to ask him to forgive you for allowing it to happen?" In desperation, and disbelief, Tom gets up quickly, and leaves without so much as a glance back. Two days later, they find his body in the burned ruins of his store. And Robert's father complacently carries on the work of running his small town. "Poor Tom," the mayor says, "I hate he lost his store, but he kind of brought it on himself. At least our fine city is still safe and sound in the eyes of the public."

Honestly? I feel silly writing this, but I'm trying to make a serious point. This is how many Christian organizations treat victims of sexual and physical abuse. The abused, already broken and ashamed, finally muster the courage to come forward about their abuser, and are questioned about what they did to cause the abuse. What convoluted thinking! Further, one of the first things they are asked to do is forgive their abuser, and ask their abuser to forgive them. ARGH! Now, I agree that we must forgive our enemies and those that hurt us. I know that's an important part of the healing process. But it is rarely, if ever, the first part. Pushing for a major move like that early in the process compares to asking a gunshot victim to rummage their own wound for the bullet. 

The following comes from Rebecca Davis, a friend of mine who stands staunchly in support of abuse victims. She just posted this on her Facebook page as I sat to write this entry. In lieu of what I had planned to write, here is what Rebecca shared, followed by a link to her page so that you can read the comments and responses:

**I just received this from a survivor friend who asked to be kept anonymous. Please read and tag any friends who might be interested in having a better understanding. It's public, so anyone can read it.**

I want to share something through Rebecca to many of you who read her posts. I am one of the many who Rebecca speaks for when she posts about abuse that happened at BJU. She knows many of the details of my experiences and BJU’s response to it.

Many of the things that Rebecca posts, I experienced first hand. She has seen some of the written records of my experiences. I wonder sometimes, what it is that makes so many read her posts and turn away, either without commenting, or telling her that she should remain silent. I realize that many don't know very much personally and don't want to comment on something they have little understanding of, but there are some who believe these things shouldn't be stated. If Rebecca has seen evidence of what she is writing about, does that not qualify her to be free to speak? to be free to plead for understanding?

There are many of us reading her posts and wishing that we had the freedom to share our experiences ourselves and know that we are still welcome within the church community. I am one of those who has found that church is not really a safe place for survivors of abuse. While there are most definitely specific people and even leaders within some church communities who have shown me much kindness and compassion, the church--both locally based churches as well as the Church in general--just really doesn’t have a place for us; many in the churches want us to remain silent.

I know many of the people who reported to GRACE about their experiences at BJU. Most remain silent and most stay away from churches. I don’t know of many who are willing to openly discuss the abuses and responses at BJU. When I read your comments on Rebecca's posts, I feel very alone and know that “church” is not really a place for me, nor is it a place for other survivors, particularly for those whose offenders are well liked and admired by the Christian community.

Please understand that I think we should always speak wisely and with caution. Accusations should not be made lightly. Also, we are limited in ever truly understanding the motivation of those who did wrong. Many involved in all of this are “nice” people. Many are people who have done many good things in their lives. I am not arguing this. It doesn’t however, negate the fact that many have been deeply wounded by “nice” people who have sexually abused and/or raped them. Many have been deeply wounded by the counsel from “nice” people who caused further harm to the victims.

I realize that because many of us still live within the vicinity of BJU, there are many very strong emotions that are stirred when this topic comes up. Some people comment directly on Rebecca’s posts. Others comment elsewhere, in writing and/or in varied conversations with others. I have a few questions for you.

Many of you state that you don’t condone abuse, but you still often make statements that we should be silent until there is proof. Why is that? What kind of proof is needed? Why do so many find it wrong that we discuss our experiences and/or allow Rebecca to be a voice for some of us? Why do so many feel that we all need to remain silent until the GRACE report is completed? Is each of us supposed to remain alone until an outside agency verifies our experiences? In one of the most recent articles published, some victims spoke directly of their experiences. Documentation was included in the article that backs the victim’s claims and show at least some evidence of BJU’s response. Yet many still act as if it isn’t enough. Instead, the news agency who reported is questioned about their motivations in reporting. Why? Some have seen it as wrong for victims to speak to a secular news group. Why? If they are willing to take the time to verify the truthfulness of the claims, what makes it wrong for us to speak with them? Telling us that we should not speak to a “secular” reporting group feels very much like what we were taught at BJU, not to report our abuse to “secular” authorities, to let the “church” handle it. We see how well that worked. Offenders simply moved on to other victims, and abuse continued.

I have waited for a long time, mostly silently, for the GRACE report to come out. As the months have dragged on, I wonder if the GRACE report will even make a difference. The fact that GRACE became involved at BJU is miraculous, but what if they had never been hired? Would we all be accused of gossiping by telling our experiences without an agency to verify our claims? Is truth true only if GRACE validates it? If our stories can’t be heard now, then what changes simply because GRACE reports our experiences? If you aren’t willing to hear directly from the victims, why will you listen to GRACE? What will you do when the report comes out? Will you believe it? Will you shun the victims who reported? How will we all respond when there are people we care about on both sides, offenders who are loved, others who are loved who covered offenses and provided traumatizing and wrong counsel to victims, and the victims themselves, all within our community? How will we sort this out?

Consider this: what if I witnessed my child killed by a drunk driver in my front yard. What if I held my child, realizing that he is dead, saw the driver exit her car stumbling around in an obvious state of drunkenness, saw her car filled with bottles of alcohol partially emptied. Would I need to remain silent? Could I share my agony, confusion, and suffering with my church family or the community at large, or would I be told to remain silent because the autopsy has not yet been completed and the driver who has admitted to being drunk has not yet been sentenced in court? What if the drunk driver is declared incompetent to stand trial due to some extenuating circumstances? Does that make it any less true that she has killed my child and I am hurting? What if she is a respected leader in the community? Should I hide my pain to protect her? What if she is a Sunday school teacher, well loved within our own church family? Does that mean I must remain completely silent and alone in order to not add to her pain? What if I have forgiven her and have compassion for the struggle she is facing? Does that mean I can’t struggle and be open about my own pain as well?

I have heard many sermons about living in "community" and on being open and transparent about our struggles. Why is that okay ONLY when our struggles aren't connected to Christian leaders who abuse? What if one of us stood in front of your church and recounted our experiences? How hated would we be if doing so brings to light some things that many just don't want to know? Do you know the risk that so many of us took in reporting to GRACE? Do you realize that many of us who did so are right in your midst hearing and reading your responses? Do you understand why we can't go to church?   

Link to Rebecca's Post on Facebook 

Standing in support of the abused,
Teapotjan

Facebook Post from Rebecca Davis

I See You

You there. The victim of abuse. You, who finally scraped together enough courage to tell someone about what they did. How you felt. About your guilt and self-hate. Your bitterness toward that leader, that parent, that person who stood and watched and knew and said nothing. You, the disillusioned.

I saw the light of hope in your eyes when the "bastion" of your faith took what seemed a huge step toward your healing. I hoped with you. And I prayed. 

Then I saw. The headlines and the news. When I looked at you, I saw hurt, tears, pain, and fear. I cried with you. I felt sick.

And I heard you. You said that you weren't sure you could share your story again. Once was just shy of too much. I saw you. I saw the light of hope fade. Bless you. I see you.

And I pray. I pray that your stories will be heard, for your healing, and for the wisdom of those who hold the promise of hope in their meetings and words.

I know. I know that you hurt. I know that this is hard. But I also know that God is aware. 

He sees you.
He loves you.
And in spite of mistakes made by flawed people, 
He remains. Unchangeable. All Powerful. All Knowing.

See Him. He who created all, and sees each tear, and provides all peace. 

HE WILL DO WHAT IS RIGHT.

GRACE

The Angry, Prayerful Teapot

Lord, bless this post. I pray I don't make hasty judgements, and untrue statements. Be with those that hurt. May my words lift them up and glorify You. I stand by their needs and hope to 

Posts concerning abuse, GRACE, and Bob Jones University have flooded my Facebook wall, and their content has flooded my heart. When GRACE revealed that their investigation had been halted by officials at Bob Jones University just shy of the end of the process, I cried out in anger, sorrow, and disappointment. But before speaking, I waited to see what the University would do. But they haven't done anything but spin the whole matter, and that anger, sorrow, and disappointment still rage in my heart.

I don't know what GRACE has found. I know the names of only a few of the victims who spoke with them. But I know that as the news spread out across the internet, those victims were slapped in the face with the fact that a Christian institution valued protecting its own objectives over helping heal the pain of hurting individuals. 

That statement does not spring lightly from my lips. I loved the University at one point, and I appreciate the education I received there. I made great friends while attending and working there. Working in Public Safety, I saw people at their worst, and I was aware of some of the spin thought necessary to protect both the the University and the cause of Christ. When the GRACE investigation started I, like many, hailed it as a real changed in the thought process of the University administration. And perhaps it was. But as time passed, and the contents of the GRACE report loomed near, the old thought processes kicked in, and the excuses and spin began again. 

If those who make the decisions really cared about abuse victims, and did not fear what may be released, they would have informed the victims and the public in general of any problems BEFORE they fired GRACE. Doing otherwise, they have contributed to the climate of abuse as much, if not more, than if they had never started the investigation. I continue to feel this way even after reading all the links concerning ABWE, and many others. They responded badly-again. The University no longer has the luxury of releasing only the information they want. The information age is here, and when an institution fails to act in a forthright and transparent manner, it automatically brings suspicion down upon its own head.

This article came across my news feed this morning, and I feel that it covers the situation well. Please click The American Conservative to see the article.

If you want more information, message or email me, and I will send links to the sites with announcements from GRACE and BJU. The news has spread far, any many media outlets have taken up the story.

For those victims of abuse: I am praying for you. Be assured that in spite of the actions of flawed humans, the God who created all will do what is right and just. 

Disillusioned, but looking UP,
Teapotjan