Oppression Backfires: I Get Partial Custody

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth - Buddha

The kids were spending more and more time with me. Any time my ex did not feel like having them, and it was often, I would drop everything to get them from daycare or school. It was wonderful to feel like a family again and I cherished every moment. The daycare began calling me first because I was reliable and reacted immediately when my ex was late picking them up or for their other needs. It turned out he was not bringing food for the kids or proper clothing. Although the state paid for the lion's share of child care expenses he was late on the rather light payments and always with some lame excuse. They loved the kids but considered my ex to be completely irresponsible and were thinking about kicking them out. I honestly had no idea he was flaking like this. He had been pretty good in coming off as the responsible parent, while I was a nutcase. 

I talked to the director about how I could make this right. Vineland had an excellent preschool and Kindergarten and it was important their education not be disturbed. Things were smoothed over. When my ex found out how involved I was, he became enraged.

Three months after my marriage I was served papers to have my rights severed as a parent. In it was a restraining order that had clearly been denied by the judge. However, my ex pedaled it to the daycare as valid and when I went to pick up the kids, they wouldn't let me in.

I had grown a backbone and no one was going to take them away again. I showed them the judge's denial and told them if I was denied access to my children, I would sue them. I took them home. 

When mediation came, my ex tried to paint me as some crazy person. They didn't buy it. Custody arrangements changed drastically and now he was paying me child support. 

But it wasn't over. Not by a long shot. He kept me in court for the next eleven years serving me papers on a yearly basis. It became a kind of sick joke between Jim and me. If it's springtime it must be the process server.  Every year he lost a little bit more time with the kids and paid more support. But having every decision, vacation, or summer camp time challenged in a court setting was aggravating and stressful. 

Even my mother said, "When does this guy go away?" Turns out, not for a long time. The destruction he caused to my life, my children's childhood, and turns out, other people's lives as well, cannot be understated. It seemed that everything good and joyous he either neutralized or outright ruined.  Maybe it's not cool to say this but I fucking hated that guy. Now, not so much. It pains me to see what one grown daughter in particular goes through to get his approval, but I say nothing. She needs to find her own path and truth.

My New Husband Has Narcissistic Parents Too!

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law, and, even then, if I could have been certain to haunt her - but I won't dwell on those trifling family matters. - Lord Byron

Jim and I decided to get married in December and planned for a June wedding. We wanted something simple with just a few friends and family members. The problem was, after three years, Jim had still not introduced me to his parents or sister. I had met his brother who seemed pretty normal so I couldn't figure out what the problem was. Was it me or them? Turns out, them.

In April I finally insisted on meeting his parents. His reaction was to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and quietly say "Okay."

It was all arranged and he parked in front of a lovely home in Saratoga. Jim's mother greeted me politely but just a trifle on the cool side. Then he brought me into his Dad's music room who flung out his hand and said, Hi, I'm Jim Bell!"
I smiled, "the first!"
He said, "the only."

I looked at Jim in confusion. Strange to deny the existence of his son to his fiance. Maybe he just said the wrong thing, people do that when they're nervous. Just forget it, I thought.

His sister was a different matter. The same age as me, Susan was loud, bragged about her accomplishments in the kitchen while putting down her husband's, and struck me as a terrible bore. Something was off in this house. His mom seemed to be in her own world, Jim Sr. and Susan vied to see who could top each other in grandstanding, and no interest whatsoever was expressed in Jim or his life. No one asked me single question about myself.

It turned out they took one look at me and summed up my entire being: character traits, political and religious beliefs, personal likes and dislikes. They were not ascertained from any factual sources. Many of these invented traits were completely off but they stood by them defiantly. They knew exactly who I was.

Both sets of parents refused to attend our wedding. My ex also refused to allow my children to go. Only four people attended our little wedding at a beautiful B&B in Rutherford CA, in the Napa Valley wine country. We all went out for dinner at Trevigne in St Helena and had a great time. The weekend was all the time we could take off and we were back at work Monday morning.

The situation was peculiar. At work everyone was happy for us. Our families were a different matter. I wanted his family to like me, but they never would no matter what I did. It was a decision made at the outset of our marriage and carried through up until now. I was to see another side of narcissism, this time from Jim's point of view. They surrounded themselves in a cloud of superficiality and, like my mom, appearances were everything. His father was a self-absorbed blowhard and his mother, a snake. I was shocked to realize she hated Jim. For absolutely no discernible reason.

Nice people from good families can't wrap their heads around that one. I honestly wish I was one of them. The two of us came from the exact same situation. Same circus, different clowns. Where religion was of paramount importance to my family, cooking was to Jim's. Each was held up as the pinnacle of human existence. Through each other's family we saw behind the bullshit to the conditional acceptance (never love) we experienced with our own. We began to wake up to the fact that the way we were treated had nothing to do with who we were.

The bonds between us strengthened.

The Wacky World of Spiritual Warfare

A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy? 
― Albert Einstein

My mom saw the evil in the world and became convinced it was the work of Satan. She began convening with like minded Christians and soon plunged into the spiritual warfare movement. Finding demons and casting them out of people became her top priority and no one escaped scrutiny from her Satan-probing eyes. Soon her counselling sessions ended with the "warfare prayer" and seminars were planned. Speakers, authors, and hundreds of people showed up to listen to Dr. Ed Murphy and other "experts" talk about demons. I was  roped into helping out with box lunches and selling books by Mark Bubeck, Neil Anderson, and Warren Weirsbe. I stood with my mom during her private conversations with some of them and got an earful of crazy. 

They loved telling each other shocking stories of casting demons out of people and how demons manifested themselves. The more dramatic, the better. Of course nothing was verifiable and I didn't believe a word of it. Satan was blamed for character defects, emotional problems, even a lost job. They strongly advised people to avoid "humanistic" therapy or psychologists because it was Satan's work. These charlatans peddled the same message: buy my books, say the prayers I wrote, and the demons will run away like little girls. Voila! Your life will be perfect. They openly taught the virtue of paranoia and were all kooks as far as I was concerned.

My mom got very vocal about this new calling and word about this new ministry was spreading fast. Some of my Christian friends (the few I had left) would ask bemusedly, "So. How's your mom?" I would just look down while rubbing my forehead. She really went off the rails during those years. Every conversation, every family gathering included Satan and his evil cohorts lurking about. It was mortifying.

The one good thing that came of it was that it was indirectly responsible for my decision to remarry. Jim and I had been dating for a couple years by now and it was a comfortable relationship. I had no idea where it was going and didn't care. I lived from day to day. He knew that my mom was some bigwig Christian but I refused to give any details. One night he was adamant.

"What does your mom do?"

It was time to come clean. "She casts demons out of people"

Without skipping a beat he said, "So...do you look in the Yellow pages for something like that?"

I laughed, hard. I was impressed and relieved he could handle something like this. It occurred to me that I could marry him and things would be ok. He was a good guy. 

Maybe it wasn't the most conventional way of choosing a marriage partner, but after twenty-one years, I think it was spot on.

Jesus Is Present In Our Suffering

Welcome to your life; there's no turning back - Tears For Fears

My divorce was final soon after I moved into my small, rented room in a large Victorian house at the heart of downtown San Jose. The feeling of freedom was incredible. I was on my own for the first time in my life, answering to no one. After work I could sleep until the next morning if I chose, and for the first several weeks, did just that. After a time I was able to stay up for a couple hours, then another. I was on the road to recovery.

I met my first Buddhists here in this house. One did a fair amount of chanting and when I expressed interest in her altar, she explained what all the items symbolized. It was my first real look into a non-theistic religion and was slightly surprised that she did not proselytize. Both young women had intense personal issues, like me, so it seemed more like a curiosity than an answer.

As strength returned so did pangs of guilt over my children. I missed them terribly and felt like a failure for leaving them behind. My ex had hired a divorce lawyer and while in my weakened state I signed away custody and agreed upon an order to pay child support. The $250.00 dollars a month was almost a third of my take home pay. I wanted to do this, at least it was something for my children but any satisfaction was not to be.

My ex dropped the kids off on Saturday mornings and once a month I gave him the child support in cash. When picking the kids up later that day he would show me his new leather jacket, boots, etc. while saying with great amusement, "You like these? It cost $250.00."

But I had bigger problems. My simple expenses were still not enough to buy even a reasonable amount of food. I budgeted carefully but still, no dice. I began to ration food to survive from day to day. On a good day I could eat two rudimentary meals. Cereal for breakfast and pasta with a bit of butter and cheese for dinner. Lunch was a no-go. Jim took me out to dinner two or three times a week to Spaghetti Factory or Henry's Hi Life. The rest of the time I ate stale bread.

The briefly attended Pentecostal church had a food bank and I called to see if I could sign up. Unfortunately they were unable to squeeze me in but if I could come down after hours, they would give me a few items on a one time basis.  A few items ended up being a trunk full of meat, cereal, milk, granola bars, chocolate, and many, many other items. They were the poorest church I had ever been to and by far the most generous. The carefully rationed food kept me going for weeks. After that I continued on the slow road to starvation.

A lovely concept that brings a marvelous sense of comfort to millions of Christians is that Jesus is present in our sufferings. Just imagine. When I am in pain, Jesus is right there, suffering along with me as on the cross where he died for my sins. In my opinion, it is the finest teaching in all of the Christian belief system.

But where was he? It was a cold hard fact that I was experiencing all this pain as a direct result of losing his covering of blessing. At that time, I completely believed this to be true. But I was starting to see things more clearly. Why not perfect, it was beginning to occur to me that this "punishment" was a little over the top. And just how do I get his covering back? Where was the peaceful passage that I was promised to have throughout life if I just had faith? Was is ever really there to begin with? I felt conflicted as I began to resent a God who could reject me after a lifetime of faith and service for issues that were becoming more and more clear were not my fault. On the other hand, I loved God and wanted him  to love me again. Oh wait. He never stopped loving me, he was doing this for my own good.

My long term health problem is a heart murmur brought on by severe anemia. The short term problem was that I could not feed my children on Saturdays. The situation became desperate and I had no choice. I dialed my mom's number. She was smug when I explained the situation.

"Good! Maybe now you'll go back to your husband, where you belong."

I was weary. "We're divorced, Mom."

"Not in the eyes of God!"

I tried the direct approach. "So I was wondering if we could all come over this Saturday."

"Oh!" She wanted to see the kids.

So starting that week and every week for the next three years she picked us up on Saturday morning and we spent the day there. There was plenty of food and goodies for the kids and the pool was kept in working order. My mom bought toys and videos (mostly Bible stories) and the kids learned to swim. Maranatha Christian Ministries was taking off and she spent most of the day on the phone or counselling. She was so excited about her non-profit organization that my sins were almost off the radar and I enjoyed some relative peace.

She still dreamed of a reconciliation but my relationship with Jim was a real problem. He was not a Christian and that was simply unacceptable. My salvation from her skewed visions for my life came from an unlikely source. My older brother.

One afternoon my mom started going into a usual, "If you just went to counseling," spiel.
My brother spoke up. "Mom, they've been divorced for three years, why can't you just accept it?"

And just like that, it was over and never spoken of again. Thanks, Bro, I owe you one.

Being Part of the Group, K&L Style

Be who you are and say how you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. - Dr Seuss

I had been a respected and contributing member of a group, the church. But it was a well known fact that if any weakness or failure appeared in someone, they would be rejected outright without compunction. That was the expected norm and obviously my own experience. To assume Christians would rally around someone in trouble was a naive and fictitious dream.    

One of my jobs was to field calls for the sales reps. They spent most of their time on the phone talking to various shops around the country, selling products and in their words. "shooting the shit". I took lots of messages for callbacks.  One day, a guy wanted to talk to his sales rep now and began screaming at me. I could have hung up the phone but didn't. He ended his rant with, "You got that, cunt?"

I dropped the receiver in shock. No one had ever called me such a vile name before and I began to cry. My nerves were still so jagged that I could not stop. People began to notice. The sales manager eventually called me into the company owner's office and I followed, still crying, convinced that I was about to be fired.

Instead, they sat me down and asked who was on the phone. Then I was told to repeat exactly what he said to me. Still sobbing I told them. When I got to the cunt part both men flinched. The owner angrily asked who the sales rep was and Jon was brought in for questioning. The sales manager asked him what this customer was like.

Glancing over at me, still in tears, Jon said, "He's an asshole."

After dismissing him the owner said, "We don't need people like that." The manager nodded and they both looked at me. "Pull yourself together and go back to work." I scooted, relieved to still have my job. The entire building was strangely quiet for the rest of the day.

The next morning I was met by the front office receptionist who excitedly told me they had dropped that shop from their customer base. Jon had called and told him directly. At that moment another sales rep emerged from the smoky salesroom..

"Hey cunt!" My eyes got big and my lips began to quiver. He boomed out laughing, clapped me on the shoulder, and walked away. Soon another rep called me cunt. And another. It went on and on all day long. These guys were demonstrating their own brand of camaraderie by trying to toughen me up. It worked like a charm. After being called cunt about three hundred times that day I can honestly say, vile speech has zero power to hurt me. Later on while passing out messages in the salesroom there were a few choice comments.

"We don't need fucking assholes in this business."

"No one talks to our girls that way. Only we can!" Laughter.

Since they worked on commission, I was concerned about Jon losing money. "Nah," he said. "He didn't do much business anyways. Plus, now I don't have to talk to that asshole again."

It was official. The guy was an asshole.

My burden felt lighter after that day.

The Sinful, Going-To-Hell Non Christians Who Helped Put Me Back Together

Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company - Mark Twain

My breakdown was never acknowledged or treated. Healing required rest which was impossible around the almost constant criticism and pressure to go back to my husband.  Frayed nerves were snapping one by one at my parent's home. People at church shunned me and most would not even speak except to condescendingly say they would pray for me. Not one person expressed concern or offered a helping hand.

I stopped attending Los Gatos Christian which was just fine with my parents. I was an embarrassment to them. Work seemed a reasonable escape and I soon found a low-key receptionist job for a company that sold after market products and tools for motorcycles.

Finally out of that toxic bubble, my eyes opened wide at the discovery of the real world.

K&L Supply was memorable for two main reasons. Most importantly, meeting the man who I would eventually marry. And secondly,  for the first time I was spending time working closely with "worldly" people. They were fantastic.

My co-workers were friendly and welcomed me warmly. Talk centered mainly around motorcycles for guys and the usual relationship/kids talk for women.  The men talked loudly, laughed loudly, and swore freely with great aplomb. Most of them smoked and, unlike my father who hid his from prying church eyes, their desks sported overflowing ashtrays in full view. Religious and moral issues were never spoken of and no interest was expressed in the state of the nation's soul.

What really floored me was their response at why the kids did not live with me. When questions came, I was  afraid they would reject me when my failings as a mother were revealed.  Incredibly, no one thought I was a terrible person or judged me or my motives. Instead, they were genuinely concerned and told me everything would be ok. It is difficult to express my astonishment and relief at this unexpected compassion.

It was about this time I had my first epiphany about Christianity. It was the realization that if people like the ones in my church were going to Heaven and the ones at work, including Jim, were going to Hell, I rather go down with my co-workers. The thought of spending eternity with those smug, self-righteous phonies at church was revolting.

It gave me strength. Not physical strength. Exhaustion dogged me and the craving to just lie down and sleep was overpowering.  My parents refused to drive me to work and my husband had kept both cars so I took the bus and walked several blocks which added four hours to my day. Jim, my future husband, was renting a place pretty cheaply downtown which was very close to work. I wondered if my life would be easier if I lived downtown as well.

For the first time in my life, I acted on my own behalf without consulting anyone or praying for guidance. I was twenty-five years old.

The Center Cannot Hold

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? - Jesus

Although I liked SJSU and my classes, it did not alter any of my belief systems significantly. It was simply to large, the culture was too different, and I was struggling to survive at home. I went to church only sporadically and felt very disconnected from all things spiritual.

My mother was going through a metamorphoses. She got more involved in Women's Bible Study and was soon teaching it. She began counselling women and was shocked at how many had suffered from childhood sexual abuse. This was back in the day when no one talked about those things. She was pretty busy and happy with her work but when people started telling me how blessed I was to have such a wonderful mother, I flinched inwardly.

I started seeing a guy and he asked me to marry him. Though we were ill-suited, it seemed a way out of my problems at home. Maybe this was what God planned for me all along. Inwardly though, I was in turmoil. Not wanting to stay at home and not wanting to marry this guy ate at me. He belonged to a Pentecostal Church which weirded me out. A small church with mostly lower middle class, upper poor members, they wore cheap flowered dresses and hats while singing rousing verses of Count Your Blessings. They spoke in tongues, danced, and every service was a chaotic mess.

My mom was thrilled. She planned the wedding and I basically attended. Within weeks I realized that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. Still, I married in good faith and was determined to make it a good one. I wanted to be happy.

I had three children in rapid succession. They were my little angels and I felt such a great love for them that I almost felt God was blessing me again. I was grateful and awestruck at these wondrous little people. However, close pregnancies had worn me out physically. I grew thin and my hair was like straw. Exhaustion followed me every moment of every day. Worse, my marriage turned out to be a nightmare. My husband was violent and cheated on me often. I tried to be the perfect Christian wife and mother but nothing seemed to help.

Since my mom was turning into somewhat of a godly woman to others, I thought I tried to confide in her. No dice. She was practically gleeful at my problems and called me "weak". No help was forthcoming there. No babysitting, no help with cleaning, and especially not an encouraging word. Some of my friends also married young and the difference between their moms and mine was a stark contrast. My mom actually laughed at my problems and found an ally in my husband. She encouraged him to take biblical roles of headship which basically meant I do everything and he does nothing. I was told again and again that all his failings were my fault, I wasn't good enough to keep him good. Or, she would just revert to an old favorite. "Well, you married him."

Things were taking a decidedly sadistic turn.

Doing all the work has a different connotation for the Christian woman. The standards are unbelievably high, set to perfection. The house had to be perfectly clean all the time just in case people dropped in and believe me, they did. The children had to be perfectly clean, act perfectly, and be dressed perfectly. One was also expected to be hospitable and have a wonderfully cooked lunch, dinner, snack ready for guests at the drop of a hat. Church was a test of godly womanhood. If your children were not well dressed or god forbid, misbehaved, then maybe you weren't a very good Christian. I kid you not. God and his followers are tough taskmasters. My mother once dropped in at the 5:00 chaos time when the kids were at their loudest and actually wiped her finger across my furniture and shook her head at me disapprovingly. The strange thing was that I actually felt guilty. I was becoming more and more isolated from society and these were the only voices I heard.

I was proud of my children and personally did not mind the mess, if you could call it that. I most certainly was not going to beat them into perfect behavior robot children, as my father suggested. They were naturally happy and didn't get into mischief or disobey. But they were children and the constant care coupled with a horrible marriage and constant criticism for not being perfect were taking its toll. It was becoming more and more obvious that I could not go on. I was down to just over 100 pounds and looked like a skeleton. My mom took a sick delight in watching me circle the drain while telling me how I was not a good Christian woman. I was vulnerable and she was going for the jugular.

For many people, it is difficult to understand how a person could be a godly while an absolutely horrible human being to those at home or to one person in particular. How do you explain the fact that a woman who teaches the Bible and the love of Jesus would psychologically torture their own child and grab control of her life to ensure failure? The simple way is to deny it outright  and I have heard the facts of what happened to me contradicted more times than I can count. But there are some who know exactly what goes on, who have experienced the same or similar, who nod sadly in agreement with closed eyes. Most have parents in a religious leadership role.

But is it the person or the religious lifestyle that creates monsters? It's an interesting sociological topic to explore.

Recently I called my mother to wish her a happy eightieth birthday. She has been out of leadership for many years and, now with significant health issues, is content to read to the kids in the church daycare, watch her period movies on TV (she loves Pride and Prejudice), and watch life happen from afar.

"Jaim! I'm so glad to hear from you!" We chatted for a bit. The topic for the day is that I've finally been accepted into a nursing program which starts in a couple months. She is very proud and excited for me. During the course of the conversation I mentioned that someone stole my stethoscope from work. She asked me how much it will cost to replace it. When I named a figure she informed me she would be sending a check for twice that amount so I could get a really good one.

But I digress.

One day I could go no further. The donkey sat down. After receiving permission from my father, I called my husband and told him to come take care of the kids. I was going to stay at my parents house for a while. My mom was on a trip so maybe I could have a few days of peace and quiet. Instead of being supportive or concerned he told me that if I left, then I was to never come back. I said ok.

My mother was furious that I left my husband and children. My spectacular failure was a PR disaster. What would people think? And worse, what if I told people of her role in this fiasco? She called me into her office and railed for over an hour while I shivered in horror at the vicious condemnation of my irresponsible acts. I totally believed her. I was a disgraceful person, a failure as a Christian wife and mother, and did not deserve to have children. She concluded her tirade with the command, "Now go home to your husband."

For many years my life consisted of hate, betrayal, and abuse. Exhaustion made it physically impossible to care for my beloved children. I said quietly, "I'm not going back."

Her face was scornful. "You are going to Hell."

Utterly defeated I stood there for a moment. The verdict had been announced and the sentence delivered. I was guilty. There was only one thing left to say. "So be it."

Things Fall Apart

I'm tellin' y'all, it's a sabotage - Beastie Boys

I was now a senior in High School and looking forward to going away to college. It was my focus, my dream, and my salvation from an extremely dysfunctional home life. Of course I would be attending a Christian college. My father had promised full tuition to any college I chose and was adamant that I not work to concentrate on my studies. I toured different colleges on the west coast but was unhappy that most required students to sign a type of morality contract. That included no movies, dancing, even card playing. I was insulted at this level of control and dismissed those particular colleges as potential candidates.

Finally I found Westmont College down in Southern California. It had a beautiful campus, the kids seemed normal (for me), and no contracts were required. I filled out the application and was accepted on the spot. I came home to give my dad the good news who immediately informed me that college tuition was not in his budget. It was past time to apply for a scholarship or grant and I had never had a job. I could not go. Just like that my dreams to leave for college vanished like a vapor.

Of course my mother was behind it, I knew that. The horror of her treachery fell on me like a ton of bricks. God, that woman hated me. She smirked while saying I was sinning at being angry with her.Waving my other friends goodbye as they left for various colleges was tough, especially those going to Westmont.  All my plans for a healthy new life were shattered. The shocking realization of just how sheltered my life was was that I had no idea how to support myself. So I had to live at home. With her.

I stopped getting my period and felt truly afraid for the first time in my life. My faith had gotten me exactly nowhere.

There was no escape.

The Courtship of Religion and Politics

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. - Shakespeare, Macbeth Act IV, Scene I

Some of us can actually remember a time when Christians cared for others, when knowing Jesus was to change your life in a positive way, and when church was a hopeful and welcoming place.  Not that it was perfect. There were always people around who wanted to build walls around the church, dig proverbial moats, and guard it as though it were under attack. They just seemed to be in the minority and kept well under control by more progressive people.

In the late seventies the Moral Majority became a real political powerhouse. Its nutty costars included Francis Schaeffer, James Dobson with his Focus On The Family, Bill Gothard, and Tim LeHaye who would go on to co-author the Left Behind series. LeHaye really hated secular humanists. ""We're in a religious war and we need to aggressively oppose secular humanism; these people are as religiously motivated as we are and they are filled with the devil."

Through books, sermons, and films, they gradually began to mount conspiracy theories about how America, and yes, Christianity was under attack from the evil Secular Humanists. They were out to destroy our minds and faith and had to be stopped. We were shown films depicting the horror of their evil plans and paranoia replaced joy in church.

Soon it turned political. We had to vote out this evil regime and now.  Cards that told people how to vote appeared in the pews. Every issue was thought out for you and surprise, all were Republican. Pulpits became platforms for political speeches. How they managed to keep their tax exempt status is a mystery. Someone must have eventually said something because the voter cards disappeared from the pews and were left under windshield wipers.

Everyone was talking about how bad welfare was, the evils of abortion (before this I hadn't even known what an abortion was), and the gays. Oh, those gays! At one point they sent people out door to door to educate the public about this new threat to civilization. My dad signed up to go and took a very unwilling me along. Some people were on board with getting those vile sinners off the face of the earth and told us about it in gleefully vicious detail. Others, quiet and polite, told us of friends or relatives that were gay and that they supported them fully. Confusion and shame swept over me. It woke me up to the question, "Who's side am I on?" I think my dad felt the same way because that awful day was never repeated.

Now I could smell that rat festering inside my beloved church. People were getting carried away with paranoia which was quickly turning to anger and judgmental attitudes. Every conceivable issue was drummed up and placed in the good or evil category. On the way to church I wondered what they would be angry about today. Functioning at that level of emotion caused turmoil and discord amongst church brethren and the truth was, I didn't care about most of the issues. I was even (gasp) neutral on many. Abortion was supposed to raise my righteous ire but quite frankly, I just couldn't muster it up. What really set me apart was my refusal to join in any activities designed to help the growing national crusade to legislate morality. My parents also steered clear from this monster so I received no pressure from the home front.

What worried me was that we were moving farther away from the teachings of Jesus. Maybe I should be proud I didn't fall for the bs, but at that time I just felt alone. My parents were Democrats and refused to become Republicans. Even with all the problems I have to say, they truly believed in helping the poor. I respected that. So they had to hide their political affiliations as this movement swept across America and engulfed the Protestant Church.

Nothing has been the same since.

On The Homefront

If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. - Mother Teresa

Life at home was not going well. My younger brother had chosen a life of drugs and was spiraling out of control. Those who have a drug addict in the family know all too well the bomb that blows up the family structure. My father was drinking as well, though he had it together for work and church. He was a mean drunk. Some of my friends knew some of the story but it was unwise to reveal too much. Any weakness was perceived as ungodliness and an excuse to be shunned. And I needed my friends more than ever.

My relationship with my mother went south at this time. She was angry with me and aloof for reasons unknown to me. I was the one child who seemed to be doing everything right. I did well in school, stayed out of trouble, and participated happily in church functions. I didn't sass my parents, rebel, and honestly wanted to be a good person and Christian. I truly wanted a good relationship with my mom, to confide in her, and have her support. Many of my friends went to lunch and shopping with their moms and talked until late in the night. I wanted a relationship like that and it hurt to be rejected. Years later I realized that she was jealous of me. You see, everywhere we went I managed to fit in, find nice people, and make friends. I like people and am very interested in them. Things were to change later on, but for now, I was quite happy with my life.  Outside home that is.

I dreaded being at home during this time. To say it was not a happy place is a gross understatement. I had to endure merciless verbal assaults for no conceivable reason. I was told I was bad, going to Hell, and that I was "weak". No infractions were cited, it was more of a constant raising of the bar. I was a laid back person and these attacks freaked me out.

My antidote to that poison was to stay active. I joined the choir and miraculously, was picked for a small singing group. My weeks were booked. I had practice after school for whatever sport I could join. Volleyball was my favorite. Then on Monday nights I had small group choir practice, Wednesday night Bible Study, Thursday night regular choir practice, Friday night out with friends and my older brother, and Sunday spent all day at church.

My mother was livid and wanted to curtail my activities but at the same time considered me the jewel in her crown of perfect Christian family. She smiled if someone praised me but I was in for it later at home. It was devastating to know that she really wanted to hurt me. Envy is a scary thing. Psychology was considered a humanistic approach to problems so it was off limits. I remained completely baffled at why this woman seemed to actually hate me. The church I loved and enjoyed now became a sort of refuge. My mom could not touch me as long as I stayed involved.

I could endure this until college.

God Loves You And Has A Wonderful Plan For Your Life

Reason should be destroyed in all Christians - Martin Luther

Los Gatos Christian Church was like nothing I had ever seen before. The membership had just topped five thousand, a number they were extremely proud of. They laughed and joked on the pulpit and (gasp!) clapped when the choir sang. I was shocked at this blasphemy of giving others the glory and was told to relax. One family from school attended this church and the daughter and I were good friends. So we hung out together.

The high school group had five hundred students and I was overwhelmed with the size and structure. The teaching, not as much. I was well schooled in the Bible and could not help but point out errors with the pablum lectures I heard every Sunday morning.  At school and my other church I was getting comfortable with a rigid belief system that was comprised of black and white outlooks on life. There was no gray. Period.

When one of the high school ministers talked to me he was impressed at my knowledge of the Bible and invited me to join the prestigious Service Ministry Training Corps. It was a class for more advanced Christian high school students and even though I was too young to join, they made an exception for me. SMTC was a revelation. Although the teaching was more advanced, we focused on Jesus and doing good in the world. I took trips, one to British Columbia  and another to Arizona to help missionaries there in various ways.  We were praising Jesus and it was good. Best still, it knocked me off my path to becoming a rigid Christian asshole and showed me how to be a real one.

In the late seventies I sang in the immense choir at the Billy Graham Crusade in San Jose. People came forward by the thousands to accept Jesus in their hearts. The sinner's prayer always mystified me. How can a few spoken words save your soul from Hell? This was the time of ministers railing against backward Satanic messages on rock albums. Wasn't this a type of witchcraft? At the very least it was magical thinking.

SMTC was the only place I was ever allowed to ask tough questions without penalties. We could even express doubt and disagreement. And believe me, when it came to the doctrine of Hell and how only Christians were going to Heaven it got pretty hot. We were not a roomful of dummies and the simple logic, not to mention the total lack of Gods great compassion astounded us. In time however, all the hubbub was smoothed over and quieted down by that magical, wonderful word that solves all the problems.....faith. We had many lessons on the meaning of faith, Hebrew 11, and biographies of great men and women of the Bible who lived lives of great faith. God was with them, rewarded them, blessed them.

He would do the same for us if we just had faith.

Calvinism: A Visit To The Dark Side

"Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.". - Shakespeare, Hamlet (Act II, Scene II).

After getting a church and Christian school recommendations, my parents moved us across country feeling secure. The reality turned out quite differently. The Grace Church in San Jose was run by basically one large family and their rigid moral codes stunned even my parents. After starting school and finding out where other families went, we switched to Covenant Orthodox Presbyterian Church which was less rigid than the previous, but more so than the OPC back east. However, many of my new friends were there so I felt this was my new home.

I was learning that to belong, one had to conform to the structure. I had seen people practically excommunicated for being "different".  They were called names and shunned for growing spiritually and altering their beliefs even in the slightest degree. My own spiritual education continued and I was gradually exposed to the dark sides of Christian belief systems. Namely Calvinism.  Calvinism is a system of belief invented by John Calvin and is based upon the five point T-U-L-I-P.

Total depravity
Unconditional Election
Limited Atonement
Irresistible Grace
Perseverance of the Saints

Whoa! I was just a Sophomore in High School but I had serious problems with this. The doctrine of predestination is a cruel one but strangely, seemed to appeal to some Christians. I carefully spoke to my friends about their beliefs and knew their answers to be simple parroting of their parents beliefs. I realized predestination was the justification for lack of compassion for others and was disturbed that other people's eternal souls could be so casually written off. This was not sounding like Jesus.

Another gem was the last days doctrine. Back then you could choose between premillenialism, postmillenialism, or amillenialism and still be considered a Christian. Very democratic of them. It was carefully explained to us what each meant before being informed that we were postmillenialists. Whatever.

I was getting excellent grades at school but in Bible class, now called Doctrine, we were allowed no questions that pertained to our belief systems. Not only was it off limits, but they would call your parents if you asked a particularly difficult one. It was considered to be a challenge of authority and disrespectful. Gender roles were introduced. Although  girls were encouraged to do well at school, their assumed role in life was to be wives and mothers. Many women I went to school with have decades later never held down even a part time job. Little by little I was indoctrinated to accept and yes, embrace these teachings.

When my parents decided to change churches once again, I strongly resisted. Even with all the problems, I simply did not want to leave my friends again. They were really fun and I belonged to the group.  I believed in Jesus and didn't care about weird doctrine. But it was no use and we were carted off to Los Gatos Christian Church.

My Parent's Conversion: The Beginning of Change

“Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.” 

― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

My brothers and I attended Sunday school at Grace Church for many years. My mom would drop us off in the morning and afterwards we walked the two and a half blocks home in good weather. For my little friends in class it was a different matter as they had to go to church afterwards with their parents. I considered myself lucky to escape that. However, at one point around the sixth grade my mom decided that she was coming back to church. I do not know what preceded this decision.

She joined the choir and suddenly we were required to attend church services. Since we did not understand what was going on, I would have been happy to be seated in the middle of the congregation, or preferably, in the back. But my mom, with the fervor of a new believer, placed us up in the front row to the sympathy of my little friends who were luckier in their seating arrangements.

There were other changes as well. After finding out that a couple of families read a chapter of the Bible every night after dinner we were also required to. And yes, we slogged through the so-and-so begat so-and-so chapters in the Old Testament.

All that was missing was the patriarch to preside over this newly formed Christian family. My mom started an all out campaign to convert my dad. He was a tough nut to crack but after a visit from the pastor, he bowed his head and accepted Jesus into his heart. Finally we could go to church and look just like everyone else. However, the bar was raised still higher. Suddenly we were being compared to other church kids and not favorably. Everyone was better than us and we had to step up the Christian program. My mom began using what was known as "the heavy sigh" followed by a dramatic slump of the shoulders to communicate just how disappointed she was in us. It was a favorite used at Christmas and other holidays. It was perplexing and no one knew what she wanted. Open presents in a more godly way?

Morning services were interminably long and boring. Evenings were a bit better since the custom was to let the kids sit wherever they wanted, usually in the back, and play when the parents visited after church. We had the pastor and his wife over for dinner and were fitting in nicely with the rest of the church.

The summer before I started the eighth grade my dad brought us kids together in the kitchen and said he had signed us up for the Christian school where most of the churchgoers sent their kids. I was not happy at first but quickly adapted to my new school and for the most part, enjoyed my new life. After all, even with the limited once-a-week exposure, I had known all these kids since first grade.

The Bible classes exposed me to a more rigid structure of belief and although I had questions, I did not ask them or in any way challenge my teachers. My friends seemed to accept everything that was taught so I just went along. They made sure we had lots of fun and kept us busy in many ways and honestly, I was too young to think critically for myself.

After just one year my father announced we were moving all the way across the country to California. It seemed as though change and adapt was going to be my modus operandi.

My Childhood With Jesus

Why don't you come with me little girl, on a magic carpet ride? - Steppenwolf

I grew up in a family with a Catholic Dad and Protestant (Baptist) Mom. My earliest memories are of a picture of Jesus, the one above, hanging on my bedroom wall. I was naturally a happy child, intelligent, and highly imaginative. Neither outgoing nor introverted, I divided my time between playtime with friends, voracious reading, and daydreaming. My inner world was filled with magical creatures and places; it was there I found a safe place.

My parents were not very religious in those days and I don't remember going to church when I was very small. They began attending Holy Trinity Catholic Church when we moved to Westfield, NJ. I had no idea what was going on and my confusion continued when I was sent to CCD. I thought the priest was God! Unknown to me, my mother was meeting with that same priest to become fully Catholic. After hearing about the doctrine of Purgatory she talked to my Dad, who at that time had no interest in religious matters, and asked him if she could bring the kids to a Protestant church. He was fine with it, so she went looking.

So when I was six years old my brothers and I began attending Sunday School at Grace Orthodox Presbyterian Church. It was there I met Jesus. He was loving and gentle and died for our sins. Since I sometimes did bad things I got the sin part but did not understand how he actually had to DIE to make them right. A spanking and getting sent to my room seemed enough for my parents. I figured he had to go this far because there were some really bad people. And although I was introduced to the concept of Hell, the Sunday School teachers wisely did not make a big deal of it.

Basically all the children K-6 met in the big hall downstairs, sang some songs and then broke up into grade levels where we were taught a Bible lesson, recited our memorized Bible verse for a prize, and had a snack. When we graduated from sixth grade we went upstairs with the older children. We had Friday Night Fun and Game night, summer camp, and hymnsings at the pastors house. We played volleyball, had incredibly creative Christmas pageants (thanks to an art teacher member), and sleepovers. It sounds pretty basic but considering the indoctrination levels of today's churches, very healthy and fun. Church was a good place.

Unfortunately it did not last...

The Peaceful Passage

This is a new blog to record my journey from Christianity to Buddhism and hopefully, some of the insights I get along the way. In no way do I wish to slam my once revered religion, but examining certain aspects realistically is crucial for an accurate discernment. I know many, many good people who are living good and compassionate lives. And although his role in my life has changed profoundly, I still love Jesus. I will always love Jesus.


I have a unique perspective by being both Protestant and Catholic at different times of my life. Theological and hierarchical problems in both reared their heads as soon as I was able to think critically. Much was neutralized by the good people in both churches. The rest was brought in line with dire threats instilled in us by those who exploit faith to achieve power. So it took years, decades really, to separate myself fully from the teachings. I was introduced to Buddhism about ten years ago by a Catholic priest and it gently took over my heart. My story will probably sound familiar to some, completely alien to others. And that's ok.