how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part 14)

to read this story from the beginning click here

i knew it before she said it.
“i'm leaving you.” she spoke, but her lips didn't move.
she stood sideways, gently pressed against george's hip, hand on the small of his back. she placed her other hand on his stomach and gently kissed the side of his neck. he looked directly at me, smiling, showing pity as she kissed his neck.
she looked back at me as well, a beat, another beat, both of them expressing pity for me.

my daughter was 20 feet behind them, sitting in a motorcycle sidecar. like an overexposed picture, the sun reflected off her blond hair and face. she was smiling, excited, anxiously awaiting the motorcycle sidecar ride.
i the distance was a castle like home atop a lush, emerald-green hill. the land was rich with trees and flowers. birds and butterflies flitted about giving the castle-like home and the land around it a magical storybook appearance.

“c'mon daddy,” my daughter called out to george, showing her closed teeth in an exaggerated, fake-looking smile. her lips didn't move either.
the motorcycle and sidecar sat on a black, paved road which winded up the hillside to the castle-like home. directly behind it was long safari-style, open-sided car with a striped canvas top and several rows of passenger seats where goerge's other “wives” sat smiling, waiting anxiously.
i wanted to beg her to stay, but i knew she was right to leave me. george was better than me. he would give her and our daughter, their daughter, a better life. who was i to keep them from having what they deserved, what anyone deserved? besides, how could they ever love me? i was nothing. the pity she felt toward me made it clear that she could never love me.

she dropped her hands from george's back and stomach, took a step toward me and placed her hand on the back of my head. then, she looked into my eyes. again, she looked at me with pity and, as she gently pulled my head toward her lips, she said, “it's time.” she kissed me on the forehead and with a flash of white light they were gone. i was standing alone in an empty house.

there was no furniture, nothing on the windows, nothing on the walls except blue and gray striped wallpaper. the windows were dingy so that i could not see though them. they allowed enough light to penetrate them to give the room a greyish hue.

i felt nauseous. to my right, through the open bathroom door, i could see a lonely mirrored medicine cabinet. the mirror provided a visual gateway into george's grand candlelit bedroom, where george stood behind my wife holding her in his arms.

she was wearing a black cocktail dress which landed high on her thighs. she was barefoot. he reached his arms around her, placing them on her stomach as she tilted her neck and reached back to kiss him.

as their lips touched there was another flash of white light and i awoke. i was in bed in our pennsylvania town home. it was still dark. i looked over to see my wife asleep beside me. i went to the bathroom and vomited.

the green digits on our clock-radio indicated that it was 5:14 am. i had to be at church in a couple hours to go over a couple pieces of music before the early church service, so i went downstairs and made a pot of coffee.

as my wife slept, i sat out back in the darkness drinking coffee and reflecting.
it wasn't the first time i'd had that dream, or at least dreams built on the same theme. these dreams exposed a loss of self with which i had continued to struggle, my manhood, my essence, even my right to exist.

i thought about all of the staff purpose meetings, in which i'd witnessed the female staff members sitting by george, near his end of the oval. vying for their seats next to the power, they were gathered closer or further from him depending on their status within the program.
the girls on staff belonged to bob and those with less status to george. like whores, they were handed out and repossessed as bob and george saw fit.

this dynamic was part of a more dangerous and insidious hierarchical system which existed within bob's organization where, throughout the years, we just came to accept that some were inherently better than others. within this system, justice was nonexistent. punishment and reward were handed out arbitrarily; more accurately, they were handed out based on what was immediately most beneficial to bob and his wife.

bob used twisted pieces of evolutionary biology concepts to justify inconsistencies in the way people were treated. he referred to himself as “the alpha male.” he justified his constant belittling of one staffer, who he referred to as “the warthog,” by stating that the young staffer was deformed, fvcked-up, born wrong. he had told us that if he had been a dog, the other dogs would have killed him when he was a puppy in order to keep him from dirtying the gene-pool.

if one got close enough to bob, for a long enough period, he was likely to hear bob's ideas regarding who deserved what based on their genetic markers and even their primal spiritual makeup. for his part, bob was at the top of the food-chain, both physically and spiritually.

mostly, however, these messages were insidiously hidden within the structure and doctrine of the program, as well as the actions taken by bob.



why hadn't i killed that mother-fvcker? why hadn't i used raw power to beat him? i had decided to employ my intellect, my cunning, to outsmart him and right now, i hated myself for it. what kind of a man allows another man to beat him down, to take control of his home and his marriage without confronting him directly and beating him to a bloody mash?

my feeling of nausea was replaced with anger, rage, hatred. i imagined beating him with a bat. making him beg me to stop, making him beg for his life. i wanted to become his master. i wanted to terrorize him in front of his wife and daughter, in front of my wife and daughter. i wanted to destroy him, while everyone who had ever witnessed him making a punk out of me watched. and while he died, traumatized and suffering, he would know that he had been beaten in front of all these people. he would know that they knew that he was nothing. but most importantly, i would destroy him, utterly and painfully, proving to myself that i wasn't a punk, that i mattered.
i went to church.



******



the bible.
i've read a lot of books, but the bible is, without any doubt, the greatest book i've ever read. it beats moby dick hands down.

within it's text one will find every conceivable form and measure of human evil. murder, kidnapping, adultery, theft, betrayal, rape, incest, it's all there. the bible doesn't shy away from exposing the darkness that often lives within the hearts of men. i have seen this darkness first hand.

2nd samuel tells the story of david, king of the hebrews, and bathsheba, the wife of one of his his trusted soldiers. while uriah, bathsheba's husband, was on the battlefield, david saw bathsheba and wanted her for himself. he sent an agent to fetch her and he slept with her, taking the only wife of his trusted soldier...because he desired her.

bathsheba later sent a message to king david, informing him that she was pregnant with his child. this is where things get really interesting.

in order to cover up his his betrayal of his trusted soldier, david sent someone to call him off the battlefield. he gave him a gift and sent him home so he could spend the night with his wife, bathsheba, before he returned to the battlefield. not only had he impregnated uriah's wife, now he sent him to sleep with her so that he would believe the child to be his own, causing uriah to raise another man's child believing the child to be his own.

but uriah refused to sleep in his bed and lie with his wife while the other soldiers slept on the ground. so he slept with the servants at the palace's entrance. king david's cover up was foiled. so he tried again. he asked uriah to stay one more night and got him drunk. still, uriah went to sleep at the palace's entrance.

king david continued to scheme. he ordered the general to put uriah on the front lines and to instruct all the other soldiers to retreat once the battle got underway. uriah was killed. david was in the clear.

then, david took in bathsheba and made her his wife.

david had many wives. he could have had any woman he wanted. yet, he took the wife of his trusted soldier and killed him to cover his tracks. now, that's evil.

but that's not the stuff that makes the bible great. many believe that the bible is a book filled with violence, vengeance, and death. sure, it has all of those things. those things exist in the world in which we live. evil has been alive in hearts of some men since the beginning of recorded history and almost certainly before recorded history.

the bible's real poetry is not in its record of evil, but in its message of love. deliverance, repentance, forgiveness, absolution, redemption, these are the primary themes of the bible. even david, when he was shown the magnitude of his evil, found redemption

i think that one's view of the bible, as either a message of vengeance or a message of love, depends upon one's perspective. and i don't mean to say that those who go to church or are raised in the church are more likely to see the bible as a message of love. i've spent way too much time around way too many “religious” people, who claim to have love in their hearts, but clearly demonstrate righteous indignation, legalism and bigotry. i should add, however, that the vast majority of christians that i've known have been loving people. christians have visited me and my children in the hospital when we've been sick. they've prepared meals for my family during times of grief. they've provided us with groceries and money. they've prayed for us and grieved with us.

but i've also seen evil in the church. i won't deny that.

still i don't know why, given similar experiences and circumstances, one individual would come out with a perspective that would cause him to see the bible as a book of vengeance, while another would see it as a book of love. i only know how i see it. i don't even know why i have the perspective i have.

bob was like king david...without the redemption part. taking away the wives of his trusted servants is among the many evil acts i have seen him perform. still, though i could rightly blame bob for a lot of things, i knew i couldn't blame him for the harmful acts that i had committed, even while under his watch.

as an agent of the program i had betrayed my faith, betrayed myself and my family and lied to the community. i had also committed other acts which directly harmed others and had done so in the name of love.

for the next few years i continued to attend church. i read the bible, attended sunday school and bible studies, prayed and took counsel with ministers. but i wasn't seeking redemption. repentance was my goal.



lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon:
where there is doubt, faith ;
where there is despair, hope
where there is darkness, light
where there is sadness, joy


o divine master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life ~st. francis of assisi

i had to get a grip, find myself. my nightmares had nothing to do with bob. they had everything to do with how i saw myself. he played his role in formulating my self image. he had aligned his pulse with mine, exploited my deepest fears and desires. he had used me and so many others as a means to his own ends. but it was up to me to take back my soul.

i knew it wouldn't happen overnight. and exactly where is the point of deliverance anyway? when does it happen? the jews escaped egypt, but then ended up wandering around the desert for 40 years. i had escaped bob's fold, but was i wandering around the desert...again?

the message of the bible was a part of me and to the degree i allowed it, it became evident in my mental and emotional state. i changed. the nightmares stopped. the “sightings” of bob and george went away. i no longer experienced bouts of dissociation. most importantly, my desire for vengeance, my desire to hurt bob was gone completely. i'm not exactly sure how this happened; it just did. it was a like a miracle. if there is a god, he did it. if there is a god, then he took away my burning rage and replaced it with the message of the gospel.

that's pretty cool if you think about it. i didn't necessarily deserve grace, but i really needed it. and though, according to evangelical christian theology, i'm lost, i've been delivered...and possibly redeemed. i don't mean to say that i was no longer angry at bob. he continued to harm people, unrepentant, and i continued to be angry. i see that as a healthy position.

when i speak of the message of the gospel, i'm not talking about the idea that only people who believe in jesus go to heaven and non-believers get sent to hell. in fact, from where i sit, the idea of a powerful god sending a bunch of people to eternal torment runs completely counter to the message of the gospel.

i've been to hell and the hell i was in was created by men, myself included. the message contained within the gospel, on the other hand, delivered me from hell.

there were things that happened in the church that i ultimately couldn't live with. at the top of the list was listening to the preacher stand in the pulpit and condemn gays. one couldn't be gay and also be born again, regardless of the state of his heart. even if one accepts the idea that it is a “sin” to be gay, which in itself is hard to accept since there wasn't even a word for “homosexual” in greek, hebrew or aramaic, why set this so-called “sin” apart from all others.*(see note)

i also had a bit of a problem with the idea that anyone who was a born-again christian could join the church, but first you had to go through an interview process with a group of church elders, presumably so they could determine whether or not you were really “born again.” that seemed a bit too similar to the early days of the christian church when the pharisees called for the gentile converts to show that they'd been circumcised in order to prove they'd been saved.

still, it wasn't my place to advocate within the church. i was there to take what i could, to focus on the message contained within the gospel.

in time, i reconnected with others who'd left bob's organization. i listened to some of the horror stories people told. bob and his programs were becoming even more brutal, more dangerous. i feared that people i loved, people who were still in, would be physically harmed or even killed. i began to think more about those i'd recruited into bob's group. i was also deeply troubled by the fact that there was no information about bob or his programs on the internet.

it had now been over 5 years since i'd left. i was healthy. my family was well. my rage was gone. i knew that i no longer had a desire for vengeance. i didn't want to hurt bob. however, i did have a desire to warn his potential victims. i also wanted to provide something for people who'd been harmed by bob and his programs. when i had left, there were no former members to talk to. there was no place to get information. i hadn't had an avenue to connect with others who'd been in the program and had left. there was nothing out there.

i thought about how great it would be to provide a resource to catch people after they left or were excommunicated, a support network where people could talk through things, reconnect with friends that had left at a different time, a place to get their stories out, to be validated. i also thought there should be a truthful resource for young people and family members who were considering joining bob's programs. the use of the internet for consumer research was becoming more common; yet, there was nothing about bob and his groups, other than their own propaganda, anywhere on the net.

then i heard 2 stories that brought me to the realization that it was time to act. the first was that of a young man i'd known since he was just a kid. his mother had been a friend of ours and had still been working for bob when we left the program. she left several years after us and visited our home. she recounted for us the story of how she nearly lost her son. we'll call him sam.

sam's parents and his older brother had entered the program when sam was just a boy. in time, sam's mother, who was active in the parent program, was brought on as the parent coordinator. his brother, though resistant at first, became indoctrinated as well and became a counselor for the program.

during this time, sam became victim to a form of inequity that existed among indoctrinated families where one child was involved in the program and another wasn't. sam's brother, because he was “with the group,” was granted the freedom to stay out all night, quit going to school and smoke cigarettes. the program's stance was this: since he was an addict, the only thing that mattered was “sticking with winners.” the staff and kids in the program were “winners.” kids outside the program (even those at school) were not. sam's mom and dad, like the rest of the parent converts, believed that, as long as their addicted child avoided drugs and drug users, everything would be okay. smoking, school, language, structure were unimportant in comparison.

since sam wasn't an addict, he had to comply with a curfew, go to school, etc. in addition, i imagine that he felt left out, at times. the rest of the family shared the “program experience.” he was not fully a part of that. i know his parents and i'm sure they did everything they could to insure that sam was not left out. but, truth is, this is one of the dynamics that exists with siblings of program members.

though he didn't have a drug problem, sam eventually convinced the counselors, his parents and probably himself, that he was an addict and needed the program. he went through outpatient treatment and became a full-fledged member, able to hang out all night, smoke cigarettes and attend the extravagant dances and parties hosted by the program.

i got to know him and couldn't help but love him. he was a vulnerable kid with a tender heart. he also had a sharp wit and a snarky sense of humor. the more he tried to defend his heart with his wit, the more his vulnerability became apparent. i knew he was the kind of guy you could count on if you were down and out.

the entire family was highly talented. so, bob exploited them. mom became a part of the national leadership elite, brother, a sr. counselor and dad, a seasoned detective with the city's police force, was drawn in by bob. bob personally took him on and became his sponsor. bob always kept “friends” in high places.

sam went through counselor training. in time, he was sent to another city and became the city's executive director. but sam had a secret; he was gay.

years earlier, struggling with sexuality issues, sam had tried to talk to his counselor about it. the counselor explained the program's stance. homosexuality is an aspect of the disease of addiction—the highest form of self hatred. it was unacceptable. he needed to stop entertaining any homosexual thoughts, stay sober, work his program. if he was on solid spiritual ground, he would be straight.

bob was more blunt. he claimed, “faggots are people who suck their own sh!t off other people's c0cks. being a fag is the ultimate form of self-hatred.”

sam buried the issue. to pursue it would surely lead to expulsion from the program and possibly the loss of his family. further, since he was compelled to break ties with the rest of the world, since seeking counsel outside the program was forbidden, he had nowhere to turn. he soldiered on.

as the director of a city, sam was perceived as the spiritual leader. serving in such a position with that kind of a secret must have been excruciating. sam was no hypocrite. he was a straight-shooter, a 'what-you-see' kind of person. so functioning in this manner must have been more than he could bear.

ultimately it was. and so sam, who was never an addict prior to joining the program, began smoking crack. it was the proverbial cry for help. as director of a militant, totalitarian, black-and-white, no questions asked drug treatment program he was using one of the most devastating, dynamic drugs available—a drug that no one could hide using for long.

his mother told us that sam would smoke crack in his car minutes before picking up bob at the airport. wasted, with glassy eyes and dialated pupils, he would drive bob from place to place, the car reeking with the stringent odor of crack-cocaine. bob had to know.

moreover, sam was calling rachael, who controlled the money, and made desperate demands for more and more money. instead of inquiring, she sent him blank checks. by all appearances it seems as though bob was allowing sam to continue to deteriorate until he could find a suitable replacement.

when he did, he took sam's checkbook and put him on the street. he convinced sam's family that they should not take his calls or help him in any way. they were convinced that this course was best for sam and for their family. in reality, bob was angry at sam. this was what bob wanted.

sam was left to die on the streets of a violent, unforgiving city 1600 miles away from home and family.

eventually, sam wandered through the doors of one of the city's charitable organizations. they did what bob couldn't...wouldn't. they helped him detox, nursed him back to health and allowed him to begin the process of embracing his sexuality. he was able to overcome bob's atrocious message regarding homosexuality which had been implanted within him since, as a kid, he first tried to discuss the issue with his counselor.

he became a man. but he almost hadn't.

the second story was told to me by someone who'd been one of my closest friends, until the time i had left the program. we'll call him ty. five years after i'd left, i received word from a mutual friend that ty was out too. i asked my friend to see if ty would give me a call. within an hour, my phone rang. it was ty.

it was great to talk to him and we made arrangements for both of us, along with our families, to meet up in new york city. we stayed at the embassy suites hotel in lower manhattan. our rooms overlooked ground zero. below, we could see the tremendous hole where the twin towers had stood just a few years earlier.

i had first met my friend in 1989 when he became a counselor in dallas. i had known his wife since 1987. i remembered when they'd gotten married, when their son was born. our children played together even before they were a year old. we believed that they would grow up together, that when they went to high school together he would be my daughter's “big brother,” watching over her.

ty was a devoted husband and father. his wife was his true love and best friend. years earlier, while working for the program, his family was evicted from their apartment because the program didn't have any money to pay him and he couldn't pay rent. with baby boy in tow, they found themselves sharing a hot dog they'd purchased, from 7-11, with the last of their pocket change. they didn't know where they would stay or where they would find their next meal.

as they ate the hot dog, ty told his wife that he felt ashamed that he was unable to provide her a home. without hesitation she responded, “my home is wherever you are.”

ty was able to find a place for his family to live. he purchased a no-money-down, take-over-payments town home and spent the next several years building a profitable program. the program put a lot of money in bob's pocket. he and i worked side-by-side as our children played together.

when i left, our friendship was over. in the program, that was the way

his wife, who had been considered a leader among the women, began to fall out of favor with bob's wife. she had asked some questions that weren't supposed to be asked. bob's wife saw to it that she was ostracized. she also began trying to drive ty away from his wife and child.

with no support, no friends and knowing the leadership was pushing her husband to leave her, ty's wife became increasingly more depressed. she needed help. but bob and his wife weren't in the business of helping people. those in need were cast aside, lest they become a burden.

ty got sick once and passed out. his wife was terrified and called an ambulance. the doctors didn't find anything wrong, but bob's wife did. she explained that ty's marriage was making him miserable. because of his devotion, he was unwilling to leave his family, she said. she convinced him that since he refused to divorce his wife, he was trying to die instead. she told him, “you don't have die to get out of your marriage.”

she convinced him that, by staying with her, he was doing a great disservice to both his wife and son. she said he was preventing his wife from getting her act together—that for her to get well, he needed to leave. his son was suffering too. how could she meet his needs when she was spiritually sick? and ty, because of his selfish need to be dutiful, was standing in the way.

they sent ty to st. louis to spend some time with another director who'd been divorced at bob's and his wife's direction. that's how they sealed the deal.

broken-hearted and ashamed, ty returned to his home town and told his wife he was divorcing her and that there was no hope of reconciliation. then, he sat down and told his son he was leaving. it broke his son's heart. he left his family and rented a townhome 45 minutes away.

his wife and child were devastated.

ty was the director of bob's biggest and most profitable program. he was responsible for most of bob's personal income. he had faithfully served bob for years. bob repaid his efforts by destroying the thing he loved the most, his family. and why? because bob's wife didn't like his wife.

ty, continued to serve bob, but he was miserable...every minute of every day. he missed his family, but continued to do the “right thing” day after day, month after month.

ultimately, he couldn't stand it any longer. he believed that he had done what was necessary in leaving his family, an idea that was continuously reinforced by bob, his wife and their minions, but the pain was more than he could endure. so, admitting that he was a spiritual failure, he resigned his position, turned over the program (his business and sole source of income) to one of bob's minions and returned to his wife and child.

this is the story he told me in the hotel overlooking ground zero.

i hung my head. first sam's story and now ty's. again, my thoughts returned to my friends who were still under bob's control. something had to be done.

i was happy. my family was doing well and intact. i had put my life with bob's cult behind me. i had found peace, deliverance. but how could i rest knowing that people i loved were still being torn apart. they believed that they were by choice, but i knew they were captive. brainwashed and manipulated, they were being led down the road to hell which was paved with their good intentions and railed on both sides with bob's insatiable manipulative powers. standing on the side of the road, looking the other way, while others were driving unknowingly toward the cliff, wasn't an option.

is there a road to redemption? in his letter to the ephesians (eph.2:8-9), the apostle paul says, for it is by grace you have been saved through faith; and not of yourselves; not as a result of works, so that no one should boast.”

i believe what paul says. forgiveness is never earned. redemption is never earned. it is given not because we deserve it, but because we need it. whatever peace i had gained came as the result of a gift that i could never have deserved. though i hadn't spoken to my parents and siblings in years, when i left the cult, they never asked me to earn their forgiveness. they welcomed me and my wife and children back into the fold, no questions asked. even my old friends, which i'd abandoned when i entered the program, accepted me without reservation.

the issue of redemption is really beside the point anyway. as i stated previously, i wasn't seeking redemption, but repentance. i had learned ephesians 2:8-9 as a child, but i had just recently read what james had written in james 2;15-17:

if a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, "go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill," and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? so faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

taken together, the message seems clear. forgiveness, deliverance or redemption, whatever the case, is a gift, but it is useless without repentance. the greek word for repentance is metanoia, which means a change of one's conduct following a change of heart.

i don't claim to know many things (actually that may not be an accurate statement, but stay with me here), but i do know one thing for sure. a person can be wealthy and successful, a great athlete, writer, thinker, scientist, artist or academician, but if he turns his back on his brothers and sisters, if he neglects them when they need help, he is nothing. his life means nothing.

i knew there was nothing about me even approaching greatness. the love i had been granted was a gift. the peace i'd found was not of my own doing. any happiness i had was the result of being blessed with a loving wife, great kids and a loving family. to simply resign any humanitarian efforts to enjoy my newly found peace would be a waste of a human life, my life.



the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing ~edmund burke



my family didn't want me to do it. they were afraid for my safety. my mother warned me to always check my car before i started it...to make sure no one had tampered with it. they were worried that it might destroy my career as a drug abuse counselor—that my reputation would be attacked—that i would slip back into ptsd. there was a risk of losing myself completely.

i knew that people would come after me. those i'd harmed while i was in the program wouldn't care that i had believed i was acting in accordance with a higher purpose. they wouldn't care that i'd been manipulated. they would want their pound of flesh, and rightly so. i knew this. those who were loyal to the program would spread vile rumors about me. they would try to discredit me. secrets i'd shared with my program peers would be exposed. they would hurt me in any way they could. maybe bob would send one of his goons to rough me up. maybe he'd dig a hole in the desert.

i didn't know it at the time, but this simple step, that of speaking the truth, would lead to a national movement. it would result, for the first time ever, in an environment where thousands would be allowed an opportunity to tell what happened to them--where victims would receive validation. i also didn't realize that these people would come together and provide a loose network in which virtually anyone who had been harmed by bob and his organization could find someone to talk to.

it never crossed my mind that these people, these program castaways, would draw national media attention. that the media would inquire and they would respond, telling their stories to newspapers and tv reporters.

in the children's fable, “stone soup,” three of soldiers, returning home, came upon a village. they were carrying nothing but an empty pot. the villagers, who were poor themselves, closed their doors and windows. they knew the soldiers would be hungry and they didn't want to be asked to share their scarce supplies.

the soldiers built a fire, placed the pot atop the flames, filled it with water, and dropped a large stone in it. as the soldiers sat before the boiling pot of water, a few of the villagers became curious and came out to inquire as to what the soldiers were doing.

“we're making stone soup,” they replied. they invited the villagers to have some soup once it was done. then, as the villagers stood watching, one of the soldiers dipped a ladle into the soup, and tasting it, he said, “it's a bit bland, i wish we had some carrots to give the soup flavor.” one of the villagers spoke up, “ i have some carrots, let me run and get them.” the villager returned with the carrots and placed them in the boiling water.

after a bit, the soldier tasted the soup again. “it's almost ready,” he said. “if only we had some onions. another villager went to fetch some onions. and so it continued, parsely, beans, potatos, etc. when the soup was finished all of the villagers along with the soldiers feasted.” everyone was nourished and satisfied.

late one night, in 2004, i sat down before my computer and began writing the text for a website which i would launch. the website would provide a spark for a movement that would provide healing for thousands, expose bob and his entire organization, warn would be victims, and ultimately drive bob to his knees, destroying his credibility and forcing him into retirement.

i can't state emphatically enough that i am not the one who achieved these things. they were achieved by the people he'd harmed, the children he'd abused, the junkies he'd cast aside, the brokenhearted who'd been crushed by lies, the parents who continued to look toward the horizon hoping for the return of they're children whom they'd lost to the program, the castaways.

all i did was drop a rock in the soup.

and when the broken hearted people living in the world agree
there will be an answer,
let it be ~the beatles

(to be continued)

*note: please do not send me bible verses in an attempt to demonstrate to me that the bible condemns homosexuals. i am surely familiar with most of these verses, namely genesis 18-19, leviticus 18:22, leviticus 20:13, dueteronomy 23:17, romans 1;26-27, 1 corinthians 6:9, 1 timothy 9:10. if you just can't help yourself, you might want to review the original greek and hebrew words used to write these and other biblical passages that have been translated by english biblical translators in a variety of different ways. a good starting point? in hebrew: qadesh, quadeshaw, to'ebah.  in greek: akatharsia and arenokoitai. there are others, as well. in the original languages, verses which seem to be a wholesale condemnation of homosexuality, when read in most english translations, generally refer to male and female prostitution within the temple, pagan sex rituals, anal rape, sex with pagan idols, and same-sex relations between heterosexuals during mystical orgies.


in any event, it's just not a debate i'm interested in taking on.


thanks for understanding (or at least for shaking your head and biting your tongue).
oh...and, don't tell my mom what i wrote. i'll never hear the end of it.

how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part 7)

part 1 is here
part 2 is here
part 3 is here
part 4 is here
part 5 is here
part 6 is here

i found myself standing in a dark hallway. the building was dilapidated; the walls grayish. i could see, but there was no discernible source of light, no color, only shades of gray and black. there were no windows, no light fixtures. the hallway was lined with doors on either side.

at the end of the hall was a darkish wooden door, and beyond that door my daughter was crying out. “daddy.” she was sobbing, the way children do when they are inconsolable. “daddy,” hardly discernible through the tears.

i tried to run to the door, but my legs wouldn’t move. i tried to call out to her, but no sound would come out, as if i was drowning.

“daddy,” the sobbing continued.
 
lightning crashes, a new mother cries
this moment she’s been waiting for
the angel opens her eyes
pale blue colored iris, presents the circle
and puts the glory out to hide, hide ~ live

i first learned about powerlessness on the day my oldest daughter was born. her birth was the highlight of my life.

on november 20th, 1992, i was delivering a lecture to a group of 70 parents in houston, texas. in my hand, i held a pager. “only one person in the world knows the number to this pager,” i explained to the parents, “my wife. and when this pager goes off, it means my wife is in labor.”

at that exact moment, the pager beeped and vibrated. i almost dropped it. the room fell silent. for a moment i was frozen. “i gotta go,” i said. leaving midway through the lecture, i walked briskly, almost running, straight-kneed, out the door, down the hallway and through the exterior door. in my car was my cell phone, which, in 1992, was roughly the size of a brick. as i looked toward my car, i could see my wife standing next to it. a friend had driven her to the meeting site. still in denial and shock i ran-walked toward her.

she was in labor and she was hungry.

on the way to the hospital, with friends following, we stopped and ate a quick dinner. i had never seen my wife more collected…confident. she’s a strong woman. i followed her lead.

the hospital waiting room and hallway were filled with long-haired, t-shirt wearing staffers. they were ordering pizza, video taping one another, and throwing nerf footballs in the hallway.

in the delivery room, i stood beside my wife, holding her hand. “c’mon baby, breath,” i counseled her. “shut up!,” she snapped back. i removed my black “metallica” cap and wiped my brow with my forearm. my hair was tied in a ponytail which hung just below my shoulder-blades. she labored through the night.

then it happened. at 6:47 am, on the morning of november 21st, as the sun was rising, the doctor entered the room, snapped on a pair of gloves, turned to my wife, and with one final push, my daughter was delivered into this world and our lives.

things moved fast. someone cut the cord. the doctor passed off my baby girl to a nurse and left the room. as she wailed, the nurse wiped her off, turned around and placed her in my arms. soothed by my touch and my voice, she immediately fell silent and opened her stunning blue eyes. our eyes met for the first time.

tears streamed down my cheeks and around my wide grin, as i held this tiny angel, for the first time. she ignited, deep within me, a passion i’d never known.

after handing her to my wife. the three of us clung to one another. then i walked into the waiting area, which was littered with pizza boxes, pop cans, and crumpled whataburger bags, where our friends, having been up all night, were joking and laughing deliriously. two young guys in round robin t-shirts were sitting at a 4 by 4 table playing paper football. another guy had two balloons stuffed under his shirt like female breasts. he was attempting to get another young guy to 'breastfeed.'

“hey,” i said. they continued their folly. “hey!,” i shouted. everyone stopped and looked. i paused for dramatic effect…

“i’m a dad.”

the room erupted. high fives and hugs for everyone.

in a few short hours the most glorious moment in my life, would lead to the most terrifying.

outside the safety of the texas women’s hospital, houston was under siege. on that very day, november 21st, 1992, a line of severe thunderstorms produced 18 tornadoes across southeast texas. an f-4 tornado ripped through the eastern suburbs of houston, damaging or destroying over 1200 homes. an f-2 tornado touched down in herman park, just off the campus of texas women’s hospital.

inside. my wife, my daughter, and i slept safely, peacefully.

i was snapped out of my blissful state, awakened when the doctor entered our room. he began to speak. with a somber expression and in measured language, he told us that he was “concerned” about the sound of our little girl’s heart. a pediatric cardiologist from texas children’s hospital had been consulted. the cardiologist would come to perform a more thorough assessment later that day.

for hours i knelt beside her bassinet, begging god to make everything okay. i offered to trade my life for hers. every deep-seated fear—“i’m not good enough;” “i don’t deserve to have joy;” “i’m being charged for my transgressions;” “i’m just a worthless dope-fiend”—overtook me. i stood up. my heart was pounding. i was consumed by fear.

i paced across the room, then back again. i grabbed my chest. i wanted to rip it open. tick. tick. tick. jesus christ! could time move any slower? where is this cardiologist?

only minutes had passed. i dropped to my knees again. please god!

i jumped up and headed for the door, toward the nurse's station to demand, “get the cardiologist on the phone! get him over here now!” i turned and went back to our room before ever reaching the nurse's station. i sat on the edge of my bed and dropped my head into my hands, consumed by the full force of knowing i was powerless to protect this vulnerable baby girl.

tick. tick. tick.
 
now i was powerless again. in shades of gray, as my daughter called out to me, my legs were paralyzed. i fell to my knees. then dropping forward to my palms, i dragged my body and lifeless legs down the hallway, toward the door—toward my daughter. as i passed by the doors on either side of the hallway, a door to my left opened. rachael stood in the opening, one hand on the doorknob, partially blocking my view.

bob's wife stood behind her and to her left, looking down at me as i lay on the floor, propped up on my hands. i tried to convey to her, through my facial expression, sorrow, grief. she held her finger vertically against her lips, making a “shush” motion. silent, without moving her head, she shifted her eyes to her left and looked at my wife, as if to say, “see?”

my wife was was wearing baggy denim shorts and a baggy sweatshirt. bob and george were gently guiding her by her elbows, from a black spindle-back chair to a standing position. silent, she looked at me, then down at the tarot card spread on the black-velvet covered table at which she had been seated. like a movie without a soundtrack, there were no sounds with the movement of the chair or the opening of the door. it was an eerie silence.

my wife looked back over her shoulder at me as bob and george began to escort her into the darkness at the far end of the room. she spoke to me, but her lips didn’t move. “i have to…,” she said apologetically.

bob, looking back, smiled both lovingly and mockingly...eerily.

from behind the door at the end of the hall, my daughter cried out for me. i tried to call out to my wife who was now wearing a grayish long-sleeved leotard and tights. she was barefoot. mute and drowning, communicating with my will alone, i pleaded with her. she was emotionless.

just then, my teeth started to crumble and fall out of my mouth and onto the floor which was covered with dust. i reached down with my right hand, still propped up on my left hand, and frantically began collecting the broken pieces and placing them back in my mouth. as i put the pieces back in my mouth they kept falling out, until there were hundreds, thousands, of broken pieces on the floor in front of me.

i looked up at bob's wife, who now had her arms crossed. she was wearing bob’s gold, testicle earring only it was big, about the size of an apple. rachael was now mark williams, another of bob's devotees. smiling, he held out his hand in a “stop” position and slowly closed the door.

i looked down. the broken teeth pieces covered the hallway floor all the way to the door at the end of the hall. when i reached the door and pushed it open, i fell forward, tumbling though the door and into the darkness.

my stomach floated up into my mouth and i struggled, attempting to get myself in an upright position until…snap!

i slammed back into my body and awoke, lying on my back on the ground at the foot of the santan mountains. immediately to my left was my little 4 by 6 zen garden, two rocks lying in it where i’d placed them the previous morning. beyond the zen garden, the sun’s light was majestically peaking over the eastern horizon—brilliant colors, gold, red, orange popped against the eastern blue sky. it was a glorious sunrise.

my heart was racing. i moved my legs, just to be sure. i reached for my mouth—teeth still in place.

i sat up and looking forward beyond the grass and into the dirt field, i saw my spade. driven into the dirt, the shovel’s hardwood handle pointed upward toward the sky. next to the shovel was a hole—a partially-dug grave, in which i had intended to bury my parents.

i jumped up to my feet. i felt strong. i walked to the mock grave, grabbed the shovel and returning to zen garden, threw the shovel down beside a sage colored, shed which stood just south of my garden.
i went for a run.

while running, images of the previous night flashed in my mind’s eye. sitting on the northern slope overlooking the city lights, sitting on the roof of the car. fasting and without sleep, i had come to the stark realization that i had devoted nearly my entire adult life to a cult…a meaningless scam. i had attempted to devise a plan to murder bob and his wife. that plan and the realization of having been duped had been halted when bob’s words entered my mind, crowding out free thought.

for at least an hour, i had sat on the roof of my car, chain smoking, vacillating between truth and truth-tainted lies.

now, running down a hard dirt road, the wind awakening my sense of touch, i felt better than i had in years. my mind was spinning free. thoughts of my previous life, before arizona, passed though me, in and out of my mind.

in the beginning, while working as the director of the st. louis hospital, a 60-bed inpatient treatment program, i had been happy. i continued to run. there was no jolt as my feet hit the hard dirt, no strain on my heart. though i’d been fasting for nearly 72 hours and had only slept a few hours in that time, i felt as though i could run forever.

while working at forum hospital, i would awake each morning with anticipation. i would drive my red renault down manchester road, past the hospital to my girl's apartment. she shared an apartment with, jen, the hospital’s group therapist. i would pick up this young woman each morning and give her a ride to work. i usually rode with my radio off, singing my own made-up songs.

one morning, we were driving back up manchester toward the hospital when a fire truck came barreling out of the fire station straight toward the passenger door of my car. i swerved. the truck barely missed us. it came so close that several firemen came rushing to my car, now stopped diagonally on the road, thinking we’d been hit. when they reached my car, i was laughing hysterically. “what a trip,” i said. “wasn’t expecting that one.”

as we continued toward the hospital, jen asked me a question that she’d asked many times. “what’s the secret?” she asked. “how come you’re always happy?”
 
still running, i came to a pile of rusted, corrugated metal scraps and steel girders. the dented ghost of an evap cooler lay among the wreckage. curious, i climbed to the top of the cooler and looked around at the metal scraps, broken beer bottles, dented cans, played out tires, and battered hubcaps which covered an area roughly 50 feet in diameter.

looking in the direction in which i’d been running, i could see that the dirt road would meet a two lane highway about a quarter mile further down. halfway to the highway, was another dirt road running perpendicular to the one i’d been traveling on. i jumped down from the evap cooler, ran toward the highway and took a hard right onto the new dirt road…my mind spinning free. i was now headed directly toward the santan mountains.

i always answered jen’s question the same way. “i have the best life in the world,” i said. “i have the best job ever, helping other kids (i still saw myself as a kid). i’m in school, making straight a’s. i live in a cool condo, with racquetball courts, a gym, a pool, a steam room, and an indoor hot-tub, with my best friend from high school. i live in the greatest city in the country. i have an awesome family. i play in a crappy, but outrageously fun, rock band. i have a lot of great friends. and…i’m in love.”

she just grinned and shook her head. “you’re crazy,” she said.

in all the time that i’d known her, she never stopped asking that question, as if she was hoping that one day i’d tell her the real secret…or maybe she just liked hearing my answer. it was a question i was happy to answer.

i was still headed south, toward the santan mountains. i had sweat pouring down my face, so i ripped off my shirt sleeves and put one around my head. it served as a sweatband and held my longish hair back. i continued to run, continued spinning free.

images of my past came and went, without effort.

it was christmastime and i had gone shopping with my close friend and coworker, brian. we had cashed our paychecks and had decided to buy christmas presents for the kids at the hospital.

both of us saw it at the same time. it was a framed picture of the sunrise. it said, “god danced the day you were born.” i immediately bought it and gave it to brian—an early christmas present. we hugged unashamedly but held back the tears, trying to maintain some semblance of manhood.

i hadn't spoken to him in years. he had long since been destroyed by bob’s cult—turned to dust. ‘diesel christ,’ i thought as i ran toward the santan mountains. that was my nickname for brian, the tow-truck driver turned loving counselor. he had held the kids, and me, in his heart. at our wedding, he had stood beside my wife, standing in for her father who was deceased. who gives this woman?” asked the minister. “i do,” he replied, with tears streaming down his face.

i hadn’t seen him nor spoken to him since i’d arrived in phoenix years ago.

i thought about the time i had sat on the front porch with my friend, steve. both of us clean and sober, we had been up all night jamming and were watching the early morning joggers go by. laughing like idiots, we had wondered what crazy idea had caused these people to rise before dawn and jog up and down the streets. it was hard to remember a time before steve. we had played and laughed together since jr. high. before sobriety, we sat in his room every day after school listening to zappa or the who, pulling bong hits. i had nursed him through a devastating break-up with his first love. we had been drunk together, gone to class together, dropped acid together, been with the same girls, fought, cried, and taken each other and our friendship for granted. we were briefly separated after high school, when we went to different colleges, but i would often make the late night, high-speed drive down highway 70 to the university of missouri to hang with him.

when he was leaving for to dallas to run an outpatient center, we had stood in the doorway of the condo we had shared. jen was there too. she had tried to get us to embrace. we refused. “this is stupid. we’ll see each other a lot. we’ll meet between st. louis and dallas” we claimed. she nearly begged us, “you never know what will happen,” she said. but we couldn’t even consider the idea of being apart.

“later bro,” i slapped his arm. “later,” he turned and walked away. except for one brief passing encounter that was the last time i’d ever spoken to him. i hadn’t seen steve in nearly a decade.

then there was noah. noah was our favorite waiter at yen ching, our favorite chinese restaurant. before we were married, my wife and i had frequented the place. we always asked to be seated in noah’s section. “number one noah,” i called him. he was a twenty something first generation immigrant from korea.

noah had stood several feet behind me, holding a large bowl of sizzling rice soup, as i knelt before my sweetheart, my best friend, ring in hand. she laughed and i cried while i professed my love for her and asked her to marry me. 10 years had passed.
 
the dirt road ended on the same two lane road that ran along the base of the santan mountains. i walked west along shoulder of the paved road until i reached a dirt road which ran north toward my base, the empty residential center.

at the northeast corner of the intersection of the paved and dirt roads, i saw a rock. it was roughly the size of a football. i picked it up. no scorpion.

i returned to step 2, placed my new rock in my zen garden with the other two rocks, forming a triangle. i then walked across the grass to the other end of the back yard. i opened the trunk of my car and grabbed my journal and a bottle of water.

i sat on the back porch steps, zen garden to my left, and began to write.

my cigarette burned down to the filter beside me as i feverishly scrawled, free association style, with my ultra fine point felt-tip pen. i slapped the journal down beside me and reached into my pocket to find a crumpled pack of cigarettes. using the last match from the matchbook that i’d slipped under the cigarette pack’s cellophane, i lit the smoke. i took a deep drawl and looked down to my right at a full page of disjointed words, phrases, and sentences--automatic writing.


when my cigarette was gone, i wanted another, so i walked back to my car and grabbed another pack of matches from the passenger seat. i lit a smoke and leaned on the car. then i walked the perimeter of the grass. as i walked eastward along the edge of the grass, i stopped midway and stared at the ridiculous “grave” i had dug. i looked up at the santan mountains in the distance beyond the grave and the orchards.

when i got to the zen garden, i stopped. i stared at the three rocks and considered the future of my family.

i walked back to the porch steps, sat down, crushed out my smoke, and picked up my journal. third line: whitley steiber. i am a tree, trees don’t run or walk or eat, smoke or drive. fourth line: i live in the action of… ??? where is my home? robert j. lifton. who is john galt, really? fifth line: a man is encumbered by the slime and the scum that sticks to the bottom of his filthy sixth line: sweatshop-assembled reebok running shoes that stink of sour milk…doesn’t even run, walk, except seventh line: across tile floors covered with black rubber mats with nickel sized octagon eighth line: holes from sink to counter to meat slicer to loading dock, to dumpster. ninth line: robert j lifton, earl grey, duke of earl, mohamed ali…

i pulled the felt pen from the spiral binding of my journal and circled the name, robert j lifton. then i flipped the page and began to write.

milieu control—check
loading of language—check
sacred science—check
demand for purity—check
mystical manipulation—check
confession—check
doctrine over person—check
dispensing of existence—check

dispensing of existence…i thought about my friend brian who had been held up as a leader among those in the program and was now dead to the cult and to me. i thought about steve. again, i thought about all the others who came before dj, larry, paul, dave, craig, jill, jodie.

i looked to my left at the zen garden and the three rocks i’d placed in it. i thought about the woman at the little grocery store. i thought about my wife and daughter, myself.

i knew exactly what i had to do.
i lit a smoke and flipped the page.
i made a list.

“no man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.” ~heraclitus

on atheism (part 2) from guest author sal paradise

here is part 2 of "on atheism" from my friend, sal paradise. once again, he has stated his case in an articulate and compelling manner.

reason v. faith: that seems to be the issue. i will say that, for me personally, i recognize that there is no rational argument that supports the existence of god. that's why i hope to someday recapture my faith.

there was a time that i was so convinced in the existence of god that, whenever anyone told me they didn't believe in god, i didn't believe them. i believed the non-believer was simply denying god, either because they had been hurt in some way or were angry at god. belief in god was so fundamental to me that i could not accept that anyone could exist without an inner awareness of his presence. now i'm on the other side. hmmm...

btw, i will be happy to devote equal blog space to any writer who would like to submit an article arguing for the existence of god.

anyhoo, read, enjoy, think, respond.

On Atheism: Part II
by Sal Paradise
Daydream Nation

Chapter four of Richard Dawkins' brilliant book the God Delusion is titled "Why There Almost Certainly is No God".

As I stated in the Part One of this essay, what it is that really gets me about that statement by Dawkins is the inclusion of the word "almost".

Atheism is nothing more than a declaration to remain within the boundaries of reason.

There is a vast difference between the statement, "there certainly is no god" and the statement, "there almost certainly is no god".

That single word, "almost", is instrumental in illustrating the ways in which an atheist thinks, and is quite powerful in its context. It represents the line that is drawn between reason and absurdity, in that it is indeed absurd for anyone to claim that there "certainly is no god". It's also absurd to claim that there "certainly is a god".

No one knows with complete certainty whether or not there is any sort of god. Neither the most devout clergyman nor the most ardent atheist could make such a claim within the boundaries of reason.

Reason and absurdity.

Atheism and faith.

There are those that believe completely in the existence of dragons. Though they have never actually seen a dragon, believing in them fulfills some kind of emotional void...they cling to their belief in dragons without blinking, without questioning and without a shadow of a doubt, so help them Smaug.

Why? Well, perhaps as children they were enchanted by the idea of dragons...perhaps they read a book or a heard a story told to them in which dragons were presented as such amazing, fantastic creatures that they were sold one hundred percent on the concept. Perhaps the idea of dragons brought to them such dramatic splendor, such a thrill and wonder that the impact the event had on their susceptible, fragile and easily manipulated little minds was nothing short of tremendous, and therefore the idea that dragons may not exist would to them be devastating and heartbreaking, even into their adulthood.

There are also those that don't necessarily believe in dragons, but consider the jury to be still out on the matter. They, just as the dragon faithful, have seen no evidence one way or the other as to whether or not they actually exist. Maybe these individuals, too, were enchanted by the idea of dragons as children. Maybe they had read the Hobbit or played a role playing game of some kind; but as they grew older, alas! their faith in the existence of dragons was shaken. They consider the existence of dragons to be quite possible, and may think to themselves, "how nice it would be if they were really out there somewhere", but for the most part they reside atop a fence of faith regarding the existence of dragons, waiting for the winds of whatever it may be to cast them onto one side of that fence or the other.

Then there are those that don't really ever consider the existence of dragons at all. While even these individuals may have had an extraordinary experience as children in regard to dragons, they just don't really think about dragons at all anymore. While they, too, just as everyone else, have never seen a shred of actual evidence indicating that dragons may exist, this type of person considers it to be a complete waste of time in general to even consider the matter. They know that in all likelihood, dragons almost certainly do not exist...and the question of the existence of dragons is not ever going to impact their lives in any way. To them, their time is better spent thinking about things that verifiably exist within the observable, living world around them.

Now, those in this latter category, when pressed with the question, "do dragons exist?", what you will likely receive as an answer is the following:

"Dragons almost certainly do not exist."

Let's stay on the topic of dragons, here...

Let's pretend for a moment that someone has given to me their newborn infant to care for for the rest of its life for the sole purpose of conducting an experiment..

Let's pretend that I immediately begin to rear this infant to believe in the existence of dragons. I center it's life around...let's call it "Dragonism"...and bestow upon this infant a structured and dynamic belief system featuring an endless string of dramatic, scary and wonderful stories about "the Great Dragon". The Great Dragon is everywhere. The Great Dragon watches over you. The Great Dragon made all of us and created the world from its fiery breath. The Great Dragon loves you and watches over you. The Great Dragon punishes those that don't believe in the Great Dragon. The Great Dragon will cast you into the Dungeon of Suffering if you have not devoted your life to the service of the Great Dragon.

I think that there's a pretty good chance that said infant is going to reach puberty and early adulthood with a rock solid belief in Dragonism.

This is especially likely if as much as possible I decide to isolate the child in an environment in which he or she is exposed to "non-Dragonists" as little as possible. After all, exposing the child to the unfaithful may influence them to become Dragon-less heathens...which of course would be tragic, right?

Yes, I think my audience gets my point.

There's no difference between god and dragons. There are those that believe faithfully in "god", and there are those that believe faithfully in "the Great Dragon".

Both are equally absurd.

As an atheist, when considering the world around me and how or why it exists, I simply place both the idea of god and dragons, jesus and outer-space teacups, yahweh and jim jones, mohammed and the flying spaghetti monster, ganesh and the magic toaster all on equal footing with regard to the possibility of their actual existence and relevance to the living, observable and verifiable world around me:

Each of them almost certainly do not exist.

Part III to come...

daydream nation is here

praying without believing

when your child is in danger it will cause you to do all kinds of crazy things.

my 10 year old daughter has had a tough life. since infancy she has suffered from a severe neurological disorder. she has undergone four surgeries, including a corpus-callosotomy, the removal of the brain matter that connects the 2 hemispheres of the brain.

she has been treated by the best pediatric neurologists in america. she has had numerous hospital stays. prior to her brain surgery, she was being transported to the emergency room 2 to 4 times each week to stop status seizures. she spent 2 years on a highly restrictive diet administered by the epilepsy team at johns-hopkins. she had a vagus nerve stimulator surgically implanted at washington university medical center. she also had a g-tube, so she could be fed while she sleeps, installed at denver children's hospital. she needed the g-tube because she was not gaining enough weight.

on wednesday, april 14th, the surgeons broke the bones on the outsides of each of her feet and lengthened them by adding a bone graft. they also broke her heels and moved them to an ideal location, then added screws to hold them in place.

hopefully, these procedures will allow her more stability so she can walk better and even run.

she has been a trooper throughout all of this. she is currently sitting in her hospital bed, surrounded by balloons and teddy bears, wearing big purple casts with pink hearts and sparkles. the prognosis is good.

as her daddy, i have done my best to stay positive. i have to admit though, i have been scared. i am also heartbroken, watching this beautiful, courageous and loving child experience so much adversity. i wonder how much she really understands about what she is going through. i worry about the impact of being forced to undergo painful, life-changing procedures without even having a vote on the matter.

the night before her surgery, she seemed excited about having “a sleepover at the hospital with mommy.” she talked about the “sleepover” enthusiastically and prepared by gathering a few items, teddy-bear, bubbles, and balloons, that she wanted to take with her.

but she also cried. she complained about a hangnail. she fell down and claimed that she could not get up without help. she told me, weeping, that she had gotten soap in her eyes while she was bathing. though she was optimistic on the surface, her anxiety and fear was evident.

i held her in my arms. i told her, “you know what sweetie, everything's going to be okay.” throughout the rest of the evening, she kept repeating, “everything's going to be okay, daddy?”

i wasn't so convinced, but i hoped i had convinced her.

after she went to bed, i went out to the garage and prayed.

i could only hope that someone was listening. since i don't believe in god, praying represents an act of complete desperation. i really needed there to be a god and i needed him (or her) to hear me—to watch over my daughter. my lack of power over my daughter's wellness was total.

i was praying as much that someone or something had the power necessary to protect her as i was that he would protect her.

some people call this foxhole praying. some say that god only answers prayers if you have faith. well, i don't have faith. i've tried; it's just not there. but i still prayed.

i figure that if there is really a loving god that has the ability to help my daughter, he doesn't give a sh!t about some “it only works if you have faith” technicality. personally, i would help a child in need whether they or their father had faith or not.

i figure that, if there is a god, he helps where he is able. if not, i wouldn't trust him anyway.

seekingintongues

p.s. if you're out there, please watch over my little girl

god has a purpose for me (part 4)

read part 1 here
read part 2 here
read part 3 here

i could find relief only in knowing that it was the right thing to do. this god thing had to be stamped out, lest my wife and daughter suffer due to my own selfish desire to believe.

bob and his wife attempted to destroy my marriage and family. for several years, they drove a wedge between us, coercing us into “reporting” on each other. our house was not our house, it was his. bob and his wife were “present” in our house, at our meals, in our bedroom, 24 hours a day 7 days a week. there was no sanctuary in our home, because anything we said or did would be reported to them. i was constantly on guard, watching every comment, every facial expression, every act for fear that these would be reported to the bob and his wife and used against me.

when my wife and i had the thought that we might want to have another child (we’d had one prior to being fully indoctrinated), my wife went to them to ask their approval. the result was that they pushed harder to drive us apart. they put a total stop to our sex life. not only would a child make it more difficult to separate my wife from me, but it angered them that my wife would even have this desire independent of them. bob's wife had thought she was much closer to separating us than she had been.

they controlled every aspect of our parenting of our daughter. at one point, i suffered a brutal verbal beating by bob and his wife, followed by weeks of being ostracized by them, my friends in the organization, and my wife.

my crime? i helped my daughter remove some excess salad dressing that she had accidentally spilled on her salad. according to bob's wife, this act somehow represented an undermining of my wife’s authority and a statement of male-chauvinism. in addition to the former punishment, she saw to it that my wife and i were not intimate for months.

thirteen years ago i left bob and his organization. thankfully, i was able to get my wife and child out as well. it wasn’t easy. in order to get them out, i had to become as crafty and manipulative as bob.

after a turn of events caused me to realize that bob's organization was a destructive cult, i had to fool him and the others, causing them to believe that i was still loyal to them until i was able to create an opportunity to reach my wife. it was during this period that bob told me that, now that i realized there was nothing out there (meaning no god), i needed to put my full faith in him. “i am the closest thing to a god that you’ll ever have,” he said.

it was too late. he had been god to me for a long time, but not any more.

a lot has changed over 13 years. my wife and i have enjoyed great intimacy at times. we have had two more children. my oldest daughter is an excellent student and gifted musician. we are, for the most part, happy. i have retained employment and been able to make ends meet. i have also been fortunate enough to continue my education, taking college classes and attending frequent workshops, seminars and conferences related to my work. i get to listen to and play music again. long gone is the fear that my actions, thoughts, moods are going to be reported. also gone is the once constant fear of being torn away from my family or being banished from the spiritual fold.

for years i had nightmares that bob and his wife came and took my family away. i still occassionally have those dreams.

i enjoy spending time with my 3 daughters. we laugh and play heartily. i am a good father and take pride in my attentiveness as a father.

also, i have rekindled my passion for helping people. it is rewarding to see the impact of my work on the individuals and families i have helped. this brings me joy.

that said, there is one thing that continues to elude me...faith. as hard as i’ve tried, i simply can’t believe for a sustained period. i have attended churches, read religious and spiritual materials, prayed. i’ve literally strained to believe; yet faith continues to elude me.

when i begin to believe, i can’t seem to help feeling as though i’m setting myself up to be conned once again. worse, everything that i hear or read from those who do have faith, in regard to what is necessary to obtain it, sounds suspiciously familiar to the things i was taught by bob.

i know there are those that will say that millions have been harmed and in the name of religion. and certainly that’s true. i have no doubt that others, like bob have used god and religion for evil purposes. many have been harmed by their local churches. others have lived in fear and guilt handed out through mainstream religious doctrine.

religions have been responsible for tragedies such as war, racism, sexual discrimination, slavery, sexual abuse, bigotry, hate, homophobia, abuse of power, and fascism just to name a few. however, until i met bob, that was not my experience.  the god that was in my heart would never do these things.

i was taught that all people were equal in the eyes of god—that you couldn’t judge a person by the color of their skin, their sexuality, their culture or heritage, or the size of their bank account. i was never a huge proponent of organized religion, which i had learned was not what truly what represented “the church”. a church, to me, was simply an organization where, believers could gather and enjoy fellowship.

i was warned from an early age to never put my faith in any individual—that all of us had a direct link to god and had no need for an intercessory. i was taught and believed that god alone had the corner on truth. i believed that there were many paths to god.

i grew up believing that god would reveal himself to everyone. that he was concerned with our day to day lives. that he would help us when we needed help. that we were all god’s children. that he loved us equally.

i grew up believing that we were created by a loving god.
never in my life was anything more dear to me...more important.

god has a purpose for me.

or at least he did.

where did it go?



epilogue

no doubt, some will judge me harshly for allowing myself to be fooled in such a dramatic way. others will claim that, had i truly had faith, or the right kind of faith, or believed in the right god, i would have been "protected" from this evil. but i am telling this story because i believe that virtually anyone is vulnerable. scientology, children of god, the branch davidians, end time ministries, the unification church, the cornerstone program, pathway drug abuse program, the way international, lifespring, the jim roberts group, synanon, erhardt seminar trainin and fundamentalist latter day saints are a just a few organizations that have coaxed thousands away from their lives, their families, their faiths.

they promise truth and deliver lies.

in my case, it never occurred to me that anyone could be as manipulative as bob. additionally, i was vulnerable precisely because i believed that my faith would protect me from lies.

how did i allow someone to have such total control over my life? why didn't i just leave in the beginning? how could anyone give away so much power?

i will tell that story, on this blog, over the next year. hope you'll stay tuned.

seeking in tongues