the 'girl cell' in action

God bless her little heart.

crushing daisies - ways in which patriarchal fundamentalism harms its children #3

The crippling weight of sin-consciousness

I am likely to say this more than once here but one of the most important things I learned as I made my way out of delusion was that integrity is vital for mental health....it's vital for survival. In fact, I believe that when all is said and done, who we are and who we know ourselves to be is all we've got to offer ourselves, our families and the world.

The scary thing about delusion is, of course, that you can't see it. It's not just dummies that are drawn into cultic groups like QF patriarchal fundamentalism. A lot of clever, strong, thinking women find themselves there too. Getting dibs on a guru's formula which is guaranteed to please God and produce great kids is a big drawcard. And once you enter in Delusion begins to build a wall of ideology-protecting self-deceit around you. In the end, for many of us, it takes a major disaster to open our eyes.

The disaster works wonders because it activates a sledgehammer of truth that knocks a hole in our wall and lets in some honest light. And that helps us begin a journey that starts with telling ourselves some painful and frightening truths.

I adore my children. Admitting that my beliefs and practices had harmed them was truly agonising and something I did in increments as I was able to cope. But truth, in particular painful, life-altering truth like that, is the only way out of the prison cell that is legalistic delusion.

I've observed large numbers of women who have parented similarly to me. By and large they have produced disasters at both ends of the spectrum - either they have simpering, dominated 20-somethings still cringing around their dinner table, or rebels who busted out leaving an unsightly mess. While there is obvious collateral damage when kids are forced to fight their way to adulthood, injury is just as present in the quite, respectful ones who are of age but have failed as yet to make that journey. 

For some children, the element of their parents' faith that harms them the most is a fundamentalist view of the inherent sinfulness of humankind. That's how it was for my beautiful oldest son, D. 

We were pretty strict on D. He was our firstborn and we adored him. He was so smart, so funny, so lively. I remember saying that the saddest thing I could imagine was for a child to grow up in a home where the Saviour was known without ever having encountered the Christ for himself. I was going to make sure that didn't happen to my darling boy.

I read psalms to D before he was even born and thrilled that he jumped as though he enjoyed to hear them. I sang songs of God's wonderful love over his cradle. I taught him that God made him and loved him and wanted him to live a life of abundance and joy. In those days while I did use spanking as a method of discipline I believed I handled it as lovingly as was possible. D, as I often told him, was the most loved boy in all the world. He was my heartbeat, my breath.

But somehow D missed grace. I mean, he completely missed it. He got sin, and guilt, and judgement and hellfire alright. But he missed grace.

This grew D into a perfectionist who struggled to avoid mistakes at any cost. Inevitably, he would fail and this would lead him to go to lengths to conceal his wrongdoing and avoid subsequent consequences. Unlike my other children I don't ever remember a time when D came to me to say his conscience was bothering him and he wanted to get something off his chest. He would just wait until he was caught out, and then furiously deny his involvement.

When D finally would confess, he'd sob that he was foul and make promises that he would never, ever do it again. I would explain that he certainly was not foul but a flawed human like the rest of us. I'd remind him that he didn't have to carry the burden of his sin but as a much-loved son of God could come to the cross, lay it down and be free. D would repeat the prayers but the burden remained.

And I couldn't convince D that in his determination to be perfect in future he was setting himself up for inevitable failure and self-condemnation. He simply couldn't grasp that we all make mistakes and need then to say so, make amends, seek forgiveness, brush it off and move on. D dealt with the weight of guilty feelings with a never-ending regime of internal self-flagellation and continued to conceal and vehemently deny even minor contraventions of the rules.

I didn't realise the degree to which D was living in fear of being overwhelmed by the monster Sin that apparently lived inside him, crouching and ready to drag him off to misery and damnation. As he grew older these fears left him unconvinced of his intrinsic wonderfulness - no matter how often I told him it was so - and unable to grow into the strong man I always known he was born to be. D wore every little misdemeanor he had committed on his back and remained unable or unwilling to lay a single one down and find forgiveness and freedom.

Ultimately D's fear, spiritual emptiness and lack of self-esteem made him an easy target for the advances of M, a self-appointed leader in the Christian homeschool movement and a trusted friend of many years. At the time we failed to discern what we see so plainly now - M was also an accomplished sexual predator. I think it may have been after D's sixth suicide attempt that he finally began to disclose the nature and extend of M's abuse. 

My precious son has attempted to take his life more than 10 times now and has literally hundreds of appalling scars all over his body where he has cut himself horribly with knives. Last year D spent more than 5 months in a psychiatric hospital where he diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and possibly Borderline Personality Disorder. Currently he on a concoction of meds including anti-psychotics, is not able to work or study and has lost all his friends. He self-medicates with drugs and alcohol in an attempt to dull the pain of his traumatic memories. If you had known D before he was abused, you would never believe he could come to this.

It has been a challenging couple of years for all of us. For months I hardly slept as I struggled to find a strategy for living with the unrelenting dread that is part of awaiting the next horrific incidence of suicidality or self-mutilation. During the worst times I would not be sure if I was going to faint or vomit any time the phone rang so often had calls brought terrible news. It took me time to learn how to love my son while keeping my own heart safe. I still very much feel for D but I no longer am at risk of being destroyed by internalising his pain. Efficient compartmentalising has become a matter of survival.

Whatever the Bible says about vengefulness, the day D finds it in himself to report M to the police will be a happy one for me. I would gladly see the bastard who stole my son's soul get some of his own back in prison and I don't care who knows it.

But however much it hurts, it's really important that I accept responsibility for the part I played in D's sad story. Thankfully, our relationship remains good and strong. Just yesterday when he was visiting we talked about this again. I believe it strengthens him to be reminded that some of the things he struggles with were produced by the unbalanced sin-consiousness that his dad and I mistakenly imposed on him when he was little. It helps him to know that others have come out and recovered. It helps him to know that I am so very, very sorry. 

D is both gracious and increasingly realistic. He's glad to be able to talk about the difficult parts of his childhood without fear that I'll take offense and he reiterates that he knows I was sincerely trying to love him the best way I knew how. But he rightly agrees that I made some very bad choices and that he has been hurt by them. Truth is a very powerful medicine. I like to believe that each time we squeak open a door and welcome a little more truth into both our hearts, we get one baby step closer to D being well again.

Those domineering parents like 'Leigh', who played the Jonathan Lindvall 'obedient adult children' card so well that they succeeded in preventing their teens from wriggling out of the nest and into healthy adultood really frighten me. I've made a lot of mistakes but when I realised my beliefs were harming my children - and it's pretty hard not to notice when they find their voices in their teens - I dumped my bundle. I chose to love my kids first and figure out the rest second. I get it that I will be criticised for that in some circles but I'd suffer any punishment rather than turn my back on my kids when they are floundering as I've seen some parents do. Owning our mistakes is the only way out of delusion and self-deceit and on to integrity. And come what may I'm going there.

Sin doesn't figure in my conversations with my kids now. They hear enough of that from their dad who rarely lets the opportunity of a good finger wagging condemn-a-thon slip by. At my house we focus on how fabulous my kids are, how emotionally intelligent, how intuitive, how capable. I listen to them and tell them to listen to their own hearts, to trust their instincts and to know when to seek wise advice. I encourage them that they are capable of making good choices. Sure, they'll make some lousy ones, we all do, but we are learning how to admit it when we screw up, make amends, seek forgiveness - forgive ourselves - and move on.

I want my kids to be emotionally healthy, growing, thriving and courageous. I want them to be adventurous, to walk boldly into the world trusting that they really can do great things. I want them to be aware there is real evil out there, but to live confidently, unafraid of a sin-monster within that dooms them to live as pathetic slaves to their own wicked desires. I want my kids to be flawed but fabulous. I want them to be free. That's what legalistic fundamentalism stole from D. That's what he's missing.

D has had a pretty good couple of weeks. The depression which constitutes a large part of his illness has given him a few hours reprieve most days. He's been good company when he has come to stay and is talking about the future and maybe even applying for university one day. I know enough to realise that this is a journey of 10, 000 steps many of them backward but nevertheless it's encouraging. I hold on to the firm hope that the time will come when D is not just functional but truly well, thriving and making the most of the wonderful gifts God has given him.

I believe it and I'm waiting.

things i didn't know about school...and was too afraid to find out #3

School makes weekends wonderful again.


No doubt it isn't solely home schooling's fault but over the last few years weekends at our house had lost their gloss.

When we first started homeschooling using a fun, hands-on, discover-based learning program (Konos) our days were full of wonder and enjoyment. It look a fair bit of time and effort to plan and prepare for our school week but we all got so much out of it I didn't mind a bit.

But as our age range expanded it became harder to keep everyone engaged at a level that was interesting and challenging to them. We started looking at programs for different ages. 'School at home' was sneaking up on me and I didn't even spot it.

And then.....we were sucked into the Classical Homeschooling Vortex. I'm sure this is a neat fit for some families but it was not a happy place for us. It took me a couple of years to realise that the joy had been sucked out of our lives and that my enthusiasm gland was failing to produce enough juice to keep us all charged up.

Because I found it difficult to ask my kids to settle for a less-than-perfect education (sigh) I always tend to be fiddling with each program until I get it where I could love it. The workload of tweaking, planning, preparing and teaching was crippling. Finally I realised I was going down for the third time and didn't have the strength even to clutch for a rope.

I was so busy for way too many hours each day in home school related work so I had no time to keep my house the way I like it. Saturday was my only chance to try and get back on top before I was back on the treadmill again (Sunday of course being written off with church and subsequent activities which I found exhausting and a bit of a trial). The kids and I would do chores for hours but still found it difficult to keep our heads above water. I saw myself becoming one of those home school mums who cheerfuly sweep aside a pile of home school crud, hairbrushes and bread crusts so they can offer their visitors a place to lay their coffee mug. Only, I wasn't pulling off the cheerful part.

I found I looked forward to school holidays not because I could spend some free time with my kids but so I could finally get into the linen closet and sort out the mess. At the end of each holiday I'd still have a list of a dozen undone jobs that I knew would have to wait until the end of next term when we had 'holidays' again. It was depressing.

So now, I get almost all the housework done in an hour each day and can spend evenings, weekends and school holidays enjoying my kids. They love it too. Sometimes we chill, other times we hit the beach. go shopping or hang with friends...it's just so nice not to be worrying about the six hours of planning (I kid you not) I'd have to put in on Sunday night if I didn't want to start the home school week on the hop.

Several of my kids would still like to return to home schooling...and I wouldn't say I've shut that door totally. But if we tackle it again, we'll do it in some way that frees us up to enjoy life and each other again. I won't be giving that up for anything.

what she feared most came upon her

GUEST POST by L


“What you have feared over all those years has come upon you (divorce). You can wallow in it and become a sour and bitter old woman or you can do something about it.” …T


…imagine being 17 with a heart full of hope for the future; a heart that longs for love, a life-long love, embodying security, happiness and a bunch of kids; a happy, satisfying future with a man who would be your best friend, your soul-mate, your most loyal supporter; someone you felt completely safe and at-ease with; someone with whom to share your heart...Lay beside that hope a fearful heart; one scarred by the divorce of parents at the age of 12; one that lacked confidence; one that was certain in her deepest being that no man would ever love her enough to stay the distance in that hoped-for dream.

 This describes me as a just-17-year-old. I was a rather rebellious teen, dabbling in smoking, binge-drinking, some drug use and sneaking out at night. My mum sent me to live with my dad when she had had enough. This meant moving from a small country town where I knew almost everyone and had been at school with many of my friends since pre-school, to a city where I knew only my dad and his new wife and her young kids.
Looking back my dad did a good job, helping me get my first job, in a bank, and offering any support I needed. His wife actually tried hard too, although I’m pretty sure she would rather I wasn’t there.


After a few months I chucked my job and went on the dole, found the ‘pay’ too low, so found another one selling door-to-door. Enter my supervisor, T. He was attractive, confident and rather exotic to my small-town experience with a foreign accent and foreign ways. He asked me out on my first day and I moved in with him a week later, much to my dad’s disappointment and my step-mother’s rage.


We moved to another city and our first few months seemed ideal. I was well on my path to future happiness. A little brusqueness now and then didn’t dampen my zeal; I just determined to be the nicest I could be. The brusqueness eventually exploded into a 2 hour angry rant about my untidiness, etc. I objected, hating conflict, which led to more arguments and the conclusion that we needed help if this relationship was going to work.
T’s mother had just visited from overseas and she was a ‘born-again’ Christian and, even though they didn’t speak English in their conversations I could tell she was a huge influence on his thinking. We decided to ‘try’ church and, after seeing a newspaper article about a local surfing minister we visited that church and were in hook, line and sinker.


Our church/faith journey was probably typical of the times. We started in a fairly liberal church, got swept up in the charismatic movement, went to Bible College and moved on to a Pentecostal church. Next came Mary Pride and the search for a church/denomination that ‘actually practiced what the Bible taught’, like head-coverings and women not speaking in church. This led us, of course to the Plain churches, and we females were promptly uglified and our heads covered. This journey was over a period of about 13 years. Along with this, of course came wifely submission and, as I had come to the conclusion that being a better wife and trying harder in everything I did would hold T’s anger at bay, an attitude of submission to the head of the home seemed an essential component of my survival.


By this stage we had 6 children. T’s role seemed to be to make sure everyone did what he wanted, how he wanted and when he wanted (with the right attitude of course), and to make sure he was disturbed as little as possible. So I tried harder. I was home-schooling, home-baking, home-haircutting, producing home-made clothes and penny-pinching to the nth degree. T was working a few hours a week and read books the rest of the time.


Having children didn’t disturb T’s lifestyle unduly. He didn’t play with them, fix their bikes or do anything much of what they wanted, but he did enjoy displaying well-behaved and hospitable children to guests. He very rarely attended to a baby at night and on the few occasions he did the baby and I regretted it. He was very impatient and expected babies to sleep at night. Any sports and family outings were things of his choosing. If things didn’t go his way he would sulk, chuck tantrums, boycott situations or humiliate people. I was always the mediator and the one who smoothed things over.


He was a master of manipulation, such that I always thought any trouble was caused by me and my incompetence. Behind closed doors he criticized most things I did, saying I he could do it better. In front of others he praised me as the perfect wife. The problem was that he was nice often enough for me to convince myself that the good times were frequent and the bad minimal, when actually it was the other way around. I clung to the hope that things would get better and made excuses for him to the children. We all walked on eggshells and I tried even harder.


I was so entrenched in the idea that marriage was for life; that I needed to be faithful. It never crossed my mind that there was an alternative to the way I was living. It was my job to make this work. The problem was that I was enabling his abuse by co-operating with it. His bad behavior always had the desired effect and I would usually apologise for whatever had set him off. I thought I was being obedient to God and that all the suffering would cause inner growth. I am sure it was God that gave me the inner strength to endure his behavior without going crazy.


His specialty was still the long, angry lectures, so much so that I feared getting in the car with him because then there was no way to escape. He would keep me up at night until the ‘problem’ was solved to his satisfaction even if I was sick or had been up to babies or toddlers a few times. Now he had begun to extend his tantrum chucking to ‘leaving’ me. He would pack his bags, sit the children down and tell them that he and I didn’t get on so he was going to live somewhere else. He was aware of my fear of being abandoned, of being a single parent just like my mother. He would leave for a few hours and then come back. This, of course was very painful and confusing for the children.


It was also the beginning of T’s downfall. When I turned 40 something began to stir inside of me. I couldn’t have named it then, but I know that is when it started. An embryonic self-assurance was conceived. Funnily enough it was T himself that watered it. He had become very interested in self-improvement books and loved to ‘share’ his latest read. Also he had come to rely on me heavily for all sorts of practical things (managing a house of 10 home-schooled kids and helping to run a business). I slowly became aware of my competence.


He started a university course, mainly so he didn’t have to work and because of his difficulties with written English I would edit his assignments and discuss them with him. He would go away at times for a week long course and I realized I liked it when he wasn’t there. We all relaxed and enjoyed ourselves. This made me feel a bit guilty and I tried to squash the thought but it welled up, seemingly of its own accord.


For some obscure reason T suggested I do a uni course, too. I was suspicious that he thought it would make him look good – a wife with all the above-mentioned skills AND working on a uni degree. It goes without saying that he strongly influenced the course I chose. He had no idea where this would lead to eventually. I jumped at the chance with excitement and was amazed that I could do it, and get good marks. Being flung into the world of uni students was an eye-opener after being closeted away for 15 years, but I enjoyed their company and was fascinated by their outlandish topics of conversation.


As my confidence in myself grew so did the murmurings of the older kids at home. Dad was difficult, unfair, unkind, mean to little kids, he expected everyone to always agree with his point of view. I found I now had to start to face up to this and agree that it was true. We started to use the word ‘abusive’ out of his hearing, which was a very scary thing to verbalise. We knew what effect it would have on him if he even heard a whisper of it. I carefully approached him about some of our complaints. He didn’t like it, of course and I think he began to see he was losing his grip on us. He said he would be nicer; his behavior got worse.


Things went on like this for about 2 years. I got braver and he got more cunning and more determined in his manipulation. My staunch friend, Dragonfly, was an amazing support through all this. Kind and strong and always sensible, I know I would have crumbled without her support. T ‘left’ me a couple more times not realizing that his threat was a bit like a child threatening to tidy his room if his mum didn’t let him have his way. “Yes!” I would say on the inside, “And don’t come back!”


The next step was like a miracle unfolding before my eyes. The day of our long-planned family holiday arrived. He chucked a tantrum on the first morning and it was the final straw for me. He threatened to leave and go home and I made no effort to talk him out of it. I was sorely tempted, but something inside me said, “No, enough.” The kids and I relaxed and stayed out the week without him, happy campers at last. I lay awake at night planning my next move, but not sure if I could pull it off.


When we got home I told him I was too tired to talk (totally out of character as I would give in to what he wanted ALWAYS) and went to bed. The next morning I told him my plans. He spent the whole day stomping around the house, packing his things and every now and then trying to talk me into changing my mind. It was like a switch had flipped inside me and I refused to be drawn in. I spent most of the day ignoring him.


By the evening he had been drinking and getting angrier and angrier. He phoned the adult children and said ‘goodbye’, then set about staging a suicide attempt. Two of the adult kids called the police who took him away for the night. It was the chance I needed, so the next day I refused to let him come back.


We are now living out my plan. The kids and I packed the house up, had a huge garage sale, found a house and moved 6 hours drive away from him. The kids are in school, I am doing a teaching degree at uni and we are learning to be normal. He has tried many times to talk me into reconciliation both nicely and nastily, but I take the advice of one of my girls, “Don’t go and talk to him, Mum. He always changes your mind.”


When difficult things happen I am tempted to fall apart, and I usually have a cry. But these tears have gone from 4 hour, heart wrenching sobs down to half our weeps. There is a surge of positive energy, like a fountain, inside of me that urges me on and reminds me to keep on going. Give it a name if you like. It could be the Girl Cell, it could be Jesus-in-me, it could be just my own inner strength, but one thing I am certain of…


…what I feared most has come upon me….and I embrace it with joy and excitement!

throwing the baby out - 'fundamentalism' is way overdue for an unceremonious tipping on the vegie patch

I had a lovely phonecall this morning with a dear friend. She's one of my real-world homies that I invited to view my blog - one I was a little worried I may have already offended in previous posts. Even though she said she is enjoying reading and has not yet been offended, it started us talking about the term fundamentalism such as I've been using it here. My friend is a firm believer in what are generally considered the most important tenets of orthodox Protestant Christianity and in no way is she dangerously nutty as are some of the folk I've been describing. So I wanted to have another crack at defining fundamentalism and explaining why I think it's a term best tossed out with the bathwater.

Most people who have been exposed to Christianity would be aware that many relatively moderate Christians gladly own the term 'fundamentalist'. These adherents take the term to refer simply to those who are believers in the fundamentals of their faith. Although the term is applied to many non-Christian religious sects and even secular political branches, so far as many Christians are concerned, 'fundamentalism' simply means believing in the inerrancy and historicity of the Bible including accepting a six-day creation, the virgin birth, the miracles of Christ and his atoning death and resurrection. But sometimes a term which was formerly worn as a badge of honour loses it's gloss as it increasingly attracts negative connotations that cannot be wished away. Ultimately, even though purists persist in using the term and insisting on its original or preferred definition, it may have become irrevocably tarnished whatever they say.

In my view, 'Christian fundamentalist' is a term that has well and truly exceeded its useful life so far as any but the most extreme wings of Christian belief and practice are concerned. I understand perfectly what Bible-believing Christians mean by fundamentalism and why many remain proud owners of the term. Indeed, if we accept that it means 'believing what we think God believes and trying to live it' how could any sincere follower of Christ reject the notion that accepting those fundamental tenets of faith is a good thing? However, I think the time has past in which that particular term can be redeemed. 'Fundamentalism' and 'fundamentalist' have been irreversibly contaminated and are in need of replacement.

Wikipedia defines fundamentalism as  

..."a belief in a strict adherence to a set of basic principles (often religious in nature), sometimes as a reaction to perceived doctrinal compromises with modern social and political life."

Wiki further notes that the term did not appear in the Oxford Dictionary before 1950. The article states that the rise of fundamental Protestant sects was a response to perceived liberalism within the broader school of US protestant Christian belief as well in general society.

"The movement's purpose was to reaffirm orthodox Protestant Christianity and zealously defend it against the challenges of liberal theology, German higher criticism, Darwinism and other movements which regarded it as harmful to Christianity."

Fundamentalism thus defined is a way for the conservative orthodoxy to draw a line in the sand. Alienated and under attack in a society less and less inclined to be ruled by formerly widely-accepted guidelines of their faith, they 'go back to the Bible' in an effort to redefine and revitalise a religion whose power to influence is waning. Hunkering down in churches and home groups these beleaguered possessors of a truer understanding of the Book challenge the converted to attain greater heights of 'biblical' correctness. Failing to tempt their neighbours away from the cinema or the evils of rock music, they pursue political avenues to regain their grip on a world sliding to hell.

The political aims of fundamentalist groups are often the most disturbing aspect of their dogma for non-believers. Fundamentalists as defined here cross the line from personal belief and practice of a stricter version of a mainstream religion to seeking to influence the State to impose penalties for contravention of the moral laws they value. History has shown this to be a mistake. Wherever Christianity has been imposed on the unconverted masses, the true church has been weakened and it is doubtful whether any genuine new converts were added to the fold. This is because, in my view, Christianity is at its core an intimate spiritual and relational encounter with one's God. Belief, that is faith, is the foundation of religious practice and must be the root and cause of moral adherence. Imposing legalistic stricture on moral issues at a civic level may tidy things up in the short term but applied with the aim of converting hearts it is futile and attacks the underpinnings of the religion itself.

Outside of conservative Christian circles, the term 'fundamentalism' is almost always perjorative. This is true in part because of the inescapable connection between Islamic fundamentalism and images of  bearded and white-robed terrorists but also because it is tainted by association with groups such as US racist organisation the Ku Klux Klan. Interestingly, KKK members themselves reject the notion that their beliefs place them in the fundamentalist fold saying they draw their membership from a broad cross-section of protestant Christianity. Regardless, in all of these cases, it is only the fundamentalists themselves who do not apply the term in a negative sense.

In persisting in identifying as fundamentalists, Christians are forced to isolate themselves from shared community understanding of the term unless they really do assent to the excesses it now conjures up for the majority. Like it or not 'fundamentalist' is now synonymous with brainless religious nutjob and surely few would choose to own to that. I feel it is likely high time Christians of good will and common sense relinquish rights to the term 'fundamentalism' although what they might replace it with I cannot imagine. 'Born again' and 'evangelical' have been thoroughly sullied by exposes of immoral tele-evangelists and documentaries mocking pentecostal practices such as ecstatic fainting. It may not be fair but Christian believers in Bible basics need to admit the necessity of ditching a stinking fish, redefining themselves and attempting to win a more credible position in the Western secular cultural psyche than the one they currently own.

out fundying the fundies

 

pilfered with thanks from stufffundieslike.com

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Warning: this post may contain traces of nuts

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Coming out of a cult-like mindset is a journey of a thousand steps. As I've said before, for me it was discovering an increasing number of things I didn't share with the QF/Christian patriarchal/Fundamentalist camp that formed a large slice of my escapee education pie. 'Leigh' (not her real  name) unwittingly taught me one of my most memorable lessons.

I first heard of Leigh when a mutual, and very lovely, fundy friend asked if we could put Leigh and her son up for the night at short notice. My friend regularly had them to stay but unexpected circumstances prevented her offering a room this time. I said I'd be happy to find them some space.

Leigh and her 23 year old son James (also not his real name) needed to fly to across the continent two or three times each year. James was studying a Bachelor of Music through a university in a city near us and was periodically required to attend in person to sit his exams. Apparently this was the only uni in Australia that offered the course James wanted to study but allowed students to complete it from home. Home university - within limited approved course choices - is pretty popular in QF circles.

Leigh arrived in a particularly dull and dowdy home-made floral frock, her uncut hair wound up tight in a bun and wrapped in a crochetted 'covering'. This bun cover was not intended to be decorative but was worn as a religious garment, a symbol of her submission to her husband. Leigh wore no make up or jewellery, her calves were swathed in a pair of peculiar fuzzy socks and I'd seen more stylish footwear on psych ward night nurses.

It quickly became apparent that Leigh liked to hold court from a position squarely in the centre of things. She fended off all direct contact with James. Whenever we could get the lad to answer a question for himself Leigh would either finish his sentences for him or chip in and correct the details with a brusque, 'No, no, James. It wasn't like that!' It seemed James was used to being harried by his mother but, despite his charming manners and respectful fascade, there were unmistakable signs he was embarrassed and annoyed at her constant chiding. I managed to get Leigh's to loosen her grip once or twice and allow James to play table tennis with my boys in another room. The boys said James was transformed from a nervous, twitching mummy's boy into a regular, jovial bloke at these times.

Leigh, not unexpectedly, turned out to be one of those fundies who likes to let loose every hobby horse in her not-inconsiderable stable right up front without regard to the possible opinions of her beleaguered audience. Indeed, she didn't allow for alternate positions at all but treated us to an unabated tub thumping from the moment she arrived until she finally was forced to sleep that night. I've met a lot of these sorts of fundies and suspect they persist in such thick-skinned, anti-social, brow-beating monologues in part because of a short-sighted assumption that if one has 'Christian homeschooler' tattooed across one's forehead one must also be in happy receipt of the whole box and dice. In addition, I suspect they think it good policy on the off chance they have struck some poor fellow not fully right-minded quite yet. Then, as their victim is lucky enough to be in attendance while the fundy pursues their favourite subjects ad nauseum and without drawing breath, there is a fair possibility the wayward one may be brought round. I'm ashamed to say I have indulged in this sort of arrogance myself on many occasions.

So...Leigh began by holding forth on the 'right' kind of homeschooling. ACE, of course. I gathered as she continued that in general the only 'suitable' material for the consumption of children was overtly Christian both in authorship and message. She assumed we were in agreement about the evil practice of reading literature containing animals or inanimate objects that talk. The kids smiles froze and they shot panicked glances my way. I crossed my fingers and hoped Leigh wouldn't look too closely at any of my many bookcases containing as they did contraband favourites such as The Hobbit and D'Aulaires Book of Greek Myths. Still hoping she wasn't a Pantry Checker (I've known a few), I made a metal note to remove my wine to a safer location under my bed just in case.

Leigh went on to treat us to sermons on modesty and feminine submission. My girls and I were past wearing skirts by this time but, suspecting our houseguest may tend to the conservative side, I had dug one out for myself so as not to cause offense. I had stopped short of imposing that on my girls.

At that precise moment twelve-year-old K unwittingly entered the room dressed modestly enough in jeans and a blouse. It was now that Leigh revealed she had rebellion-spotting super powers. These enabled her to detect the tell-tale whiff of a rebellious seed '...even as young as 12...' She narrowed her eyes to suspicious slits and cast a despising glance K's way. Leigh had, apparently, the only 'saved' kids left in town. She said they started homeschooling with 40 other children each and every one of whom she assured us had 'gone off the rails'. She said that she was well-known for being the only parent of their acquainance who had been able to raise 'godly' children. Subsequently, Leigh volunteered a deal of her time to support less successful mothers in their grief. Occasionally she took one or two wayward souls into her home for a time, fixed them and then sent them back home for their hapless mothers to ruin again.

At one point I asked Leigh why she accompanied James each time he flew to Queensland. I thought she must have friends or relatives nearby that she wanted to visit. With a disappointed look, Leigh, sat up a little straighter and explained that obviously it wasn't safe for James to catch a plane and then a bus on his own so she came along every time to make sure that he'd be safe. What made Leigh think she'd be able to keep a grown man safer than he could keep himself was not specified.

As it happened, I'd managed to kick the hobby horse closest to Leigh's heart. She took the opportunity to explain that she lived on a farm (brownie points there for sure) and shopped in the small, quiet country town nearby. But, she said, she would never let her two girls - aged 18 and 21 - walk from one end of town to the other, a distance of some 500 metres, unchaperoned even when she was shopping nearby. She was worried that men might try and....I'm not exactly sure what men might try and do but it was something and it was bad. Consequently, her girls had attained adulthood with virtually no opportunity for unsupervised conversation with a non-family member. 

Leigh had chosen careers for all her children that would keep them safely with mama for the long haul. She and her husband had built a music studio in their home so that James could try and earn a living teaching piano and still be able to eat all his meals with his ma. Leigh had helped her daughters establish a business making and selling modest clothing to other fundy women. The business name was based on 1 Timothy 4:12 and revealed the object was not just to keep certain body bits under wraps but to be - and be seen to be - better than everyone else because of your exemplary dress standards. Anyway, those young adults were kept safely under Mother's gimlet eye 24/7 and were apparently not due for parole any time soon.

It eventually became plain that the rest of James' life was pretty well stitched up for him. He had managed to select a prospective life partner from a mother-approved shortlist. This gal was from a similarly-minded fundy family who lived in another state. (It is common for QF families to start making connections like these as their children reach their teens - marriage partners not being thick on the ground in your average homeschool kitchen. In Australia ACE families seem to do this best.) James had met his chosen at a fundy-only 21st birthday party and after much prayer and character-sussing on both sides a betrothal contract agreeable to both families was negotiated.

All that remained was for the lass to come and enjoy an extended visit where she would be subject to a final bout of scrutiny from her mother-in-law-to-be. In due time James' beloved arrived, endured 10 days with Leigh, then rushed home to her own mother refusing to speak to James or any of his family ever again. This hard-heartedness despite Leigh's offer to section off a bit of unsaleable land on which James could erect a house for himself and his bride, and a promise that, faithful matriarch, Leigh would be on hand every single day to mentor the poor ignorant thing and help her properly raise the hoped-for tribe of grandchildren. Ungrateful wench! Leigh could not find it in her heart to forgive the girl or her family and would not brook my gentle suggestion that it was perhaps better after all to call it off now than after the wedding.

Don't ask my K about bedtime that night unless you want an earful. At 8.30, after phoning her husband and tersely delivering a full menu of instructions and reminders, Leigh announced that it was well past James' bedtime and insisted he head off at once. James offered a sheepish goodnight to my pre-teen children who were still up and about and headed obediently for his nigh-nighs. And he almost escaped without further humiliation. At the last moment though Leigh called him back, offered her cheek and insisted on a 'kiss for Mummy'. Honestly, we were all starting to feel a little ill.

The following morning Leigh was up and floral-frocked nice and early. She wandered the halls for over an hour (I kid you not) until everyone had seen her with her Bible (in hand-made quilted cover) and so knew she'd been at her 'devotions' while we were all still dribbling on our pillows. It was the day of James' big exam so I asked him what he'd like to eat. He cast a worried glance at his mother whose glare left us in no doubt that I was sadly mistaken if I thought James was the honoured guest at this little party. Nevertheless I made James coffee, bacon and eggs and porridge and told him to help himself and have as much as he liked and not feel it was too much trouble. Leigh was pissed at all the attention James was receiving and also because, the service being a little slower than usual that morning, she had to shout from the dining room and hurry me along with her cutlery. All this without a word of a lie. And there was so, much, more more besides.

Leigh is not exactly typical of the women I met in QF fundamentalism. Certainly, she was uncharacteristically rude. But her meanness and self-absorption aside she is really only slightly more extreme in her views than many - both women and men - I knew personally. Still I was staggered at her self-rightousness and the depth of her self-deception and appalled at the abusive and inappropriate control she inflicted on her children

Truthfully, Leigh scared the shite out of me. I realised that Delusion was a near and dangerous enemy and wondered if I was looking at a portrait of me in twenty years time. I determined then to ask others to hold me accountable as I searched my heart and pleaded with God to show me whether I might be on the same path. I told every friend who would lend me an ear about Leigh and reminded them that if they saw characteristics like that in me and didn't tell me, they couldn't rightly say they loved me. I decided I didn't want to build myself into the kind of woman whose kids don't visit her once they are given the choice. It was a good plan.

Sadly, although Leigh is a shocker she is not unique. Neither was she relegated to the outer corners of QF Fundidom. Leigh had real cred and was an honoured stateswoman in the QF pool in which she swam. I don't doubt she had moulded many, many young women in her image over the years. I met her when I was already on the way to asking some difficult questions about the belief igloo I'd built around myself and my family. Consequently, Leigh repelled rather than attracted me. I wonder how I'd have responded if I'd still been in the throws of fullest QF zeal. I know this for sure, if she came to stay today I wouldn't fail to challenge her nonsense. What a coward I was then.

James was a nice young guy though and I suspect he'll make a decentish sort of man if he can ever get out from under his mother's thumb. Perhaps he has. I sure hope so.

I'd also like to say that I hope this post serves to more clearly define the parameters of fundamentalism such as I will use the term on this blog. When I say fundy, I mean legalistic, self-righteous, delusional folk like Leigh. Sometimes I'll be referring to homeschooling, homebirthing, home churching, home businessing, frock-wearing, KJV 1611 sorts. Other times I'll include independant conservative and charistmatic/pentecostal believers.  I do not mean to cast my net around Christians who simply believe the Bible is true and seek to live as though Christ is real - whatever I happen to believe myself. I fully intend to criticise a bunch of church practices that may be common across the board but I want it known that I love and respect many of the mainstream Christians I know who identify positively with the term Fundamentalism as they understand it.

And, I should note too that I have a lot of love and respect for QFers who are sincere believers and seekers after the truth - whether they are still in or have found their way out. But I'm not wasting any warm fuzzies on Leigh or her sort.

things i didn't know about school...and was too afraid to find out #2

Parents, even non-Christian parents, who send their kids to public school, really love their kids.


I did my fortnightly volunteer shift in the school tuckshop this morning. ('Tuckshop' is Australian for canteen.) Slaving away over the chicken burgers and nuggets with a bunch of other mums made me think of another thing I've learned about school. It's an obvious one, but for someone who's been as out of the loop as I have, it's notable.
 
Parents who are not homeschoolers really love their kids. So do parents who are not Christian. They love them and care for their needs, they worry over them and make time for them. They help them with their homework and make sure they are carrying a good lunch and are warmly dressed before taking them to school. They kiss them goodbye at the gate, miss them a little bit during the day and are glad to see them at 3.00. By and large they seem to do a pretty good job raising emotionally healthy young adults. At least, no worse than many of the Christian families I know who have grown children.

Homeschooling Christians or even Christians who send their children to school do not have a monopoly on love, sound morales, strong values or good parenting.

I can remember griping that women at church who sent their kids to school seem so threatened by my choice to homeschool. I have been known to say that this was probably because they were 'under conviction' to do the same but for some reason had not. This was because in my heart I really thought that the very best thing any Christian parent could do for their child was to homeschool them. Further, I thought that God agreed with me. School was a copy-out, second-best choice.

Obviously, this is where a lifestyle choice crosses the line from being a simple preference and moves into legalism. I am free to homeschool if I like but when I start to think that that choice, or even that call, is to be universally applied, I'm in gavel-banging territory. I have no doubt now that, much as I would have denied it earlier, I was in that camp.

That's all so bleeding obvious that it will make me look a complete idiot. But I know that some woman who has lived deep in QF will understand what I mean and be glad that I said it. We are not stupid - but in order to find the door to freedom we need to admit that we have been somewhat deluded.

I would still feel free to make any lifestyle choice I thought best for my kids whatever anyone else thought. But knowing what I know now, I just might make a bigger effort to smooth it over with a dollop more grace in consideration for the people I claim to care about. And I would strive to seek out and value the goodness and wisdom that is to be found in even the most surprising places.

she is not tame

 

"So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye
So you think you can love me and leave me to die
Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here"

A common thread amongst the women I know who have come out of patriarchal fundamentalism is that they revisted their teen rebel stage in one degree or another as they fled. This was certainly true for me. I suppose that's because I willingly gave away my adventurous youth as I entered Christianity when I was 19.

Some of the things I did as I clawed my way to freedom were rather silly, others were more lastingly meaningful. While my ex- and I were still separated under the one roof, I remember going in to a music store and feeling very daring purchasing a Queen album. Playing Bohemian Rhapsody LOUD while I did the vacuuming was a little bit empowering. And I admit I liked the shock value it provided for the X-man. And, if I'm honest, I just enjoyed pissing him off with my 'racket'.

Shortly after that in a fit of giggles my friend L and I had our noses pierced. I've taken mine out now but at the time that little diamante stud was a little symbol of my personhood, a glimmer of the me that 25 years of patriarchal fundamentalism had not been able to tame. I also reinserted the 7 earrings I had worn during my punk days. I've taken most of them out but still wear my helix ring. I haven't gone and got a tattoo but it's feels nice to know that I could if I wanted to.

I gave up so much to become a Christian - much of which was absolutely harmless and did not need to go. I remember burning my Eagles records on a huge bonfire in the grounds of the charismatic church I first attended. One girl 'manifested a demon' as her Madonna LPs went up in smoke further fueling our anti-satanic zeal. Later I gave up all 'secular' music, television and movies and some years later threw away my jeans, jewellery and makeup. It might sound silly but a small part of me died as I relinquished each of those seemingly unimportant preferences.

My 17 year old daughter K tells me that in her darkest hours she found a catharsis in screaming cuss words. That may seem strange to some but I can understand how a girl who felt herself without a voice and full of suppressed rage might discover empowerment in making a lot of angry noise. She wouldn't be the first to have discovered the powerful therapeutic effect of a well-timed obscenity.

Christianity, if it is worth anything at all, is surely not about what believers *don't* do but what they *do*. It is not found in what they turn away from but what they turn towards and pursue with all their hearts. Either Jesus Christ is so intrinsically wonderful that knowing him becomes the foundation and joy of our lives or none of it is worth a tinker's cuss. Whether I drink a glass of wine and whether my kids play with Barbies matters not one jot. When it is all boiled down integrity - who you are and know yourself to be - is all we've got.

I now cannot imagine that a man of any worth would want a tame woman running his errands and sharing his bed. The wildness and power of women allowed to be truly themselves is surely a much more exciting prospect.

are patriarchal fundamentalist churches aspie magnets?

Although my ex-husband has a diagnosis that states otherwise, it is my view that he is probably 'on the spectrum', that is, he has a relatively mild form of Autism called Asperger's Syndrome.

Some of the give-away clues that fuel my conviction are

• his complete lack of normal human empathy - he seems untouched by the suffering of others
• his obsession with his 'special interest' which happens, somewhat fortunately for us, to be work
• his many peculiar habits and rituals
• his increasingly odd gait and facial expression
• his incapacity to read non-verbal language such as facial expressions, body language or tone of voice
• his 'mind blindness' - he cannot imagine that there is anything happening in anyone's head that isn't happening in his own
• his permanent state of high anxiety
• his emotional immaturity and volatility

Being married for 20 years to a man who cannot give or receive love in a normal way was like having my soul scraped out with a rusty spoon. In addition to his coldness he was, as my father had warned me, not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Those years of marriage felt like drowning in a vat of treacle while someone slipped a plastic bag over my head and tied it tight. I was being destroyed.

After the kids and I fled, Mr X sent me an email demanding my immediate return. He made what he though was a strong argument by reminding me:

• that I had signed a binding contract before God to stay married to him forever
• that it would be difficult for the children at Christmastime having their parents living apart
• that if I thought I was busy now, just imagine how busy I'd be without him
• that I'd need to get a job

Despite those tempting inducements, I decided to proceed to divorce as have many women married to Aspie men before me. We even have a name: we are Cassandras, named for Cassandra Syndrome which is shrink-speak for what becomes of highly empathetic women (called 'extreme neuro-typicals') when their most intimate relationship is with a brick wall.

I first heard of AS when a Christian woman I hardly knew for some reason told me all about her man. I listened in silence for over an hour before admitting that her husband could be my husband's twin brother. Since that time I have met at least 10 Christian women who have what are very likely Aspie husbands. I encountered several other Christian wives at the Asperger Partner Support Group I visited once or twice.

Suspecting that AS men seem to be significantly over-represented in Christian circles, I asked an international expert at an AS conference if she thought it likely to be so. She replied that that was definitely her view. And it's not surprising. In churches, particularly in fundamentalist ones, AS men find a veritable smorgasbord of women who tick all their boxes. Women who:

• believe in staying with their man no matter what kind of a jerk he turns out to be
• believe in rules such as laid out in the Book, including ones about submitting and obeying...no matter what kind of jerk their man turns out to be
• believe in having children and staying home to look after them
• believe that their body is not their own and will make themselves available for sex on demand
• will allow themselves to be dragged off to the pastor for counselling in submission if they get out of line

Aspies are looking for women who are kindly nurturers, like their mothers, with strong social skills who will care for them and help them manage life in a big scary world full of people they struggle to understand. Churches are full of these gentle, unsuspecting souls and Aspies are expert at tracking them down. An Aspie will go to tremendous lengths to appear normal during the courtship process only to revert to type without ceremony after his target signs the contract.

Christianity may not be responsible for the miserable marriages that ensue but fundamentalist dogma allows an Aspie man to be emotionally uninvolved with his family ('he's a great provider, don't be so ungrateful') so long as he fulfills his duties as leader of family devotions. The fact that there is not the faintest sniff of Christ about the man and each Bible time begins with 'Sit down, shut up and get out your Bibles. You are such disobedient, disrespectful children,' might be a problem if it were generally known but of course it will not be. To complain about your husband is verboten.

Patriarchal fundamentalism also tends always to blame the woman for everything. If he's a useless, she's expecting too much and should lower her standards. If she complains that he never does anything he promises to and is mean to the kids she should go home, shut up and submit more. The 'a good woman can make a great marriage out of a bad one - even if her man does not make one smidge of effort' line damages the hearts of many more women than I'd like to guess at. I was sent away with identical advice each of the 5 or so times I managed to drag my ex to counselling or went alone myself. I'm still mad.

So, yes, I believe patriarchal fundamentalist churches do attract Aspies. And they fail to support and protect AS men's families by letting him get away with being a shit while demanding his wife and children extend his shit-making privileges. Those churches have to accept some responsibility for that.

One of the first steps toward freedom for me was when I told my ex- that from that day on, I would never lie, cover up or excuse his poor behaviour again. If he behaved like a jerk, say, at the table, we were all going to be frank about that. He could own his own immaturity. It was a teensy step in the direction of Integrity for me. And a vital leap forward for my poor children's sanity.

I should add that I'm not down on AS people and am not usually in the habit of throwing people away because they don't suit me. But there are some people, AS and otherwise, who are just not cut out to be husbands or fathers. My former husband is one of those people. And the church supported those characteristics of his that harmed me and my kids. So I'm just saying.

crushing daisies - ways in which quiverfull fundamentalism harms its children - # 2

 
The Little House on the Prairie Fashion Club
 

Our family wasn't particulary extreme regarding dress standards but we did insist on longish dresses and plaits for the girls for several years.This morning my 17 year old daughter K reminded me how damaged she had felt by that over-emphasis on feminine modesty. She tells me that in her view it had three significant effects. First, she grew to have a lasting disrespect for men and boys who obviously couldn't keep their minds away from her private parts. K says she felt disgusted at male weakness and their apparent obsession with all things sexual. I know she still struggles even to imagine enjoying a healthy partnership with a man.

In addition, dressing like weirdos served, conveniently, both to keep a distance between us and 'the world' and also helped us spot like-minded families in a crowd. K tells me that, even though she's glad she's at school now, she feels 16 years behind the eight ball when she's with her peers. Dress and other conservative choices we made kept my kids from engaging with their own culture. In an effort to follow the advice of patriarchal teachers such as Jonathan Lindvall we 'dared to shelter' our kids from many things that would help them function in a 21st world.

Finally, and perhaps most disturbing is that K says she grew up believing that there was something very wrong with her body. Having to hide herself away under a veritable mountain of denim and promptly being admonished when any bits weren't properly covered left her confused and, she says, appalled at her own foulness. She tells me that, before she even came to the dreadful realisation that God planned a very limited range of life choices for her, she knew she hated it that he had made her a girl.

How incredibly sad is that? I am heartbroken that I participated in crushing the self-worth of such a beautiful, intelligent and energetic young woman. And I feel very lucky indeed that she loves me still and allows me to walk beside her to build her up and help her realise her full potential.

It has been several years since I stopped enforcing the dress code in our home. Really, as soon as our girls reached their teen years the foolishness of such a position became clear to me. The fact that my two oldest girls came to me threatening mutiny helped a lot :) I dropped over-the-top modesty like a hot potato when I realised it was hurting my girls - and probably my boys - and damaging my relationship with them. Thank God my desire to keep the love and respect of my children overruled my foolish legalism.

I can imagine a flood of  'if anyone loves father, mother....more than me' tut-tutting from some former churchmates as I write. I understand the fear of hell but I have chosen to love my kids regardless. I praise the day I realised I loved my children too much to stand on silly, man-made principle. Whatever happens and whoever my kids decide to be, the only mother they've got in the world is going to stand beside them cheering them on. No matter what it costs me.

Addendum:

I just got in from collecting K from her part-time job. On the way home in the car I told her about this post. This is what she said:

"Now I love being a woman. I feel powerful, strong and capable of doing anything I want to do."

A little joybird just nested in my heart.

the girl cell

This TED Talk, pilfered with thanks from No Longer Qivering, is a must see. In it Eve Ensler, anti-violence activist and author of The Vagina Monologues, discusses what she calls the 'girl cell' - that compassionate, emotional, vulnerable inner entity that is, she says, the best and most valuable part of us as humans.

It put me in mind of the story of one of my oldest and dearest friends, L.

L was picked up by a dominant older man when she was just 17 and spent the following 30 years trapped inside an marriage which functioned at the extreme end of conservative Christian patriarchal fundamentalism. The psychological abuse to which she and later her children were subsequently subjected was pretty horrific.

Marrying before her adult personality was fully developed and being the victim of such extreme and prolonged abuse, L accepted her lot and struggled even to see that her children were being harmed by this man. She had fleeting moments when she could glimpse the truth and entertain the terrifying prospect of single-parenthood, but her husband, aware he was losing his grip at these times, would redouble his efforts and drag her back in. L's spirit had been so brutally crushed, I guessed it might be another 10 years before she found the strength to make her move.

And then, all of a sudden, she found it! First, it was little things like defying her husband in some small matter. But once she was on a roll there was no stopping her. This thing, this amazing, unbroken, powerful force that had perhaps been huddling somewhere deep inside L rose to its feet and announced it wasn't going to let that man abuse her or the kids any more. Ever.

I was awestruck as this former paragon of submission threw the ratbag out. I continued to be astounded as L found the courage to pack up the kids, move interstate, enroll in uni and begin a new life. This week L filed for divorce.

It seems plain that the longer you've been in, the harder it is to come out - and the tougher it is to find your way when you do. And as L had been dominated for the entirety of her adult life, she had few reference points to assist her in starting over. But she's doing it. And she's making a fabulous job of it too.

L's story is so inspiring I've invited her to write a guest post here. She's considering it. I suspect there are many, many women out there in similar situations. L and I would like to play a wee part in opening the door to the place where the Girl Cell is hiding. We would like to call to her - and encourage her to come out shouting.

Watch this space...

crushing daisies - ways in which patriarchal fundamentalism harms its children # 1

Work, work, work!

Last night I endured the tail-end of a Wife Swap program. The father in one home was a real stick-in-the-mud and a big believer in strictly 'training' his children. How I cringed to watch a work ethic so like my ex-husbands standing pasty white, flabby and naked on reality TV. This guy and his wife owned a restaurant and they - and their children - worked 7 days/week so that they could 'have the freedom of lifestyle' they wanted. Those poor kids had no free time and lived weighed down by inappropriate burdens their parents inadvertently laid on them.

Of course the new mom was a servant to did not allow her kids to do anything for themselves at all. Juicy conflict ensued as she insisted Dad sell the inn and give his kids their lives back. The new mom encouraged the kids to string worry beads on a thread to symbolically give back the adult worries they were carrying. The poor little mites listed things like 'I don't want to worry that the inn will go broke and we'll all have to live on the streets'. It was all uncomfortably familiar. I've seen it in so many QF patriarchal homes.

Some years ago I was invited to take a session at a homeschool mothers' group. The leader had asked me to speak about home organisation as, apparently someone thought I had got that together. I'm guessing the entirety of my self-congratulatory little speech was pretty cringeworthy but I blush particularly as recall myself quoting from some book I had read on the subject which smirked, 'Don't ever do anything for yourself that your kids can do for you.' I actually read it aloud twice telling them I agreed with it so strongly. And I really did.

Although our family is not so large as many I know, having the first 6 children in relatively quick succession does make for a pretty busy household. At various times I inflicted new and proven-to-succeed home management systems on my family in an effort to impart a smidgen of orderliness. I've been known to impose Managers of their Homes, the happy face system and numerous other mercifully short-lived, chart ticking nightmares on my long-suffering offspring. While those programs are not all bad, in our home they were mostly educational in just two respects. They taught me that (1) nobody likes me when I'm in Household Hitler mode and (2) I can only tolerate making my kids miserable for a short time.

But even though I failed to stick with a consistant program, my kids used to do a huge amount of housework. That's not entirely unfair as they did create a lot of mess. And it wasn't all bad. They learned some useful skills and developed - as promised by the program publishers - the seeds of character. But looking back, they did way more than was appropriate. It's cute that a 10 year old can cook dinner for 9 but hardly fair.

I don't think I loaded the kids up was because I was lazy - I'm not. But I do think that I was rather too proud of my little army of worker ants. Obedient, productive kids are a bit of a status symbol in QF. And it's not like giving up homeschooling so I'd have time to hang my own washing was an option. Having a husband with what I think is undiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome and who's Aspie 'special interest' happens to be work - his and everyone else's - did not help.

If I think about it, I suspect my easing up on the kids work-wise co-incided with my loosening ties with QF families. And now that the kids are in school, I take a totally different view of housework. I feel that getting an education and having a childhood are the primary responsibilities of children. I do nine tenths of the housework and this is how I think it should be. Everyone here has one major responsibility which needs to be done once each week, they rotate helping with the dishes, keep their rooms relatively tidy and pick up when asked. I have lowered my standards a lot. If I'm hung up about something needing to be spotless all the time, I clean it.

As well as releasing us from the children's father's high expectations, freedom has gifted me the joy of serving my children with a whole heart.The kids are happier and I have a lot more energy now that I'm not wasting it on badgering them to work, work, work. Hey.....that sounds like the beginnings of an ad for a great new program....

billy gets women

Where was Billy Joel when I was looking for a man?





Oh, hang on. I remember. Around the time I was feeling the urge to tie the knot, Billy was working on his second divorce. Of three. Yeah. (sigh)

the problem with fundies - brain-check syndrome

I have a dear friend who attends a local independent church. She's one of the cleverest, wisest and most highly-educated people I know. I'm not quite sure why she goes to church and I'm not sure she's clear on that score either. While I think she does believe at some level, she and I share similar concerns about institutional Churchianity and the Bible. But her husband is a keen church attender and she says her kids get a lot out of Sunday School so she sticks with it. That said, she has to keep her head pretty low in order to survive.

A couple of days ago this friend rang me after walking out in the middle of a women's meeting held at her local. She was *mad*. Apparently some woman had indulged in a little rant saying she 'doesn't believe in IVF' without, of course, considering that there is likely to be at least one woman in the room who has reason to disagree. The conversation moved on to abortion and then to a long list of other things those women don't believe in including but by no means limited to wearing crystals as jewellery. This is because demons live in crystals so wearing them puts even dinky-di, born-again sorts at risk of accidental possession by evil spirits. One ex-pat Amercian gal added that she'd seen some *terrible* cases in Africa at which a wide-eyed quivering sister whispered she'd loooove to hear more about *that*.

My friend, aghast at the stupidity she was witnessing and angry that not even the usually-sensible group leader seemed willing to call it what it was, headed for the door.

It put me in mind of a story I heard when a pastor at a mainstream Baptist church I was visiting unwisely opened up the pulpit so people could share 'praise points'. These, he explained, are evidence of God's blessing and answers to prayer that have occurred during the week. One giggly 30-something homeschool mum raced to the front to share this gem: She'd been almost at the end of her sewing project when she noticed she was just about out of thread. It would have been inconvenient to have to stop what she was doing and head out to buy some more so she prayed that God would extend her thread until she was done. And wouldn't you know it: the thread lasted just until she had completed her last stitch.

I am not saying miracles can't happen but I am simply unable to accept that the Creator of the universe deigned to override the laws of physics and perform a material miracle to save this ninny a 20 minute round trip to the shops. I glanced around to locate the pastor and see if he were forumulating a kindly, face-saving rebuttal for the poor dear but, no, he was smiling, clapping and praising God for his goodness along with all the rest.

The ripples of this kind of nonsense go way beyond humouring an otherwise harmless nut on a Sunday morning. Christian ministers want their flock to extend belief to accept that miracles happen. I get that. It's part and parcel of participating in a religion that is intrinsically spiritual in nature. But it's one thing to accept that miracles can and even do happen, and another to allow that an insignificant co-incidence is directly attitibutable to the Almighty's intimate interest in one's hobbies.

Church-goers are encouraged to make these kinds of leaps all the time. Own to even a smidge of sceptisism out loud and you'll be losing your A+++ status for sure. There exists a general concensus that if it's said about God, in church, by a Christian of more than 3 weeks standing, it must be OK. The Toronto Blessing debacle is a case in point.

In my view, pentecostal/charismatic Christianity simply could not survive if it suggested followers genuinely scrutinise such claims. Leaders get away with manipulating Scripture to suit themselves precisely because they lull trusting flocks into accepting their spoonfeeding week after week. Cleverly insisting, "Don't just believe what I say, check out the Bible for yourselves," only reassures parishioners that the minister is entirely trustworthy and doesn't need us to keep tabs on them. And retelling the 'thou shalt not touch the Lord's annointed' story oft and loud helps keep any irritating free thinkers safely in their boxes.

The church that allowed the Cotton Miracle story was not QF, charismatic or fundamentalist. It was your regular run-of-the-mill Baptist job. So I guess I'm criticising mainstream institutional Christianity now and not just QF fundies.

Yeah. I am.

things i didn't know about school...and was too afraid to find out #1

School pays good money to teachers and administrative staff to do the job of providing excellent learning opportunities for the children...without Mother lifting a finger


My kids were homeschooled right up until January this year. The oldest has never been to a real school. With our lives increasingly complicated with the marriage breakdown and several months with two kids in different hospitals, it became clear that homeschooling was no longer feasible. But I still dithered around making the decision to quit. I think I needed time to grieve the ending of what had been - at its best - a very precious era.

After a small stumble when we trialled 6 months in a private Christian school, my 5 youngest kids are now enjoying mainstream public education. I just dropped the 3 youngest off at their lovely public primary school which is less than 2 minutes drive away. I guess the feeling will fade with time but so far, there hasn't been a single day when that hasn't felt just great.

One small drawback is that poor 12 yo ds is visiting the Medieval era for the fourth time this term. Still he's better off than his highschool-aged brother who drew the short straw with a repeat of sex-ed due to the school change. He tells me he's going to be an *expert* :)

As I was leaving the school this morning I noticed the Living History bus was parked in the grounds. A bunch of us employed these guys to do their fabulous interactive history show when we were learning about Colonial times. They do a terrific job making history come alive for the kids. I stopped to chat with the actors and wished them a great day.

It started me thinking about one of the things I love about school: As homeschoolers, to pull something like that off I would have had to discover Living History existed, call them and get a quote and ask around to see if any other families would be interested in sharing the cost. We'd need to plan a date when we would all be free. Then I'd post the event on-line, gather further expressions of interest but not count heads until I had all their money in. The last few days before I'd field calls asking for refunds due to sick kids...and made a lot of enemies. On the day I'd be ill with worry knowing probably at least 20% still wouldn't show but that that family who dress like they just crawled out of an dumpster would be there and, as always, bring their embarrassing behaviour issues with them. During the presentation several of the mothers would stand around at the back and rudely chat. I would be embarrassed and annoyed but feel unable to address it. I'd end the day exhausted but still have to face the long drive home, baths, dinner prep and clean up before I could collapse.

So....everytime the kids come home from school and say, 'Guess what we did today?!' I do a little kitchen conga and send grateful vibe to the kind and competent men and women at the two wonderful public schools my kids attend who devote their lives to taking care of stuff like that for me.

the road to fundamentalism

There seems to be a tsunami of women both rejecting the notion of Quiverfull fundamentalism and writing about it. I'm thrilled to bits about that. Although there will no doubt be some overlap as we each add our bucketful to that foamy tide, each woman has a story which is unique and worth telling. That's one of the reasons I've decided to begin telling mine here.

Princess Jo, author of the frank blog Finding Her Way, is the daughter of an old friend from a Reformed Baptist church years ago. I friended Jo on Facebook this week and began a conversation which prompted me to start this blog.

Taking a peek at Jo's blogroll and came across The Making of a Helpmeet - an extensive explanation of the key characteristics of the Quiverfull movement - by Hopewell on Vyckie Garrison's No More Quivering blog. If you are new to this kind of blogging you could do worse than start there.

I recognise the titles of all the books Hopewell mentioned and own most of them. I could relate to most of what she said although we were not at the extreme end of QF fundmentalism in large part because I proved to have a congential difficulty with submission.

Hopewell did a great job explaining QF. I don't have much to add but I do have some. Here are a few personal comments I'd just like to throw into the mix:

My then-husband and I were first introduced to QF thinking when I was pregnant with my first child. Until then, the concept of potentially unlimited numbers of offspring had not occurred to either of us. At that time a friend lent us Mary Pride's The Way Home. Later I added All the Way Home by the same author to my growing library of QF dogma literature along with Rick and Jan Hess's A Full Quiver.

Mary Pride had a large family and had gained what I thought was an admirable level of financial and social independence through home businesses, homebirth and homeschooling. I'll need another post to talk about the characteristics that made me a good candidate for QF but suffice to say here, raising emotionally healthy kids who loved God and were equipped to have wonderful, productive lives was a huge inducement. I suspect that being thought of as a super-godly candidate for Mother of the Century may also have held appeal.

So, anyway, for us that's where it started. I'd like to be able to say that it was my wretched, bullying husband who forced me out of shoes and left me simultaneously pregnant, breastfeeding and homeschooling in the kitchen but that would not be true. Married to a weak man, it was I in large part who drove us forward into greater and greater fundamentalism. But he was glad to come along for the ride and brought the flavour of his own particular brand of legalism with him.

I was never a great ambassador for QF. As was often pointed out to me I was not nearly floral frock enough, tended to be quick to speak my mind even (gasp!) to men and was, as I have said, a lousy submitter. Consequently, we didn't whole hog the thing. But not for lack of will. I admit with a sincere and sorry blush that most of it seemed a great idea to me at the time. I just wasn't quite cut out to be a dinky-di QF guru.

I think Hopewell may have missed canvassing some of the more radical extremes in the movement which are worth mentioning. Many families went even further than Hopewell wrote - beyond homebirth of a squillion children to adoption and - the holy grail and guaranteed QF kudos winner - foreign adoption. The first I heard of it was reading then-Australian-published magazine Above Rubies

This small-circulation 20ish-page magazine chanted the no-contraception, homeschool, homebirth, home business, home garden, home cooking mantra long and loud. Contributers to the magazine usually attached a photo of their huge tribe of blessings who mostly had names like Zerubbel, Zadok and Promise. With that level of visible accountability, if you didn't have the whole package in place, you didn't bother writing in. (This is a sad aspect of the movement. I know a dear woman who regularly volunteered as an administrative helper at an AR camp but stood outside during all the meetings because she had had a tubal ligation after the birth of her third child and so didn't feel she worthy of participating.)

A central theme of many AR articles was that floral-frocked, and sometimes veil-wearing, women with crappy, worthless husbands who somehow managed to submit to his every infantile whim in a sincere belief that this was how to build a half-decent man, would win small victories and wring thimblefuls of love and respect from the guy. Sometimes they would get a sofa or two by waiting on him to decide what to buy...but I don't recall anyone ever got a holiday.

New Zealand born Nancy Campbell, who, to my knowledge still runs the magazine, has, I believe, 6 grown children of her own most of whom have produced large families. Shots of the whole mob infest the editoral pages and have to be taken at 20 paces to squeeze them all in. The Campbell clan resided in Australia for many years before moving to a ranch in Tennesee. Nancy's three adult daughters are regular contributers to AR and boy do they qualify packet-wise: good breeders, furious submitters, knit their own yoghurt... In fact, it was they who I think were responsible in part for the upping the ante for those driven to achieve top Quiverfull cred.

From whence the notion sprang that having a dozen or so kids in quick succession was not a selfless enough life I do not know. But someone, somewhere, started the ball rolling on families 'opening their hearts to the possibility of foreign adoption'. The Campbell clan went for it big time. Within what seemed like only months their family photo shoots began to include a breathtaking number of beautiful brown-skinned Liberian children - some of whom were part of sibling sets and many of which were teenagers. While I applauded these families' compassion and enthusiasm, why nobody suggested that bringing half a dozen nearly-grown survivors of torture and trauma into a home already filled to bursting with young children was a recipe for disaster is a mystery to me. I cannot state this categorically but last I heard the wheels were pretty wobbly on this little red wagon. I often think of them and hope they all manage to pull their babies through with minimal damage.

Nancy Campbell and Above Rubies were - and perhaps still are - hugely influential with a mostly pentecostal/charismatic audience of Christian women in Australia and New Zealand. In addition to the magazine AR ran 'ladies' camps' and sent speakers to loungeroom gatherings all over both countries. A former staffer told me that she left the movement because what she called a 'Cult of Family' was replacing what had started simply as a desire to value and support stay at home mothers in their roles. Angry at ARs simultaneous departure from orthodox Christianity and increasing influence, she often angrily reminded me, 'Christ is returning for the *church* not the family'.

I personally know and love people who were drawn much deeper into QF fundamentalism than we were so would like to state for the record that most were intelligent, loving parents who wanted the very best for their children. Somehow, like me, they got swept up a the tide of legalism that took them to destinations unanticipated.

More on that later...