by Tess Willoughby

September 11, 2001. This dark day united all Americans in horror, in terror, and in pain.

With at least one exception: Nate Willoughby.

I found out that our country had been attacked using our own commercial aircraft when my mother called me from town and said, “Turn on the news.” Her tone of voice suggested the worst of the worst of the worst: so awful that you didn’t ask “what channel?” because it didn’t matter what channel. The president had been assassinated. There was some horrific, unthinkable natural disaster, probably in Virginia. Something so bad she couldn’t say it.

I hung up, turned on the TV and watched the Twin Towers burn, holding the phone in my hand.

The phone rang. I hit the answer button. Nate lit into me about how I needed to come back to him and I was in rebellion against God and would probably go to hell.

I swallowed and sat on the floor and said, “Are you aware that terrorists have attacked New York City? The World Trade Center is burning!”

Nate said, “Who cares. We’re talking about my life.”

I hung up on him and sobbed and choked in front of the TV until I didn’t have any more strength to cry. How mean and insane was my husband? How would I ever get away from this vindictive bastard without being destroyed? Was Nate even human? Was my country’s government about to fall? How many more planes had been hijacked, and what would blow up next? It felt as though my own personal hell had unleashed national horrors and worldwide chaos. The lid had blown off life itself and nothing venerable, nothing precious, nothing good could stand. My own personal, religious zealot terrorist had gone global somehow and the world was burning and crumbling to the ground; nothing and nobody was safe from crazy men with extreme religious agendas.

Post-traumatic stress does funky things with your brain. That September, I believed that I had landed in a world without personal boundaries, without national security: a world of merciless anarchy where freedom was not only impossible but a joke and and an illusion. A world where terrorists could strike anywhere and nightmarish, ruinously expensive court hearings never ended, but God was silent. I believed that I could lose absolutely everything, even my nation. If not for my parents, I would have lost my sanity.

My divorce lawyer had been worn down by Nate’s bullying to the breaking point. She was pushing me to agree to a no-fault divorce with all legal issues reserved for later. She would do nothing to get me any permanent alimony, nothing to get me any property, nothing to get me permanent custody of my children, nothing to help me with the personal injury suit, nothing at all except to sign a no-fault divorce decree now that the year-long waiting period was over.  She made it clear that I had no choice in this—in order to continue to represent me, she would have to hire additional staff to keep up with Nate, who had her completely buried in paperwork.

My lawyer was quitting, and she hated to bring it up but. . .I owed her $30,000.00. When my dad and I couldn’t pay any more, she put me on a payment plan. When we couldn’t make the payments, she turned me over to a collection agency. That collection agency, Chase and Citibank (Nate had credit cards in my name, remember?) called me every day.

Nate paid no child support, of course. He had a child support matter filed in court (the first of six), and was appealing the alimony, so would not be sending a dime while a decision or appeal was pending. Because the children and I were on public assistance, I got Legal Aid in Virginia Beach, but they would only help with the equitable distribution matter because of limited resources. On the custody/alimony/ child support matter, and the personal injury matter, I was on my own; I would have to drive six hours and represent myself.  Another lawyer in Virginia Beach was unaffordable.

Why so many matters? Why so many cases? you may be wondering. The judges found it more economical for the court to farm out the matters to multiple judges rather than one judge hearing the whole mess, since Nate files multiple motions per hearing and rants and raves for hours. Every separate matter in turn quickly became a legal swamp with its own morass of motions to respond to, discovery to answer, and subpoenas to move to quash. Litigating with Nate has always been like fighting the Hydra. You lop off one hearing but that hearing spawns three more hearings; answer one motion and get three more in the mail; quash one subpoena and get notice of three more. In Virginia, a lawyer can file his own subpoenas without going through any court, so Nate subpoenaed everything and everybody he could think of for every hearing. He quickly overwhelmed the whole judicial population of the Virginia Beach Circuit Court. The first judge, who returned Moriah to me after her dad kidnapped her out of school, stepped down after Nate filed a writ of mandamus against her with the Virginia Supreme Court.

Legal Aid got me nothing in equitable distribution except the stuff I ran away with. The judge ruled that I kept what I had in my possession and Nate kept what he had in his possession. Nate had taken out a second mortgage on our house without my knowledge, plus run up the debut on the credit cards, and so Nate persuaded the judge that in order to split the property 50/50, it was only fair that the marital debt also be divided 50/50. The judge bought this argument, and I got nothing. Not even the children’s toys.

This is going to sound idiotic but I’m going to say it anyway: even though I’m moderate now and voted for Barack Obama and probably will vote for him again, I can’t hate George W. Bush like so many of my good friends do. I detest the Patriot Act and hate the war even more, but I was on welfare with six little kids when the terrorists attacked and about to lose everything I owned in the courts. After 9/11, it was the president who gave me the reassurance that I might lose everything else—all my belongings and even eventually my children—but I wouldn’t lose my country. I’d still be American, and Americans have always been bullheaded enough to hang onto the faith that they can get free. No matter who or what is standing in the way.

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by 

The other day my husband came to me and confessed that sharing our story was just very painful for him to the point of tears. Out of love and respect for him I am submitting by not continuing to tell what we have been through. He did not ask me not to, but the last thing I want to do is hurt someone that I love so much. However, I would like to share where we are now, as how we got here really doesn’t matter. We choose to live from today and not let our past dictate who we are.

We no longer have an identity created by our marriage or our children. His identity is not bound to whether or not he is a perfect “leader” of his home. Mine is not tied to being the “perfect” wife and mother. We can never be those things. We could never achieve the perfection put forth by the Pearls, Doug Phillips, or any other mortal man. We were like beautiful tombs, but were dead inside. Our identity comes from trusting in the sacrifice of our Lord. The life I live is in faith, not faith in men, but faith in God. If my husband leaves I stand, if he stays I stand. We are who we are because It is finished, the work is done on our behalf.

This had given us freedom that we never knew. Before, we thought we had to be something or do something before our lives would be perfect. We had all these ideas from men, but when these ideas did not work out the way they promised we had to turn somewhere else. This compelled us to our answer, which was our faith. Is it perfect? No. We still stumble and misunderstand, but we have a peace now that was missing. We discovered through much study and prayer how we were supposed to treat each other. Not how some man said we should treat each other. We were in roles that were not intended for us to be in.

One thing we discovered is that we desire to be praised and worshiped. For me it was praise and honor that my marriage was intact and my kids well-behaved. Serving my family was not an act of love, but one of gaining praise for myself. A patriarchal dad is the center of his home or “kingdom”. He is worshiped by absolute obedience and getting his every desire. When our son began to rebel, and I was so unhappy in my marriage I was shattered. Everything I had worked for was not turning out the way I wanted. My husband was really unhappy trying to strive for this worship, because he was not created to be worshiped. He was created to worship.

We both felt condemned, because our life was not the perfect rosy picture of happiness religious men had told us it should be. We were condemned because our older children weren’t the picture of obedience, condemned because I worked out of the home, condemned for the music we listened to, and on and on. This unhappiness led us to the discovery of Romans 8:1-2. We had read it many times before but it never spoke to us. Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit has set me free from the law of sin and death. We had bound ourselves to the laws of men’s interpretation. So now we will stand in the knowledge that it is for freedom that Christ has set us free. We will stand firm, then, and not let ourselves be burdened again by the yoke of slavery.

We realized that Phillips and the Pearls really have a narrow vision that can’t be applicable universally. We believe God is universal and cross-cultural. We had separated ourselves from the “bad” influences of the world. We wanted to keep our family “protected”. We lived in fear, which was wrong, because perfect love casts away fear. When Jesus walked the earth many of his friends were whores and thieves. He loved these people. The “religious” people on the other hand were constantly subject to His wrath. We were the “religious.”  This was hard for us to accept about ourselves. We had scorned the very people that Jesus loved. Since then we have opened our lives to many more people, and have been greatly blessed. We are confident that He who began a good work will complete it no matter who is in our lives.

One of the most important things we have learned is not to take ourselves too seriously. This can lead to hurt feelings, resentment, and bitterness. So we consider each other and look not only to our own interest, but to the interest of each other. Bitterness can destroy a person, so we have been gifted with the ability to let things go that have happened to us or things that we really can’t control. We bear with each other and forgive because we have been forgiven.

Notice that I say we. This has been a journey that we have taken mutually, and for that we are grateful. Neither of us could have done it without the other, nor would we be where we are today without the other being on this journey. Do we have the perfect, rosy marriage? No, but our vision is much clearer. This allows us to walk together in love and unity. If the unity is broken we have the tools to fix it. We had no one but each other on this journey, and that was good. We have been to many marriage seminars in the past, but they never helped like just being with each other through our trials. We are so very cautious now about the advice of men. It is always filtered through each other, prayer, and scripture.

The hardest thing we had to deal with was being totally open and honest with each other. That is naked and unashamed. I am not talking about being physically clothed or not, but about who we truly are and how we truly feel. We were guilty of putting conditions on our love, both with each other and our children.  In the past we were afraid to share our true selves, because of the possible condemnation. Finally being able to do this with each other has been the best part of this journey. The comfort we feel around each other has made a powerful difference in our lives. I am truly a better person, because of my husband and his unconditional love.

This is simply our story, and is not meant for advice to anyone. We have had enough advice to last us for eternity. It is our wish that it be an encouragement.

I would like to thank Vyckie for her courage in starting this website. Krwordgazer you have filled in so many gaps in my understanding. You have been blessed with a wonderful gift. Journey, Africaturtle, Dragonfly, Mamaloo, Calalu you have encouraged me with your courage and determination. Keep it up. Tess, I so want your story to have a happy ending. We are survivors.

Discuss this post on the NLQ forum. Comments are also open below ~ please feel free to add your well-wishes to LivingForEternity and her family.

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by Tess Willoughby

Part Two: The Legal Aftermath

I fled to the farm where I grew up and spent several weeks just trying to get the fuzz out of my head. I went to the doctor, who diagnosed Abi with failure to thrive. I supplemented her with formula but continued to breastfeed, because for once I had the luxury of breastfeeding by my own lights, and I intended to enjoy it. I moved six kids, 9 years old and under, in with my mom and dad, who were absolute angels about it.  I do not remember either of them complaining even once.

What were Tess’s long-term plans? Did I want separation? Divorce? Neither? Was God angry with me? Could I ever go back? I just stumbled through the days, utterly numb. I could not feel the presence of God, which struck terror into my heart. I could not pray, and opening a Bible freaked me out. Where had my faith gone? What did I believe? My thoughts were like muddy water that must be filtered through normality until the water runs clear. It took a long time to get clear, and in the meantime, I made a very costly mistake.

I filed for legal separation but then withdrew my action. Here is how this went down:

Nate called four or five times a day. He also sent multiple long emails every day. A few highlights:

• “I will counter-sue for divorce on fault-grounds of desertion.”
• “Venue (where the divorce will be held) is where the marital home is. You will have to travel back and forth repeatedly.”
• “I will avail myself in good faith of every legal procedure available. This means massive expense to your father. I will appeal any and all negative decisions.”
• “As I am living in the marital home, you will lose the [custody] fight. And of course, if I have the kids you will be paying me child support.”

In every email and phone call, Nate demanded that I come home immediately. In one email he made a condition: “Because of your hart [sic] heartedness and manifold sins against me, I will require that you sign an oath before God that you will submit to my authority completely, without question or dissention, and joyfully.”

Nate sent me the van in “good faith” to “work toward reconciliation,” but when reconciliation did not happen within his two-day deadline, he demanded the van back: his children’s sole transportation which was titled in his name. He threatened to prosecute me for possession of stolen property. He sued for divorce, alleging desertion and mental cruelty. He also sued as the children’s “next friend” against me for the “severe injuries” all six of them had suffered in the wreck (one child had a tiny cut above the eye). He sent my attorney dozens of faxes and called her office many times a day to run up my legal expenses. He mailed me the credit card bills which were in my name. He negotiated with my most prized possessions, using wedding gifts from my grandparents as bargaining chips. He demanded to talk to the children on the phone so that he could manipulate them into telling me to “come home.” They got off the phone and cried, saying, “Daddy is so lonely. Why did we leave him?”

Finally, Nate went bawling into the office of a pastor (not our pastor, of course) and got Rev. So-and-So to email me. Rev. So-and-So sent me the following proposition. We would declare a legal cease-fire and he would counsel with Nate. It was a terrible thing, Rev. So-and-So thought, to break up a family. He quoted the Bible on that score. He assured me that Nate was really repentant and seeking change. I did not want to even see Nate again, much less sleep with him, but I was still very deferential toward pastors and desperately wanted that legal cease-fire. I was not capable of traveling six hours to Virginia Beach for litigation. I was still very weak and confused and had six little kids to care for all summer. I felt guilty about the burden on my parents, which guilt Nate manipulated. My mother would have to take care of six kids so I could come to court and my father would have to pay the legal bills. I didn’t believe my lawyer when she said she could get a protective order that would keep Nate away from me and the kids, or that we would win the venue fight and I could go to court downtown, or that I would win the van in a lawsuit. Besides I had gotten a little foretaste of what even a winning legal battle with Nate would cost in time, money, and aggravation. Nate did nothing, it seemed, but sit at the computer churning out emails, letters, and legal papers around the clock. Some of the emails were composed at 2:00 a.m.

I dropped the legal separation and Nate dropped the divorce and the personal injury suit. The threatening emails became relentless, saccharine declarations of undying, “unconditional” love (Pastor So-and-So must have thought the submission oath was a bad idea).

This lasted for about a week, until Nate stormed into Pastor So-and-So’s office in a rabid froth about his marital rights. Pastor So-and-So emailed me, bewildered at the dramatic change in his penitent, who not only refused to continue the counseling, but damned Pastor So-and-So to hell for refusing to help exercise spiritual discipline over his wayward wife. Pastor So-and-So warned me not to come home.

Does it sound as though I had been gone at least a year or more, given the sheer number of tactics, schemes, scams, and coercions I’d suffered through to this point?

Guess again. Nate had done all this in just shy of six weeks.

I emailed Nate and told him I wasn’t coming back. Then I braced myself. Turns out I didn’t brace myself quite hard enough for what was coming, or how quickly.

Nate showed up at 3:00 a.m. the next morning and demanded the keys to the van or he would have us all arrested. My father gave him the keys and told him to get off his property or he’d be arrested for trespassing. I was crying over the loss of the van the next day when I got word that Nate had been at the children’s school and demanded to see his children. The principal brought them to the gym for a meeting, and Nate picked up little Moriah and ran, with the principal chasing him. The principal called me and the police, and I followed my former family van out of town in my mom’s car while having a panic attack. The police pulled Nate over but then let him go, because I had no custody papers.

The police had to pick me up out of a muddy ditch where I had collapsed, weeping, as my little girl was legally abducted. In Virginia, even if you have custody (which I didn’t), any parent who has visitation rights can abduct a child from anywhere at any time, and they are guilty of, at the most, a second-degree misdemeanor. Parental kidnappers are never subject to arrest in Virginia unless they cross state lines. It is believed that most of our missing children are missing because they were abducted by non-custodial parents. When your child is abducted by a parent who has any parental rights at all, your only recourse is to file a show cause and go to court. I would have to regain custody in Virginia Beach.

I got a lawyer in Virginia Beach and filed for divorce and custody. My attorney bills went into the stratosphere within a month. As with my former lawyer, phone calls and faxes were unceasing. One Sunday afternoon my lawyer received a 52-page fax from Nate. The personal injury suit was scheduled for trial as well.

I would not see my little girl again for nine weeks.

I had landed in the hall of mirrors commonly known as the juvenile justice system, and its machinations were limited only by the time and energy of a man possessed, a man running on sheer rage. Only with me, it would never stop with juvenile court. In fact—and I’m thankful I did not know this in 2000—it would never stop at all. When Nate said he would avail himself of every legal procedure available, and appeal every negative decision all the way up, he was making the only promises to me that he’s ever kept.

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by Vyckie Garrison @ No Longer Quivering

Do you remember when it first dawned on you that your relatives are all a bunch of crackpots and weirdos?  Seems like I was around 8 or 9 — my mother worked all night in the casinos and slept most of the day, leaving me alone to protect my naïve older sister from the depraved advances of Mom’s alcoholic boyfriends and worry about my big brother’s drug addiction. I couldn’t count on my grandparents to help — they were too preoccupied with their own divorce, dating, and remarriage dramas.

“Holy sugar,” I thought to myself, “these people are seriously messed up!”

That’s about the time the fantasies began.  My home, I imagined, was a three-ring circus — and my relatives were the freaks and the clowns.  In my daydreams, I was not really one of them.  No — surely, I was of aristocratic origin.  My REAL family were royalty in a faraway Kingdom and I was born a beloved Princess in a fancy castle with many servants and my own Fairy Godmother.  Somehow, I’d been separated from my blood kin as an infant — I was captured by gypsies and sold in a black market adoption — that’s how I ended up being raised by this group of crazies!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ABC’s Primetime Nightline recently aired a segment featuring the Gil & Kelly Bates family — a conservative, Evangelical mega-family of twenty.  The Bates, who are close friends of JimBob & Michelle Duggar of TLC’s “19 and Counting” fame, hold to the extreme fundamentalist ideals of the growing “Quiverfull movement.”

During the one-hour special, Gil, Kelly, and their children explained the family’s lifestyle which, to all modern appearances, represents a throw back to the imaginary 60′s-style “Leave It to Beaver” family combined with strict, Victorian Era sexual mores and the atavistic gender roles of ancient goat-herders. The Bates eschew all forms of birth control and adhere to the marriage model of the biblical Patriarchs — with Gil as family leader and Kelly as submissive “help meet.”  Kelly and the girls adorn themselves in modest, hand-sewn dresses, while Gil and his clean-cut sons teach bible study and participate in local Tea Party politics.

Aren’t they lovely?  Don’tcha wanna be just like them?

I sure did!  I left home at 15 and embarked on a quest to recreate my long-lost perfect, happy family — my REAL courtly family, where I truly belonged.  After a false start involving marriage at 16, a baby at 19, and divorce after seven years of abuse rivaling the most astonishing freak show acts Mom’s circus family had ever performed — I remarried, found a “bible-believing” church, and worked hard within the Quiverfull counterculture to implement the best of the best biblical family values into our home life.  I had six more children. I homebirthed, homeschooled, and home-churched. I submitted to my husband and joyfully sacrificed my time, energy and talents to build him up and help him to succeed.  I published a “pro-life, pro-family” Christian family newspaper to inform and encourage other Christians to defend “Traditional Family Values.”

In 2003, we were honored as Family of the Year at the Nebraska Family Council’s “Salt & Light” awards. I’d finally made it! I had built my own Magic Kingdom where my husband reigned as King and I was his Queen, the children were our loyal subjects and we could all live happily ever after …

Like the Bates family, we were the perfect picture of the “biblical family values” fantasy — an idealistic vision of big, happy families: devoted husband and wife surrounded by a passel of respectful, obedient children — we were all sweetness and smiles.  It is this mesmerizing dream world which energizes and motivates Tea Party Republicans like Rick Perry and Michele Bachmann to work tirelessly to implement the “pro-family” theocratic agenda into every aspect of American society: not only in politics, but religion, family, media, education, business and entertainment.

Fundamentalist Christians are convinced that contemporary American society is the World’s Most Spectacular Display of hideously mutated, diseased and anomalous freaks.  ”Step right up folks!” the preacher yells, “and witness a grotesque parade of ho-mo-sex-uals, lesbians, Wiccans, radical feminists, godless liberals, secular humanists, and …” (congregation gasps!) “Muslim extremists!!”

Simultaneously fascinated and horrified, respectable religious parents scramble to shield their innocent children’s eyes and ears from the depravity and corruption of “The World.”  They homeschool and form special Chastity and Creation Science clubs designed to insulate and isolate their vulnerable young from the miscreants and most depraved elements of popular culture.

It’s completely understandable and normal for preteens to create imaginary worlds — their own private, safe hideout where they can dream of nobility, of rising above and doing so much better than the clowns running the Big Top’s Museum of Mutantstrosities.  The grown-ups watch in silent, knowing amusement as kids disavow their relatives as “psychos” and “bozos.”

But when otherwise responsible, Christian adults in recent years set out on a mission to create a radically distinct way of life based on “biblical family values,” the resultant countercultural movement known as “Quiverfull” has become an all-too-real Hall of Mirrors horror show.

In my own life, perpetual pregnancies destroyed my health, and my indiscriminate acquiescence to my husband’s every whim transformed him from a loving father into a tantrum-throwing tyrant. Burnout and disillusionment led to abuse, neglect, family disintegration and a particularly nasty divorce.

When the dust settled, I took a good look at myself in the mirror.  I could no longer deny the strong family resemblance — I saw my mother in my own face staring back at me.  After all those years of fighting and denial, I had to finally accept the fact that I really am one of them — I belong to these crazy people.  I, too, am a conspicuous oddity — a bizarre spectacle and an embarrassment to my own noble children.

Funny thing is … these days, I don’t mind so much being associated with my misfit clan of circus freaks.  Life experience has given me perspective and a deep appreciation for the inevitable realities and desperate circumstances which deformed and mutated Mom and the rest of us into shocking and extraordinary creatures worthy of society’s disquietude and awe.

Black market adoption fantasies and youthful idealism are important wayposts on the journey to adulthood.  Rebellion against blatant injustice, hypocrisy, moral compromise and the myriad of other common grown-up failure is a healthy manifestation of a kid’s personal power and strong moral agency.  Arrogant and annoying, yes — but in moments of truth we have to admit, the kid’s got a point.

Society sucks.  Bigotry, racism, inequity, corruption, greed, depravity, malevolence, and all manner of evil abound. Let’s just face the fact that in many ways, the contemporary American social and political scene has devolved to become the World’s Greatest Freak Show.

No wonder Tea Party Patriot families like the Bates and the Duggars escape into their own personal fantasyland.

Ironically, with maturity comes humility — along with a profound sense of connection and belonging to that wacky bunch of buffoons who share our DNA.  We see our people with new eyes.  Sure, Grandma’s got a beard and Uncle Stan is a charlatan — Aunt Betty’s such a lunatic, she may as well have two heads.  But in the end, they’re all we’ve got.  That perfect, royal family whom we imagined searched frantically for us for years and never gave up hope that one day we would return to our true home?  They’re not real.  Cousin Roger is real — never mind that he doesn’t have a lick of sense and the only thing he’s good for is shoveling elephant shit — he’s the one who truly understands you, knows all about you, and loves you anyway.

Tea Party family values are the fundamentalists’ desperate attempt to deny their own imperfections, vulnerability, and their inescapable mortality.  Sure it hurts that they look down on us regular folk — those of us who make no pretense of actually having our acts together — they avoid being seen out in public with us, they disown us, and they shrink away in fear of catching our cooties.

But take heart — perhaps they’ll grow up.

I did.  Not saying I don’t still sometimes get all starry-eyed and visionary over the possibility of influencing our society for the better — I’ve got a bit of spunk left in me and I’m doing what I can to stick it to The Man.  But I no longer think of myself as qualitatively different or “other” than all the rest of my fellow human beings — my family.  My freakish, crazy, wonderfully imperfect people.

I don’t believe in God anymore, but I still have faith.  I have hope and I trust that collectively, we’re all gonna make it — we are learning from our mistakes and growing more compassionate.  Our shared experiences make us wiser and I have confidence that better times are just ahead.

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by Young Mom @ Permission to Live

Looking back, I like many things about our story. I love that we were very honest about our needs and desires as we understood them at the time. I can imagine it would be more difficult to fall in love with someone and then find out afterwards they don’t want children and you do. I can see the benefits of being straightforward and asking the tough questions right away.

On the other hand, there were things that we could not talk about as well. Religious questions weren’t really that relevant, because we were so enmeshed in our families, we hardly had any beliefs that were truly ours, they were all dictated by our families. There are other tough issues that cannot come up when you have intense levels of parental control. Whatever is not safe to talk about in your family of origin, does not feel safe to bring up in the new relationship either.

I think that seeing our relationship as marriage focused was healthy. We weren’t dating just to date, we were discovering each other and searching each other to see if we could see ourselves together. (However I do feel that the marriage focus was taken to an extreme.) I also think that waiting to get involved in relationships until being old enough to start considering marriage makes sense.

I think that spending time together as families is a great idea. You have the opportunity to observe the persons interactions with their own family members and as well as yours. It helps you to learn how to interact with other people as a couple.

Respect for our bodies and sexuality was a good thing. I think it is healthy to have good boundaries in a relationship. Good communication about expectations and mutual respect for each other is pivotal.

The problem is, all of those things could have been implemented by my husband and I as adults in our own relationship. We could have (probably would have) been serious about marriage, boundaries and family relationships and involvement, without the parental control that the idea of Courtship is founded on.

Actually I can’t think of a single benefit from the parental control and pressure we had throughout our relationship. Even after we were married, it took several years for us to truly “leave and cleave”. We had never been allowed to be our own persons, and old habits died very hard. We would consult our parents and make decisions (trivial or important) based on what they told us. Eventually we progressed to where we would make our own decisions and fret about how to tell our parents what we had decided. It took four years to get to the point that we made decisions and didn’t bother to tell them at all! We were both nearly twenty years old when we started our Courtship, and every decision was taken out of our hands as though we were fourteen year olds. I can only be grateful that my parents were not as extreme as some in the same mindset, such as this girl who was betrothed against her will and ran away from home to escape. Read her story in this order. ONE, TWO, THREE, and FOUR.)

My parents had a long set of rules we were expected to keep during our courtship. Looking back, it strikes me as pretty creepy. My parents were obsessed with controlling a fully grown child’s sex life. I was expected to ask them permission to do anything, and abide by their decision. It was none of their business what my boyfriend/fiancé and I were doing or not doing. The job of a parent entails teaching their children to respect their bodies and even passing on their religious beliefs if they wish too, NOT being the sexual purity police in another adult’s relationship.

In the end, every boundary I had wanted, stayed in place.

My fiancé and I respected the boundaries that each of us had set in place through evaluating our own values and convictions at the time. My parents rules simply did not stick. I was on my way out of their house and their control, and I had no incentive to follow their dictations any longer. (Other than attempting to keep them happy until the wedding day so that we could get married without having to elope.) I had broken out of the mind control enough to realize I would rather get married to my fiancé than live at home, and we did everything in our power to get that to happen smoothly. Other couples were not so lucky.

There was so much emphasis on avoiding sin, and a major burden to get married quickly to “stay pure”. If you stayed in a relationship for a long period of time, it was assumed that you would fall into temptation and end up sleeping together before marriage, and then your marriage would be doomed to fail, or even worse you could end up not getting married to that person and then you would have sexual baggage and be considered “damaged goods”. If you did slip up and have sex before marriage, you pretty much had to get married if you wanted to “make the sin right”. I would rather have my children take as much time as they need to be sure of their choice, (even if that means they fall into temptation) than to rush things and get married prematurely to avoid premarital sex. Having sex outside of marriage may cause damage, but getting married to a person you do not love, or turns out to be abusive is a far more permanent mistake that is very difficult to remedy.

Aside from rushing to get married in the interest of “staying pure”, there was also major pressure for the courtship to be “successful”. Any time spent with the opposite sex was seen as risky. I was not allowed to hang out with a group of young people without my parents present. Group dates were off limits, any sort of one-on-one dating was practically as bad as having sex. Everyone “knew” that the minute 2 young people were left to their own devices (somehow regardless of how well they knew each other) they would be engaging in inappropriate sexual activity. The risk of flirting, touching, or kissing someone who was not going to end up being your spouse was too high to allow young people to be around each other.

Pretty much any interaction between two people of the opposite sex was supposed to be reserved for marriage. The whole idea is pretty dysfunctional, because in the real world you really have to be able to interact with either sex on a regular basis. This type of gender separation leads to social disability as well as sexual issues in marriage. To this day I am instinctively suspicious of men and still find myself occasionally falling into old habits like avoiding eye contact with males, or obsessing over my neckline or how my hips are moving as I walk. It can take women (and me) a long time to get over the sexual messages too. It took several years for both my husband and I to loosen up and really communicate in the bedroom, body image and shame as well as messages about the roles each spouse is supposed to play in a “Christian” marriage, are terrible barriers to true intimacy and partnership. (Read Darcy’s excellent series on “How the Teachings of Emotional Purity and Courtship Damage Healthy Relationships”, Part ONE, TWO, and THREE.)

**********************************

Parents want to protect their children from harm. Many parents are drawn to ideas like Courtship because they want to give their children the best, and they remember their own mistakes. The problem is, there is no way to control the choices of a grown child. Yes, you can teach them to respect themselves and others, you can explain your beliefs about marriage and sex, you can encourage them to wait on relationships until they are old enough to consider marriage. But in the end, their actions are up to them. I believe that parental control of adult children always goes badly. There is no way a parent can completely know the desires and priorities of their adult child. Will your child make less than wise choices over their lifetime? Yes. As a child and as an adult they will probably make choices you don’t agree with. That is not your fault. It is not your responsibility to keep your child from living.

As for my husband and I? It’s kind of like we were betrothed in the old world. Even though we love each other and consider ourselves blessed and fortunate, now that we have immigrated into the new world we wouldn’t want to put our kids through that process. We trust that our children will be ready to make their own decisions as adults when it comes to picking a mate. When I was talking to a counsellor recently, she had only heard a fraction of my story and she was amazed that I was still married and claimed to love my husband. My husband and I somehow fell in love very quickly, and we clung to each other through all of the craziness and change of our lives together. The fact that we were both around the same age, have much of the same background, and both became disillusioned with our pasts at around the same time, and were not afraid to talk about the issues and get help, have played a large part in the “success” of our marriage so far, and our marriage is still a work in progress. The reasons my husband and I are still together, are largely grounded in our own values and priorities. They have nothing to do with how our marriage was arranged and controlled by our parents.

Courtship is not the answer.

Even a perfectly planned, controlled and executed courtship will not protect your child from marriage conflict, or even a bad marriage.

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We spent most of our time together at our family homes, so we also spent a lot of our time together trying to evade family. Since we were engaged we were allowed to go on short excursions alone to public places. So we ran errands for the wedding, like picking up my wedding dress after the alterations were finished, or running to the mall to pick out “Hunk”’s wedding band. When we were around my house, we went for lots of walks together, and I even took him up to my secret spot on the garage roof where we could be alone.

At the end of June (about 3 weeks out from the wedding) I went on another trip with “Hunk” and his family. We all flew out to spend a week with his extended family and introduce me to his grandma. Again, time together was wonderful! Like the weekend early that same month, we ended up getting a lot closer on this trip. His family mostly left us alone when there were no planned events, so we had days of uninterrupted time to wander around the parks in the area.

Up until this point, we had been able to keep my parents rules for the most part. My Dad still hadn’t approved hugging, and we did hug when we were out of his eyesight. But other than that we were being very careful. The emphasis on no physical touch just seemed to heighten the desire for it all the more. I was torn between really wanting to get closer to My Love, but still feeling an incredible burden to obey my parents and give a good example for my siblings. My parents always explained the reasons for their rules being that “kissing would inevitably lead to other stuff”. On this trip, it became apparent to “Hunk” and I that you could get around to “other stuff” even if you never technically kissed. The whole thing started to feel ridiculous, and “Hunk” was getting frustrated. We both knew that the no kissing rule was silly, and we both wanted to kiss, but I was still saying no each time he asked me, and he respected that no.

*******************

After we returned from the trip, I was getting fed up. We had all this pressure to be a wonderful example of what finding your spouse “the Christian way” meant, and I didn’t want to pretend that meant we hadn’t gone beyond holding hands. Maybe it was possible to go through courtship and engagement without any physical connection, but it didn’t feel like as big a deal as I was supposed to think it was and our relationship wasn’t turning out that way.

At church everyone was so impressed with our Courtship (aside from the pregnancy rumours that continued to circulate), many parents in the church saw us as a wonderful example of a “pure” relationship, and used it to bolster their own opinions of their authoritative role as parents in their own children’s lives. I even heard from one Quiverfull mom who was planning on bringing her 6 children (all under the age of ten) to the wedding because she wanted them to see how we had “saved our first kiss”. It felt hypocritical to stand up at our wedding and kiss for the first time, thereby implying that we had zero physical connection throughout our engagement. So 8 days before the wedding I decided that the charade was over and on a walk to the park near my house, I kissed him (or should I say attacked him!).

It was such a relief to have it over with and not have to think about it anymore! Later that day, I informed my Mom that the kissing ban was officially over since I had kissed “Hunk”. She was disappointed, but fairly understanding. She said it was good that we had held out against temptation as long as we did, and that one day I would be grateful we hadn’t kissed. When my Dad heard, his just made the tight-lipped look that he gets when he isn’t happy, but I guess since the wedding was so close, he decided to let it slide.

At some point in that week before the wedding, my Mom decided to talk with me about sex, for the first time since I got the bare bones basics “where babies come from” talk at 11 years old. She basically asked if I had any questions about the wedding night. I asked her if losing your virginity was painful, and she replied that she didn’t really remember, but that she didn’t think so. And that was it. A few months after the wedding, she pulled me aside and asked if I knew that women could have orgasms. I have to admit I laughed when I told her that thankfully I had figured out a few things on my own thanks to books and the internet.

“Hunk” and I never had any pre-marital counselling. I guess the idea was that since we were both Christians and had extensive involvement of our parents who had determined that we were compatible, it was unnecessary. Plus “Hunk”’s Dad was a Pastor, so we had some chats with him that I guess were supposed to be a substitute for counselling. We never talked about Family systems or background or boundaries, or conflict resolution, or finances, or anything much really. He gave us a book on sex and told us what we’d been hearing since we were young, “sex is great, but only when you are married”.

*******************

The day of the wedding dawned beautiful and sunny. I showered and went over to the church early. My sisters and I did our own hair (I wore mine down in loose curls) and I put on a little eye makeup and some lipstick. We all had our pictures taken. I loved my wedding dress. We had found it on the clearance rack and it had fit me perfectly (with the exception of the 8 inches they cut off the bottom). The bodice was satin, with a belt and neckline of white beading. The floor length skirt was satin with a sheer layer over it, and it had a small train. My favourite part was the sleeves, they were long, sheer and flared out at the edges, like a princess. The neckline was scooped to a few inches below my collar bone, and a bit lower than my Dad liked. But the price had been very good, and the dress was very modest overall, so in the end it had been approved.

The ceremony went smoothly. Neither of us had that many childhood friends (he had one good friend, I had none) and we wanted to include our many siblings, so we opted to have just siblings stand up. I had everyone over age 8 (4 sisters and a brother) on my side, and he had all 4 of his sisters. I walked up the aisle to “Be Thou my Vision” and I hardly remember who was there, I was so focused on “Hunk” at the end of the aisle. The sermon is a blur in my mind, I do know that it seemed longwinded, and since his Dad was doing it there was a lot of stuff about “Hunk” in it, and like nothing about me which was a bit strange. As the vows approached, I was so nervous. I felt hot and cold and shaky, I could feel my face burning and later looking at the photo’s I realized that my skin had been white and covered in red splotches. “Hunk” told me later that he wondered if I was going to pass out! I made it through just fine, promising to submit to him in all things (I did try at first, but I never was very good at that) our parents came up to pray over us and then we were pronounced husband and wife.

We had a wonderful time taking pictures as a couple, and then the reception began. We had a buffet luncheon of fruit and sandwiches (which turned out very nice) and then spent some time going from table to table to greet and thank our guests. The one major regret I have is that just as we had finished greeting “Hunk”’s family and the church members, and were getting to the tables with our friends and my extended family, “Hunk”’s Dad (who was the self-appointed MC) told us that we needed to sit down because they were going to start the speeches and other programs. He said that we could get back to greeting the rest of the guests afterwards so I gave in, but we never did get to say hello to the rest of the guests.

We had been informed that we needed to tell our courtship story so that people could see an example of a courtship that had “worked” (aka ended in marriage) so I went up to the mike and shared a synopsis of our story, and I was sure to include the fact that the kiss in the ceremony was not our first, for the sake of all the other young couples to follow in the courtship mindset. There was no dancing, since this was a fundamentalist wedding, and when my Dad went up for his speech he told us to be sure to have lots of babies since he was looking forward to grandchildren. I remember feeling slightly disappointed that he didn’t really have much more to say about me, but I had mostly expected that.

**********************

Late in the afternoon the guests were starting to leave, and “Hunk” and I were ready to take off. After saying goodbye to parents and siblings, my Dad shook “Hunk”’s hand and passed us a little spending cash. We climbed into our car and drove away. We made a quick stop to grab our bags and change our clothes and then we settled in for our drive to our honeymoon location. We were both tired from the long day, and tense from so much interaction with family. But as time went on we found ourselves relaxing and falling back into our usual pattern of talking about our experiences of the day. We spent some time opening all the wedding cards and reading the funny notes inside and counting the cash. We stopped at a Chinese buffet to eat and by the time we got to our destination 3 hours later we were feeling at ease together.

We spent a delicious 6 days alone in that little condo. We ate out together, and when we stayed in I cooked way too much food (that’s what happens when you are used to cooking for a dozen people). We went for walks, and watched movies together. We went to the beach (where I’m pretty sure we completely disgusted everyone with our displays of affection) and we spent many (rather awkward) hours in bed together. It was so wonderful to be alone, without anyone else to tell us what to do. We did interrupt our honeymoon for one evening, at the request of “Hunk”’s Dad. He wanted us to meet with him and the family at the home of a wealthy supporter of his ministry. So we went, because it was “important”. The rest of the time was ours, and that week came to a close all too soon.

*********************

We moved around for the next few weeks staying with family, until the Seminary Apartments were open for us to move in. After 3 months together (at barely 20 years old) we were starting married life, but we still had so much to learn about each other.

We got pregnant right away, and I spent the first several months of marriage puking so much that I lost 15 pounds. Then we lost that baby, and when we got pregnant again a few months later, we lost that baby as well. We grieved and struggled through depression together. Hunk was taking 19 credit hours of graduate work, and working for his Dad’s ministry and was often exhausted and working long into the night. I was a stay-at-home wife, trying to process the loss of our first two babies.

Since we had gotten married “God’s way”, we were told that we would have a free pass on all the problems that come with marriage. But we had a lot to learn about communication. He alternately confided in me and ordered me around, I alternately “rebelled against his authority” and submitted. We fought. A lot. We fought about religion, finances, gender roles, and family boundaries. Both of us were far too enmeshed in our families of origin, and it took a long time for us to truly “leave and cleave”.

Be sure to come back tomorrow for my concluding thoughts on Courtship…

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Hunk and I and our parents set the wedding date that same night. He was going to graduate school (3 hours away) that August, and we both knew that we did not want to risk our parents nixing a wedding before next summer. A wedding over Christmas or spring break sounded complicated, and we both knew that he would be distracted from his schoolwork driving down to see me. Secretly I felt that I would go insane if I had to go days and days without seeing him. After a few calls to family members who lived some distance away, we settled on a date in July, eight short weeks away.

I now had a ring on my finger, and people who knew me at violin classes were shocked, they hadn’t even known I was dating anybody, and now I was engaged? I was getting married that summer? Who was this guy? Even at our conservative church there were similar reactions, and rumours started circulating that we were pregnant. One of my acquaintances in the church told me that I was being risky, that I “didn’t know that “Hunk” had been after pretty much every girl in the church.” That bothered me some, why would someone say that about him? I didn’t remember seeing that aspect of him over the year I had been in the church. I even talked to my Dad about it, wondering if I should ask “Hunk” what that girl had been talking about. My Dad said that peers opinions were pointless, the real people that mattered were “Hunks” parents, did they have good things to say about their son? Then everything must be fine. In the end I considered the source of the negative comments and decided to ignore it.

**********************

I stressed alot about leaving my family. As the oldest sibling I had so many responsibilities, would my mom be able to do it all without me? I knew my leaving meant that the sisters next down in the birth order would be taking on my chores, and I felt guilty for leaving them with that burden. I felt a burden to be a protector and encourager of my siblings, and even though I failed miserably at times, I loved them all so much. Someone else would be fixing their hair, practicing violin with them, and baking with them. Would any of them even remember me once I moved out? I tried to make time to connect with each sibling by taking each of them out on a date with me in the weeks before the wedding.

I felt the worst about leaving my six year old sister. This was the sister that I had cared for since my mom had put in my bedroom as an infant. I had been almost exclusively responsible for dressing her, grooming and bathing her, feeding her and correcting her. In recent years I had been homeschooling her as well, and she was making good progress in reading and writing and violin. Would she get the attention she needed after I was gone? She was very angry about my getting married, and told me that I couldn’t do it because “then I would have to move in with ‘him’”. I tried to explain to her that I wanted to live with “Hunk”, but that I still loved her and I would miss her so much. She didn’t take it well, and would hardly talk to me over the next six months or so. It was very hard for me to leave her.

*********************

Engagement was a really awkward and frustrating time in relating to my parents. They continued to control so much of our relationship, and it was hard for us to set any boundaries because in the patriarchal mindset I was still under my father’s authority. I really wanted to make it to the wedding smoothly without too much conflict, so I continued to try and balance my relationship with my fiancé with obedience to my parents. But in my heart, my loyalties were already shifting to “Hunk”. I was tired of asking my parents permission for every little thing, and “Hunk” would sometimes get frustrated with my inability to make decisions on my own.

I tried to focus on spending as much time as I could with my fiancé and took a backseat in the wedding planning. It was easier to just let the parents plan most of it, instead of arguing over stuff. My mantra was “As long as I get to walk down the aisle in a white dress, I’m happy.” And for the most part that was true.

We did put our foot down once. “Hunk” had arranged to borrow a relatives’ brand new condo for our honeymoon the week after the wedding, but my Dad had a problem with the fact that it was 3 hours away. According to him, once we were officially married the first thing we would want to do was have sex, 3 hours away was too long of a drive for us to handle. We explained that we were sure that we could make it a bit longer in order to get to our destination, and it might even be nice to have a drive and relax after the hubbub of the wedding. But he insisted that we would regret it. He even offered to get us a hotel room 20 minutes from the church where we could stay for two nights before heading up to the condo. We compromised by agreeing to let him get the hotel room with the understanding that he and mom could go there themselves for a nice getaway if “Hunk” and I decided on making the drive after the wedding.

*******************

In early June (1 month after our courtship had begun) I went on a trip with “Hunk” and his family a two days drive away, to attend a wedding of a friend of the family. The trip was wonderful. At the wedding dinner I had a glass of champagne (my first alcohol ever) and we danced slowly together at the reception. I felt so beautiful around him. I soaked up all the uninterrupted time with My Love, and we talked more than ever.

His family allowed us a bit more freedom since we were engaged, so the whole drive down we were together in the backseat sitting as closely together as possible and talking. I got to go to the Atlantic ocean for the first time in my life, and we spent a day there in the sun and the water. Even though my parents were still against physical contact, “Hunk” and I ended up getting a lot closer on that trip. After a long day at the beach, we snuggled tiredly in a hammock together and when his mom took a picture of us I joked that she shouldn’t develop that picture until after the wedding, since according to my dad we weren’t even allowed to hug yet. We were still trying to keep from kissing each other, so even though we spent hours with our foreheads touching looking into each others eyes thinking about kissing, we refrained.

One night we walked down to the beach together, and spent some time looking at the stars that hung so low it was almost as though I could reach out and grab them out of the sky. It felt so peaceful there, I wished we could stay forever. I was starting to feel so comfortable with “Hunk”, I was more and more certain of my choice to marry him, it felt like freedom. We danced together in the moonlight, barefoot in the surf. Then “Hunk” picked me up to swing me around, and in the dark my lips bumped into his. A moment later we sprang away from each other and I covered my mouth with my hand wondering if this was my first kiss? “Hunk” apologized right away, and I tried to explain it away in my head. It couldn’t really be a kiss right? There was no pre-meditation (on my part at least and our lips had barely touched. As we walked back to join his family at the place we were all staying, I decided that it was kind of a kiss, after all it was such a romantic place to have a first kiss! I wanted to kiss him again (for real this time!) But I had been told over and over how kissing would instantly lead to sex, and I wanted to obey my parents and be a good example to my siblings of “purity”. This kiss had felt so beautiful and natural, not bad or dirty at all. But there was no way I was telling my parents about this, I resolved to redouble our efforts to be more careful from now on.

******************

On the drive back home, I was sad. Still so many weeks till the wedding, it seemed like an eternity away. I didn’t really want to go back to living in my parent’s home till then. We snuggled in the back seat, and “Hunk” reassured me that he would be coming to see me pretty much every day, we would make it alright. When we pulled up to my family’s house and all the kids spilled out of the door to greet us, I could tell right away my parents were displeased. My shoulders were badly burned from our day at the sunny beach, and I had worn a tank top (normally reserved for layering under shirts to make my necklines more modest) for the drive home. My mom pulled me aside and told me that Dad wanted me to change. I tried to explain about my painful shoulders, but she said that I was not only deliberately tempting my fiancé by wearing it, I was being a bad example to my younger siblings. I changed my shirt.

And counted down the days.

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Two days later, I was allowed to drive over to “Hunk’s” house for the first time (with a sister along) and when I got there we went for a walk around the block alone (his family was a bit more liberal than mine). I had explained to my Dad that it felt very awkward to not be able to touch at all, and he had approved of us holding hands and promised to give “Hunk” a call to give him permission to do so.

So we held hands as we walked, and I told “Hunk” about a dream I’d had where he had told me “well, this has been nice, but you’re not the one for me.” He replied with a shocked look “How could those words come out of my mouth!?” We walked in silence for a few moments, and then he said quietly “That’s actually one of my biggest fears, is that you will say ‘well, you’re smart and everything, but not what I’m looking for.” We spoke more about our fears of rejection, and then a bit about what we liked about each other. It started to get dark outside, and the moon rose with what looked like a rainbow hovering around it. I told him about my verse and “the time of the singing”, he smiled and said that he thought that the singing was here. We were reluctant to end our walk and head back into the house with the family, but eventually we did.

I was trying as hard as I could to not be afraid of letting down my walls, so I wanted to get the last few serious questions out of the way before I relaxed and let the relationship go wherever it was going to go. Before the week ended, I asked him about his sexual/relationship history (he had held hands with a girl he courted briefly the year before) and shared my own (Zip). I asked about sexual expectations in marriage. Then I asked if he had ever had any addictions, smoking, drugs, alcohol or pornography. Again, I think he was a bit shocked at my forwardness, but he was willing to answer as honestly as possible. By the end of that awkward conversation, I felt like we were on the same page.

******************************

Our parents asked about everything all the time, how was it going? What had we talked about? Were we being careful to maintain physical boundaries? And most of all, did we feel like this was going anywhere? It was most important to figure out if we were compatible for each other, there was no point to wasting time in this relationship if we weren’t going to get married.

We got together as much as we could, I was rarely allowed to drive his way, so he mostly came to my house, where we hung out in the corner of the living room and talked in whispers. Now that we were allowed, we were always holding hands. But hugs or kisses or anything else was still strictly off limits. So we would sit on the couch as closely together as possible without our bodies actually touching. I remember wanting so badly to touch his hair. There was so much emphasis on not being allowed to physically touch, it seemed like sparks should go off if our shoulders or arms brushed against each other.

There was a sense of urgency from both families, were we going to get married or not? We had to figure it out quickly before we gave away pieces of our hearts or (even worse) compromised our purity.

On the one hand, I was feeling more and more that I wanted to be with “Hunk”. He was the first person that had ever made feel as though I was beautiful. He was respectful, he listened to me without interrupting me or belittling what I said. He was a sincere Christian who took his faith seriously. He interacted well with children and adults, we never seemed to run out of stuff to talk about, and he had even survived several hour long discussions alone with my father! When I imagined being married and waking up in the morning I could picture him sleeping on the pillow next to me.

On the other hand, we hardly knew each other at all. We had met a year before, and interacted a bit more in the last few months, but was this enough to be sure about a lifetime together? He was going to be a minister, and my family had been “home churching” alone for most of my upbringing, would I be able to handle being a minister’s wife? He had finished his high school and bachelor’s degree early, and was heading into graduate school that fall; I had some sketchy home school high school. His family was reformed in theology, and mine was a weird patriarchal kind of Baptist with some Pentecostal flavour for good measure who refused to subscribe to any actual denomination.

Despite my questions (and the fact that we had been courting for less than 2 weeks) I could not imagine going back to my dreary life before “Hunk”. Every day, I looked forward to seeing him. The days we could not see each other dragged and seemed to last forever, and I wrote pages about him in my journal. I soaked up every little bit of attention, even the somewhat cheesy romantic moments. Like when he called me on the phone to tell me that the moon had a rainbow around it just like the first night we had held hands. Or when we sat on the couch together, and starting with “Once upon a time…” he told me the story of how we met. He told me that he loved my body, curves and all, that there was nothing about me that wasn’t beautiful to him. I could still hardly believe it, if felt too good to be true.

As I was pulling out of the driveway after one of our visits that week, he said “I love you”. I hesitated only a second before I said it back and then accelerated down the road in embarrassment, my heart thumping wildly.

***********************

Monday night was Greek class, and I had been looking forward to seeing him again the whole day, but that afternoon my Dad announced that he would not be able to go, therefore none of us were allowed to go. I pleaded for him to reconsider, but it was no use. I explained that I had been counting on Greek class to be able to see “Hunk” and he replied that I had just seen him the day before at church, that as my father he did not approve of my driving anywhere at night (which made no sense because I had driven at night before), and that I had been driving over to see “Hunk” too much anyways; if “Hunk” really wanted to see me that was his prerogative as the male in the relationship.

I was frustrated, (even shedding a few tears) but what could I do? “Rebelling” was out of the question in my mind, as a dutiful stay-at-home daughter, I resolved to “obey” cheerfully. I called “Hunk” to let him know that I was not allowed to attend Greek class. “Hunk” was frustrated on the phone, and to my surprise he called me back a few hours later to tell me that he had cancelled Greek class and was coming over to see me instead. My Dad smiled and said “I told you that if he really wanted to see you he would make it happen.”

**************************

Dad had left by the time “Hunk” walked in the door with a handful of wild flowers, and we spent the evening with my mom and siblings, eating dinner and having devotions. Then we sat close together on the couch. After awhile “Hunk” said he had something he wanted to read to me, he grabbed a bible off the table and read me “my verse”.

As he closed the bible and knelt on the floor in front of me, I could hardly breath. All the background noises of children playing in the same room faded away, drowned out by the rushing in my ears.

He pulled out a box with the ring inside and said, “I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?” It was 15 days after our courtship had begun. Part of me could not believe it was happening, I was afraid of saying yes… it was all so new, so much unknown.

And yet, I was more afraid to say no. “Hunk” was far more than I had ever imagined I would have, I loved being with him, and I could not imagine living day after day without him. Looking into each other’s eyes, we both knew that we were living on borrowed time. All it would take was a father’s disapproval or an argument between our parents for this to be over (or at the very least a whole lot more complicated) before we had a chance go any further.

I took a shaky breath, and shrieked “Yes!” and then since I was not allowed to kiss him, I plunged my fingers through his hair. After he slid the ring on my finger I asked him in a whisper if he had asked my Dad’s consent and he whispered back that he had called my Dad on the phone while on the drive over and asked permission, my Dad had given it.

I felt like I was walking on air, it was hard to stop giggling. I was engaged! To a tall gangly boy who wore his heart on his sleeve. And miraculously, it had somehow happened with my parent’s approval.

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‘Quiverfull: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement‘ by Kathryn Joyce

by Young Mom @ Permission to Live

We had a good time talking and getting more comfortable being around each other that first day of our courtship. And best of all we were able to see each other again the very next day at Greek class. It was kind of nice to be officially courting, because now we could get down to business and talk in more depth about our beliefs and what we were hoping for in a marriage relationship and children.

That Monday after Greek class (while my sisters hung around and waited for me to be ready to leave) we even talked a little bit about ideas for a wedding. Before I left that night “Hunk” gave me a letter to open the next day (he called it “sad Tuesday”) since we wouldn’t be able to see each other.

I got to open it the next day and it was my first “love letter” of sorts, detailing how excited he was to start this relationship with me and that he couldn’t wait to see me the next day. I must have read it 20 times that day, and I still have that letter tucked in my old journal now.

For Wednesday we planned to get together at the church where I taught some violin lessons in the morning. We each had a sister along to hang out in the church and chaperon while “Hunk” and I ate the lunch I had made and talked. After we ate I pulled out my list. I was very serious and intentional about what I believed and what I would not be OK with in a marriage relationship. Over time I had written 4 pages of theological, relational and child raising questions that I considered important. Some of them were non-negotiable in my mind, such as whether or not he was a Christian, what his beliefs on birth control were, and if he believed that men and women were equal. Some things on the list were preferences, like would he be open to homeschooling and was he OK with the fact that I have some food allergies. And still others I was just curious about, such as would he be willing to talk about things that made him angry or was he a quiet thinker type, what did he like to do for fun, what were some of his best memories from childhood?

I think ”Hunk” was kind of surprised at the size of my list, but he answered all my questions openly, and even came up with a few of his own on the spot. When we were done, there was moment of awkward silence, and then “Hunk” said “well, I guess now we just have to hang out and see if we click.”

He drove over to my house for dinner with the family on Thursday, and again on Friday. We planned to go on our first real live date to the zoo that Saturday. I could hardly wait. One of his sisters and one of mine tagged along to chaperone, and we had an amazing time walking around the zoo and talking, and talking and talking. We talked about dreams for the future, hopes and convictions. I loved that he was willing to engage on every topic that came up, and that he continued to take whatever I was saying seriously, and respect my opinions.

Our sisters took some pictures of us together, and looking at them now, you can see the happiness in my face in every single one. I remember him telling me that I was beautiful at some point that day, and my heart just soared. Towards the end of the day, I slipped walking up some stairs and as I regained my balance I saw that he had reached forward to take my hand, and I found myself wishing that we had permission to hold hands.

When I got home that night, I started to feel slightly panicky. All my life I had been told that men were pigs, only cared about sex, and could not be trusted. I had built a huge wall of protection around my heart, never letting anyone get through. I prided myself on the fact that at 19 years old, I had never kissed or held hands with anyone, and that I never hugged males. I had been trained to be very modest in my dress, taught how to walk without swaying my hips, and how to avoid flirting in any way. I could not understand how after only a week of official courtship, I was falling for this guy.

Could it possibly be OK to have feelings for “Hunk” already? Was it safe to be letting down the wall around my heart? How could I have let so many of my protection mechanisms go in just a few days?

I talked to my parents about it, and expressed that I was nervous about the whole thing. They told me that this was fairly normal, but that it was good to be careful. Don’t give away too much of your heart, but realize that God could be leading this somewhere.

After talking with them, I sat on the couch praying and crying a little, just wondering how to trust my feelings. I worried that if I let myself fall in love that it would only come to nothing and that my heart would get broken. That I would get my hopes up, and then he would call it all off, or my parents would find some reason to object to the match.

Eventually, I looked over at the end table and noticed a small porcelain clock that I had never seen before. I picked it up, and while looking at the little birds etched on it I noticed some writing on the bottom edge of the clock.

“…For the time of the singing of the birds has come.”

My heart jumped as I read it over again. I could not believe that my verse was staring me right in the face. I called my mom over and asked her where this clock had come from, and she told me that it had come in the mail that day from a great aunt of mine.

I was flooded with joy, feeling as though God had sent that clock just for me, to let me know that it was safe to let my guard down and allow myself to be vulnerable.

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by Young Mom @ Permission to Live

Mid April, my friend the Greek teacher walked up to me at a church event and started talking to me. We chatted about C.S. Lewis and Victor Hugo and suddenly I saw “Hunk” in a different light. He was interesting, he actually listened to stuff I was saying instead of keeping quiet just long enough to formulate his response. When I saw him the next week, he ended up hanging out by me again. We talked, if I walked into another room he would wander in there himself a few moments later. I started to think that maybe he was interested in me, but I still wasn’t sure if I was interested in him.

“Jay” was still on Military leave, and he randomly tried to make conversation with me during that Sunday, maybe he was trying to “get to know me better” so I would change my mind. Later when “Jay” went back to base, I noticed that his brothers and parents were kind of following me around at church and trying to make their way into any conversation I was having with “Hunk”.

At a church potluck at the end of April, I noticed “Hunk” talking to another girl at some point during the day, and I was surprised by some feelings of jealousy. She was the girl that I considered an educated, prettier, skinnier version of myself, surely he would lose interest in me after hanging out with her. (I had no idea she was talking about the new raw diet she was trying out, and that he was bored and trying to figure out a way to get out of the conversation politely.) Later that day “Hunk” and I arranged to get together under the guise of letting our siblings hang out.

The day they were scheduled to come over, I was nervous. I’m sure it showed. I took a shower, covered blemishes with concealer, and even wore the only pair of pants I owned without express reason or permission from my parents. (“Hunk” liked those jeans, it was the first time he’d ever seen me in pants. I still have them even though they no longer fit me.) We ate lunch at our house, and all of us hung out and chatted.

At some point we started talking about maybe going to see a movie together, so we all piled into the 15 passenger van and drove off to see “The Pacifier” with Vin Diesel. All the siblings that were with us got their tickets, but by that time “Hunk” and I had decided that we could do without the movie, we wanted to make the most of our chance to talk. They went into the theatre and we went back to the van, and he asked if we could run over to the nearby mall and get a coffee together. I hesitated, because technically I was not allowed to be alone with a person of the opposite sex, so I called my Dad on the cell phone and asked for permission to get coffee. My Dad said no, and that if we were not going to the movie in the company of our siblings, we would need to come back home. So we drove the 5 minutes back to my house and sat in the living room with the babies and talked, and talked.

By now we were kind of discussing what the various courtship rules of our families were, and later that day when he and his siblings went home, we were both excited about how much we related to each other.

At a church event later that week, we talked some more (all while trying to evade the creepy pursuit of “Jay’s” family who was still trying to keep an eye on me). By the end of the night, “Hunk” asked what our family believed about courtship, and I replied that the guy interested would have to speak to my dad. He said “would it be OK if the guy asked the girl if she was interested first?” I said that I thought it would be. So he asked me if I would be willing for him to ask my Dad’s permission to court me.

My heart beat faster as I said that “I’d give it a try”.

*******************

On Sunday, ”Hunk” wore all black, and fidgeted through the entire hour long sermon. Afterwards he approached my Dad to ask. My Dad already knew it was coming because he had already talked to “Hunk’s” father about it. My Dad approved of everything he’d had a chance to observe so far, so we were promptly invited over to dinner as a family. Our families ate together, and then the siblings were dismissed so the parents could restate the rules of the courtship. No touching of any kind, the goal was to see if we were compatible for marriage and that was subject to the review of the parents at any time, we were not allowed to go or be anywhere without a parent approved chaperon. Then each father prayed aloud for the beginning of this courtship, and we were told that we could walk around the back yard (where they could see us from the window) and talk some more, which we gladly did.

Our Courtship had begun.

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[Note: The "My Courtship Story" series is being crossposted from the blog: Permission to Live: Musings of a Young Mom.]

Read all posts by Young Mom!

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