Category: Life After the Cult

Bitter and Unhappy

Contrary to popular belief, I’m not bitter and unhappy. I’m the opposite. So much so that I’m even jealous of my own-self.

I have the most amazing boyfriend in the world. I mean, this is the kind of amazing human being I could only hope for back in the day when I used to be a Christian and used to “pray for the perfect man” and bullshit like that.

The thing is, there’s a little truth to this one Christian “courtship” belief: the fact that you should be the best version of yourself and you should be open to self-improvement and self-growth. I think we can always be happier, more ethical beings; although that isn’t just a Christian ideal. It’s also Buddhist and a belief many mystics take part in.

But besides that, the “thing” I wanted to be when I “grew up” was a writer. Of course as a child, I wanted to be an actress, a waitress, and a zoologist. But I started reading on my own and fell in love The Baby Sitter’s Club by Ann M. Martin. All of a sudden I felt what some writers call a “calling.” And it feels like the Universe did pluck me down in a central California, in a desert oilfield town ripe for an artist to live in. Top it off with a serious memoir-esque life, the perfect seasoning of anger and passion.

And then somehow in High School, in my small desert town, I was just hanging out enjoying life and a cult rolled in like the circus.

I Wish

I wish I had one of those mommy blogs where everyone talks about their kids all day and I gave away My Little Pony apps. But I don’t.

Instead, I have one of those blogs where the weirdo fundamentalists come out of hiding every once in awhile and act all bat shit crazy, misspelling their grievances about me and wasting my time.

I’m not gonna lie, it sometimes makes me want to quit. I have a great sense of humor and can think of a hundred ways to cuss them out, but sometimes I just don’t understand them. And who wants to spend all day cussing them out? I have a life. Remember yesterdays post about enjoying life? My life is filled with days at the beach and I like to keep it that way.

They want me to quit, though, right? They want to silence me, because I’ve left my “pastor’s covering” where I was silenced for years. So they tell me I’m narcissistic and “just like the church I’m writing about” and that I’m stupid.

But the thing is, I’m not stupid and I’m far more ethical than any church and I might be a tad narcissistic and I might even be angry or bitter or hurt but I admit all that to you. So that’s not news to anyone, and if it’s news to them and they think they’re making a huge claim that’s going to “out me” then they’re dumb.

And then there’s the “you won’t post my comment” bullshit. Hey, mother f*cker, I pay for this website, so I essentially can do whatever I want with it. But to be fair, read the comment policy because I have one and I follow it. Or check back later, because I do approve nearly all of the comments posted here (even the hateful ones). It just takes time to get through them–especially because I don’t get cell phone service on the beach.

 

Home Again: My Mom’s Return from Alaska

My mom has been hiding from real responsibility all Summer by living in Alaska in a house with ocean views and ample wildlife outside her door. She’s been like the runaway young adult living her dreams somewhere beautiful.
I’m actually happy for her, but I had Empty Nest syndrome all summer while she was gone. I’d go visit her house and take care of my Grandpa and I’d miss her. It’s like the roles are reversed and I’m the mom with the runaway daughter.

She’s home now and I picked her up from the airport on Friday night. It was nice to have my mom back. Since she isn’t living in Alaska, her phone will work. I’ll get her text messages and when I call her she’ll be able to answer.

I know she misses gorgeous Alaska and our boring desert town isn’t much to look at but I’m glad she’s home again. :)

Lukewarm Christians and Infidels

The other day an old friend of mine posted a scripture on his Facebook wall about not being lukewarm or God will spit you out. It got me thinking quite a bit.

For starters, I was always a very “passionate” Christian. I’d hear a verse like that and do whatever I could in my power to be “hot” for Jesus (sounds kinky, right?). I didn’t like the idea of being cold for anything. That’s one of the reasons I decided to attend a year of Master’s Commission (which turned into 7). I thought it would make me a better Christian.

But, now that I’m not a Christian, what am I? Am I “hot” (read: passionate) about something else? Am I “cold”? Will God spit me out of his mouth?

How I always looked at that verse was a way to claim my superiority over another Christian. I was judgmental. Very. I was pious and perfect and looked down on anyone who failed to get it right. When I decided to follow the rules of Christianity, I excelled in following them and attending Master’s Commission only made me more cocky.

Some people call that legalistic. Some people call it fundamentalism. What’s interesting though, is that was preached to me, so I wasn’t just becoming legalistic on my own terms. I was being taught to have moral superiority over those who weren’t as passionate about God as I was.

That moral superiority carries over into other religions. Osama Bin Laden wrote a letter to the Jihadists saying that the Western world (and those who were not passionate enough as Muslims) were infidels. An infidel means one without faith. Bin Laden encouraged attacks on people who were without faith, or who didn’t have strong enough faith.

Christianity and Islam are very similar. Their holy texts call for extremism in cases like this. Yes, you can interpret the Bible or the Koran more liberally, but it’s no surprise why people interpret verses in either to claim a moral superiority over those who aren’t religious enough.

As for me, I’m not hot or cold, or lukewarm. I just no longer believe in Christianity as a powerful, righteous force.

My Date with an Agnostic

I had an interesting date with an Agnostic last night. I self identify as somewhere between Agnosticism and Atheism. I’m not a huge fan of Richard Dawkins and am okay with people celebrating different traditions and myths, as long as they don’t proselytize me.

My date asked me if I was agnostic, though, and I explained the above. Then, he asked if I thought God could be proven or disproven. “God doesn’t exist,” I said.

“Then you’re atheist.” He told me.

“I think the question of whether god exists or doesn’t is irrelevant. To me, god is a myth–something people believe in because they need to verify their sense of self, make meaning and develop a sense of community.” I explained.

“You’re definitely an atheist.”

So, maybe I’m an atheist. I’m okay with that.

We then went on to talk about how I took a turn from being a reverend to being “so extreme” on the opposite spectrum, as he put it. I told him I ask myself that all the time. I ask myself, Do I just have a capacity for extreme beliefs? Am I a zealot, no matter what my beliefs are? often.

I’m not above questioning myself and my lack of beliefs, or where they stem from. As a child, I was a member of PETA, because I love animals and they started sending me literature about the cosmetic industry testing on rabbits. The pictures were disturbing and I would tear up seeing the torture the bunnies went through just so we could wear eye shadow, or use a certain face cream. I was a member of the World Wildlife Fund first, and had a desire to be a Dian Fossey, Jr. saving mountain gorillas.

Essentially, I was an activist as a child. I was always fighting for the underdog, the abused. It’s probably normal that I went into ministry, because from the outside it seemed to line itself up with humanitarian work quite nicely and I felt I could help those who were disadvantaged and misfortunate by working with a charity group, like a church. Now that I’m not a Christian, this blog is sort of my service to those who were abused (by the Church).

In my opinion, atheism wasn’t a random choice. It’s sort of a natural progression of who I was a child, a learning from my own experiences. Trusting myself to make the best decision for myself.

The End of Summertime

Summertime is ending (or has ended) for most of us. I’m looking forward to going back to school next week, because it’s generally a lot less stressful than most jobs. I’m also looking forward to continuing what I’ve started this week–a really heavy workout schedule. I’m starting to love it. It reminds me of high school (a whole 10 years ago!), when I used to play soccer and run cross country. Some summers our cross country team would drive up to the mountains, where the weather was cooler and our coach would drop us off 10-15 miles away from our destination–a German restaurant on top of the hill. From there, we’d do our best to run up and down hills in a higher elevation than we were used to. I was usually the slowest runner on the team, it being my first season, and that ended up being kind of cool because my coach, Mr. Dennis, would run to meet the last runner and coach us back.

Mr. Dennis was a world-class coach. He was very positive and made me feel like an Olympian just for finishing the 10 mile run without stopping. It was there that I started to love running–in those moments when Mr. Dennis would coach me, telling me how strong I was getting physically and mentally. He wasn’t in it for him, he was looking out for me. Pushing me to become stronger.

I miss those 10 mile runs, not because they’re easy but because I miss the coaching. My mind would be fighting me, telling me to stop because I was exhausted and all of a sudden, I’d see Mr. Dennis coming down the hill running to meet me. And then I was able to push through that mental block and finish pushing myself.

My summer was also filled with 5k’s and a long run from our desert town to the beach. Our team members each took turns running a few miles, for about 12 hours. When we were finished, we all took showers and grabbed dinner. I was exhausted, but it was that kind of training that made our team champions in many of our races. Being around great runners and great athletes made me cognizant of a mental fortitude we all have and we can all tap into. We all have it inside of us, and sometimes we just need to push ourselves and find what works.

Chubby Kids (Like Me) Love Sammiches

When you were a kid did your mom ever make something to eat that was special–just for you? Mine did. It was mashed avocado on toast. Come to think of it, there was also bbq chicken in the crock pot (just for me) and pork chops.

What can I say?  I was a chubby kid.

Well I haven’t made an avocado sandwich since–well I’ve probably never made one. My mom always toasted the bread, buttered it and smashed up the avocados and OMG it was so good. A few months later, my savvy mother would say things like, “Why don’t you butter the toast?” So, I would. And then she’d say the next time, “Why don’t you smash the avocado?”

Pretty soon I was making the whole damn sammich on my own!

So You Want to Read My Hate Mail?

Awhile ago (December 11, 2010 to be exact), I wrote a post about Magic Erasers and why Elisabeth Elliot sucks, or something like that.

Needless to say, a lot of people didn’t like that post. At all. They think I’m a heretic and I think I’m funny. I usually just give those people a big fuck you and go on with my day, but today I’m going to share with you Brian’s comment (which I hate to admit I haven’t read in it’s entirety, but why not start now? My comments are in italics and {brackets}:

 

“For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us
which are saved it is the power of God. 1 Corinthians 1:18 {I’m not saved, Brian. That’s old news. Read my blog.}

There is a reason that Elisabeth Elliot offends you, but it is has to do with you- not her. {You’re right, Brian. It does have to do with me and how awesome I am. In fact, the last time I got on my knees wasn’t to scrub the floor like Ms. Elliot. So I think I win.}

You will, one day soon, be quite ashamed of your criticisms of Mrs. Elliot. Perhaps you should refrain from criticising that which you do not understand.  {I hope that day comes soon. It hasn’t come soon enough.}

“Those that look to be happy must first look to be holy.“- Richard Sibbes {Holiness is a myth that preachers spread to try to get people like you to pay money.}

“Whatsoever a man values above God, He will make it a bane and a ruin unto him.” – Richard Sibbes (What do you value most? Really?) {My cats, myself, my humor. Oh, and I value that I have a blog and you don’t. Nahnaahnahahaha na}

One cannot buy a life, though many have tried, and most are still trying. If you are attempting to fill that God-shaped void in your heart with food, money, your privileged “position”, a new car, your children, a new man, the attention of others, or a myriad of other things- it will not work. You can lose any of these in the span of a heartbeat. God will never allow you to be satiated by anything other than Himself. Some temporal goods have their place, if used as designed, but to use them otherwise is to misapply them and invite upon yourself disillusionment. To the wise, the world must eventually lose its charm. You will only find peace, joy, and contentment (what you’ve been searching for, all along) as you yoke yourself to Jesus Christ (see Mt. 11:28-30). Still, I fear that some of you who read this will continue on as before, trying to satisfy your inner longings with that which cannot satisfy. This amounts to nothing more than “chasing after the wind”. Perhaps, in a few years, having run through this cycle several more times, you will reflect upon these words. {You’re losing me here. I don’t even have the patience to read this because it sounds sort of dumb to begin with.}
Choose rather to live the examined life, remaining ever conscious that, be it today or some unknown morrow, there will come your own “last supper”, after which you will step from time into eternity. Are you ready? Philip of Macedonia employed a friend at his door, and every morning when the king awoke, and every evening just before he went to sleep, his friend would call out to him, “Oh, King Philip, remember that thou art mortal.” Life becomes more meaningful and precious, if you consider your latter end. {Now I have a lesson in life. Thank you, Oh Wise One.}

Some will be offended by my remarks. Not so long ago, I was much like you. (John 15:18-25, 1 Peter 4:4) God often offends, until there is no opposition left to offend. Please realise that I did not come by this knowledge the “easy” way – I tried everything else first. Maybe you have, too, only to find that the world never delivers on its grandiose promises. I only say what Luther said before his accusers, “Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me. Amen.” {Wait, this is GOD writing me????!!!! WHAT?? I thought it was Brian!}

 

Brian, wait…I mean God, are you out there? I still don’t like Elisabeth Elliot, but I HAVE started cleaning my house now and then.

Awkward Stories from My Past

I just got finished feeding the chickens and the horses. You heard that right–chickens and horses.

I have the great fortune of having an awesome studio apartment, which just so happens to be a guest house on what Chris and I call Animal Kingdom and The Farm. My landlord has two horses, twelve chickens and two dogs and when she’s out of town, sometimes I feed them for her.

The other night, my landlord invited me and some of her neighbors to dinner. We all made our plates and went outside by the pool to sit by the fire pit. As we ate, she mentioned to everyone that I was writing a book and of course they asked what it was about.

–Well, I was in a cult for seven years.

It’s still never easy to start telling this story to anyone and my voice begins to get that shaky, uncertain quality. No matter how kind or understanding the people are, I always start the look that says, Omg, this is weird.

It is weird, but indefinitely, the conversation steers toward a barrage of twenty questions, shot to me like a machine gun.

Why did you stay?

What makes something a cult?

So, you’re writing negatively about the church you were in?

Did your parents send you there?

No matter how long I’ve blogged about it it never gets any easier to talk about the awkward things in life.

sleepy

3 Rules For Becoming a Morning Person

#1 Get older

I could never, ever wake up early when I was in my younger twenties. When I turned twenty-nine everything changed. I was able to go to bed around 10 p.m. for the first time in what seemed like my entire life (with the exception of sick days). Call it thyroid problems or personal preference, but I would always stay up until midnight or 2 a.m., especially in college. This is all normal, until you have to start working or waking up for class. I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed in the mornings. Then, I got older and the older I got (well it’s been a whopping year and a half since my 29th birthday) the earlier I’d go to bed. I went from midnight, to eleven to now…10 pm.

#2 Start drinking beer

I grew up around hard working laborers. I’m from California’s Central Valley, where my hometown’s main financier is the petroleum industry. Men who work outside in over 100 degree weather should earn a medal for honor. I spent one summer driving around in a truck weed eating entire pipe yards for the Texaco oil industry. After we weed eated the area, we had to paint the pipes bright yellow.

Let’s just say that working 8 hour days in that blistering summer heat was not my idea of fun. Nor was being at work at 6 am.

Somehow I did it, though.

Most of the men I know who have these types of jobs (and many guys, for that matter) end up at home or at a happy hour drinking beer after work. It’s an after work ritual. Meet with buddies. Drink beer. Go home to wife. Drink beer.

I’ve become one of them this week. I bought a case of Blue Moon and for the past two days, I’ve come home and drank one. Partially because Blue Moon tastes delicious, partly because one beer will put me in nap mode quicker than you can say “I’ll be darned” but mostly because drinking beer is relaxing.

#3 Take naps

My boss and I had a discussion this week about me getting to work earlier. I dread getting up early. I hate it. I hate mornings–well I don’t hate them, so much as wish I could spend them in  my cozy white sheets all snuggled up with my eyes closed. Once I’m awake, I’m not cranky (though this has changed from the past. I was cranky when I was younger). I get my coffee and listen to some lively music and viola! Life is good!

Since I’m getting up so early this week, I’ve decided to take up a habit one of my ex-boyfriends (side note: good riddance to him!) had. He’d wake up at 5 am to go to work and come home around 3 pm. After being home about thirty minutes he’d lay down and take an hour or two long nap. That way, he didn’t feel like death in the evenings when he wanted to hang out with friends or watch tv. Which is how I feel. Like death.

Another thing to be noted: When starting to drink beer, note that beer is easily spilled all over valuable items that may or may not be located on your nightstand. Such as what just happened to me while writing this post. I reached over for another taste of Blue Moon and damnit–my Blue Moon spilled all over my checkbook.

 

arnold-schwarzenegger-maria-shriver

Does Everyone Cheat on Their Spouse?

This weekend, my mom, sister and I were at Disneyland. A Saturday in May at Disneyland is the worst day to choose to go to Disneyland–lines are long and the weather is warm.

Have no fear, though: my mom, sister and I have a game we play in line to keep us entertained. It’s where we people watch (usually my mom starts) and come up with a storyline for the chosen set of people’s lives based on something we notice about the group.

For example, we were in a long line for Space Mountain and there were two 50-ish year old couples in front of us. My mom spotted a rip in one of the men’s shorts, which he had crudely tried to fix with two safety pins. He did a poor job fixing the rip and we could see his chonies (underwear).

Based on that one observation and the body language of the couples in that mans group for the entire hour long wait, we concocted the following three scenarios.

Possible Scenario 1:

The man with the torn shorts is either newly divorced or widowed. He has no wife to notice that his underwear are showing in front of all of Disneyland, or at least in the lines for the rides.

Possible Scenario 2:

The man in the torn shorts just cheated on his wife. She’s pissed off at him, so she’s giving him the cold shoulder in line–and at home. This is why his pants weren’t fixed, or why he was able to wear them outside without anyone telling him to change.

Possible Scenario 3:

The wife of the man with the torn shorts just cheated on him and is trying to conceal it, but doing a poor job of it. Since she’s so preoccupied in her mind about her affair, she didn’t pay attention to his shorts in the morning and he made a crude attempt at fixing them.

This whole people watching guessing game really stemmed an entirely related conversation about cheating, mostly because you couldn’t tell the two couples were married to each other (we assume they were) as they were really cold to each other. My mom is at the age where a lot of her friends have had a spouse cheat on them or has had women flirting with my dad for months at a time, etc.

We argued all kinds of possibilities as to what makes married men and women (even happily married men and women) cheat on their spouses. We mostly focused on long time married couples. We never came up with a definitive answer, but a compilation of answers:

  1. Some people who cheat get married too young, before they’ve “sown their wild oats.”
  2. Maybe it’s genetic or learned behavior from a parent who cheated and got away with it.
  3. If a man or woman doesn’t cheat, they may have another hang up or flaw that’s almost unbearable to live with.

Do you have any theories as to why people cheat, even in long term or happy marriages?

Arnold Schwarzenegger  and Maria Shriver are getting a divorce because Arnold kept his secret “love child” from her for ten years. They were married about twenty five years ago. I’d consider that a long term marriage, and we (the public) and Maria are only now finding out. How is that possible? It was a child he had with someone in his own household staff!

The Post quoted Political consultant James Carville who “called it ‘stunning’ that this never bubbled up. “I would not be surprised if a lot of money changed hands,” he told [the Post].”

A lot of money? It takes a lot of money to shut the mouths of some people when its such a high profile relationship, but what keeps couples that have affairs who aren’t rich from talking? What’s the big deal about being honest? I know, I know, that’s the morally upstanding answer–Just Be Honest. But isn’t it time that people just be honest about wanting out of a marriage, instead of ruining it?