As we stood outside the courtroom, it was clear where the lines were drawn. The divide in the room was less physical, as the space was small, but it was a mental and emotional chasm as large as the Grand Canyon. My attorney had told me to be prepared for an emotional outburst from my mother. My attorney warned me that my father might become overly warm and try to entice me to “drop this whole charade”. About my father, she was correct. As soon as we crossed the threshold from hallway to courtroom, my father turned on the charm and charisma. He held the door for me and as I passed, the jerk actually smiled. We took seats in the small gallery and by virtue of it’s lack of chairs, my father stood behind me. When my attorney went to the counsellor’s table behind the gate, my dad put his hand on my shoulder and patted it reassuringly. The judge, hearing another case, looked up just as my father did this and I thought, surely, my case was sunk. Here was this girl trying to run away from such a loving, concerned father, right? No judge would see through his gesture to the controlling message the gesture betrayed. No judge would see his smile for the manipulation it was, right? I had been trained by years of brainwashing to believe that the world would always see my father as a righteous man.

My attorney returned to the gallery area and softly confronted my father. Asking him to take his hands off me and step away. He acted hurt, but obeyed. My mother sat staring straight ahead this entire time. She didn’t look at me. My heart ached for her and my resolve started to dip. I knew that by continuing this, I was putting her in harms way. I knew she couldn’t look at me because of his orders.

The court officer called my case. For the huge change it was about to have on my life, for what was at stake, it was a short exchange. The judge said he’d read my plea and needed some clarification, but he was concerned about putting me on the stand. My father’s attorney kept saying that there was no case because there was no abuse and that I was, simply, an “ungrateful runaway” and “a teenaged girl who dramatized a good situation”. Ultimately, the judge asked if it was possible for me to speak with a court appointed mediator that day and we recessed while the attorneys and court officers worked to see if that was possible. It was. An hour later, after the Klein’s and my brother’s friends gave me pep talks and a snack outside, a frazzled woman arrived at court. We went back into the court room and the judge ordered me to go to chambers and speak with this lady alone- no council present.

She was very kind. Years later, I saw a kids television show called the Magic School Bus and Miss Frizzle reminded me of this mediator. She asked me why I had ran from home that night and made me replay the decision outloud. She asked about Adam and about my religion and the way I had been raised. She asked about my fear of my father and why I didn’t want to go home. Then she asked what my plans were. I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t know what my plan was. Honestly, beyond getting out of that relationship with Adam and getting away from a forced marriage, I didn’t have one. I told her I didn’t know what I was doing. She told me that that wasn’t good enough and I realized she was right. She said she was going to give me a moment and ask me again what my plan was. I didn’t know what to say. My mind raced and I thought this was the end- I would be sent home. She asked me what my plan was – I blurted out “I want to go to real school and I want to find out what my plan is without being told what my plan is.” She smiled and said, “good girl.” With that, we went back to the courtroom. The judge asked her to meet with my parents next. A while later, we went into the room with her together. It was just her, my parents, and I. No lawyers. This was the first time I’d sat across a table from my parents, without the Kleins or a cop, since I left and it was scary. My father was still playing nice but I could tell he was angry under the surface smile. The mediator asked if we could work it out…if there was any way I would go home. I couldn’t speak. I felt like my dad would reach across the table the moment I said anything. She asked again. I shook my head no. My mother started crying. I reached for her and my dad slapped my hand down against the table. “You have caused your mother enough harm, Ruth. Won’t you be a good girl and come home. Spare her this hurt.” I almost bought it. I can’t say what it was that made me realize I needed to leave, but something happened that told me it was okay to leave. I had to leave. I told my mom I had to go and I knew she would understand why. The mediator was glaring at my father. In his effort to appear protective of my mother, he had just slapped my hands away from her in front of a court appointed mediator! He had just validated the things I had said- he was controlling and manipulative and, if even on a small level, abusive. She asked my father to keep his hands to himself and quickly asked him what he was willing to do to get me home. My father said, I’m sure thinking that it would make him look like some great authority figure, that I would have to do “what God requires of a child- to obey and respect her parents.” The mediator asked him if any harm would come to me by returning home and he said, “Not at my hands.”, smugly.

We returned to the courtroom. I was terrified. While, in hindsight now, I can see that my father wasn’t winning at this point,- at the time- I didn’t see it. I was sure he would send me home. The Klein’s, unbeknownst to me at this point, had friends who were foster parents in the system and they know sat in the courtroom. The mediator was put on the stand and she gave her opinion. She stated that she believed I was mature enough to make the decision to leave and that I couldn’t go home. She relayed the words my father had said – “not at my hands” and said she worried about the semantics of the answer. My dad’s attorney was pouncing on her, left and right, with objections to statements and interjecting comments – to the point where the judge got annoyed. He shut the attorney down and said he needed to hear from the mediator without interuption.

To make a very long story short, the case was adjourned until the next day. The next day, only my father came to court with his attorney and my father shocked everyone by saying he would drop his argument. He would let me go. The judge said he couldn’t let my father abdicate his parental rights so easily but that we could figure something out. The rest of the day was spent figuring it out. I was a minor, but only for a few more months. Emancipating me would take longer than it would for me to turn 18. Putting me in foster care would mean, if I understood it correctly, having my father and mother deemed unfit. My parents wouldn’t have gone for that. In the end, guardianship of me was award to the Turners (friends of the Klein’s) until my eighteenth birthday, with my parents still retaining legal rights to me as a child. It was a “mutual agreement”, in the end.

I like to think that my father finally realized I needed to be set free. The reality is that I know that wasn’t it. I don’t know why he dropped the case and let me go. In the end, I don’t think it matters. I was set free and I was terrified, but I had hope. The next step was “the plan”. What was my plan? MY plan for MY life.

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The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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I was taken back to the station. Officer Barney* and Officer Crouch* (*obviously pseudonyms) spoke to me very little on the way to the station, but the questions they did ask were sympathetic. They wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing – as a minor (technically), I was a runaway. It didn’t matter that I was several weeks shy of 18, I was a minor. They made sure I understood that there was a very good chance I would be sent home with my parents anyway. I understood. I had just come too far to turn back now.

We got to the station and they led me into a room. I’d only been in there a few minutes when Officer Barney came in with the attorney the Kline’s had found for me. Attorney Dana* said she’d called protective services and pulled some strings but that, unless I could prove the engagement and that it was against my will, I would likely have to go home to my parents. I’d have to emancipate myself if I couldn’t prove their was abuse and that process was likely to take longer than my turning 18. Proving the engagement was pretty easy. I had a ring. When I got to the Kline’s, I’d taken it off my finger and tossed it into my bag. Since my possessions were taken from me when we entered the station, the ring was retrieved and catalogued as “evidence”. Then there was my journal. The journal I kept could be used as evidence. The problem was that I had left it behind. The only way to get it would be through my parents and you can imagine how asking for it might not work out. We decided to call my brother and see if he could get to our house and get it under the auspices of getting me some “modest clothing”. It worked. We got my journal.

Skipping ahead a few hours, when my brother arrived at the station with the journal, my attorney decided to have my brother call Adam. Adam knew I’d ran and as soon as my brother started speaking, he launched into a verbal tirade and demanded to speak to me. He made the mistake of yelling, loud enough for us all to hear, that I was “his property” and that if I didn’t start “behaving as a righteous wife should” I would be “sorry”. He also added that it was my “duty to submit to him in all ways a wife should”. At this, the attitude in the room changed. As soon as my brother hung up, the cops started looking for reasons to keep me from going home. The answer had been staring us in the face the whole time – Adam was not a minor. Adam was an adult who had just referred to a minor as “property”, with the expectation of submission and the suggestion of abuse. My lawyer asked for an immediate sitting with the presiding judge. It was granted (small municipalities do have their advantages). It was scheduled for the next day and, after being apprised of the situation by their own attorney, through my attorney, they (my parents) agreed to let me go home with my brother and to not contacting me until after the hearing.

I didn’t sleep much that night. I couldn’t help but fear for everyone who had helped me get as far as I’d got. I also feared that everyone who had helped me would see that I wasn’t worth it and that I should just go home. It’s hard to be rational at times like those and my upbringing didn’t raise me to feel worthy of help. I knew that, in the morning, I would see my parents,…see my mom and maybe my siblings and I wasn’t sure if I could handle that. I had this idea in my head that I was still in this alone.

The next day, I was stunned when I approached the courtroom and saw a crowd of people. In attendance were the Klines, the two cops who had first reponded to the Kline’s, Officers Barney and Crouch, a social worker, and two friends of my brother’s who knew Adam. My parents were there as well, with their attorney.

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The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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It’s hard to explain what those first few minutes were like, as I made my way across the field to the neighbors’. I had a million emotions – fear, anger, sadness, grief, excitement, and uncertainty, just to name a few. At any moment, I expected the sliding door to open and the back yard lights to go on. I expected one of the boys, or – worse- my father, to hop on the ATV we kept in the yard.

Looking back every step, though – all I saw was a quiet house. No one had noticed my leaving, even though I was sharing a room at this point. In hindsight, I’ve always wondered if my sisters had slept through my feverish gathering (maybe they thought I was gathering clothes for a late night load of laundry?) or if they knew I was leaving and knew I was unhappy? Either way, they didn’t stop me or raise any alarm.

My neighbors were shocked to see me standing on their porch. Mr. and Mrs. Kline* (pseudonym) had had their doubts about my family for years. They’d called protective services one day after watching my dad dole out a punishment to my brother. Protective services did nothing – deeming the incident to be within the scope of parental discipline, but the Kline’s intervention made a deep impression on me. I knew someone was watching our family.

The Klines also made attempts to talk to my mother and us girls whenever they could. My father would speak about how nosey they were and how they were “the wolves”. Mrs. Kline worked and my father would use their childlessness as an example of how worldliness “deprived a woman of her Godly appointment”. As I came to discover, Mrs. Kline was infertile.

I stood on their doorstep and explained, or tried to, that I had been engaged and I didn’t want to be and I was hoping they could help me get to my brother. Mrs. Klein told me later that she would’ve adopted me that night but Mr. Klein was rightfully worried about taking in a minor. He said we should call the police or call my parents. I opted to call the police because I knew calling my parents would only result in them calling the police to make me come home.

The police came and listened to my story. I will never forget their kindness. One of the officers was female – a rarity for our town at that time- and I think it was God’s gift to me that she arrived to take my statement. Both she and her partner were disgusted by the possibility that things were the way I said it was (being forced to accept Adam’s proposal) but they kept it professional and said they were going to go talk to my father. I told them I didn’t want to go back home and stammered that I feared being sent away again. The Klein’s confirmed that I had disappeared for a few months not too long ago and the cops took that into consideration. They went to my father’s house to get his side of the story.

My father was irate and demanded that I be returned to him or he would “retrieve me” himself. He demanded that it was all a misunderstanding (his favorite excuse) and that if he could just talk to me, it would be fixed. When the officers repeated my fear of being sent away, my father told them that was silly because the previous detention had been my choice! He produced a letter I’d been encouraged to write my parents telling them how grateful I was for being sent away. The female officer had the wisdom to see this for what it was. She started asking about our family. She wanted to talk to my mother (who was standing in the room, not saying a word) in private. My father allegedly told my mother that was not wise and my mother wouldn’t answer in more than one word answers. The female officer suggested that maybe we all needed the night to calm down. For whatever reason, my father agreed and I stayed at the Klein’s.

The next morning, my mother arrived bright and early to retrieve me. Mrs. Klein asked if I wanted to leave and as much as I wanted to go to my mother, I knew I would be punished for my stunt. I told her I didn’t want to leave but I knew I couldn’t stay and she said Mr. Klein was handling that. What I didn’t know at that moment was that Mr. Klein had already gone to retain an attorney on my behalf.

To make a long story short, within two hours, the cops arrived to take me home (a different set of officers this time) because I was a “runaway”. Mrs. Klein explained the situation and the officers told me I had a choice – go home or go to their offices and file a report against Adam and my father. I chose the latter. It was my first time in a police car and I was terrified. Mrs. Klein followed us in her car. As we passed by the front of my house, I saw my mom and sisters watching through the windows. It was humiliating and I can only imagine what my father was saying in the background.

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The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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by

So, there I was, pre-engaged. Betrothed. I refused to say “engaged” because that would suggest I was a party to the act. Nothing could be farther from the truth. When I should’ve been praying to ask God to make my heart right with these decisions being made for me, I was asking God to get me out and show me a way to avoid it all.

My goal was to graduate high school. When I told my mother that, she made sure my home school curriculum was first priority – just to get it out of the way and give me less of an excuse. When I told my mom I didn’t like the boy ‘that way’ – she thought she’d help me by having me spend time with his family. When that didn’t work – I was sent away. I was sent to work in the offices of the movement. During that time, all ties were cut for me. I was only allowed to get one letter a week from my “betrothed” and one phone call from my parents. Both of these were pre-read and listened to. I was kept, doing church related tasks, busy for three months.

When I had been beated down (emotionally and spiritually), I was allowed to go home. The very next day, my dad invited Adam to come help with a project we were doing. He was bringing another brother as a chaperone. I knew the question was coming and the question was going to be the catalyst to change in my life.

I was right.

Adam came into our home and went straight to the backyard to discuss something with my father. I tried to look small and invisible. After dinner, Adam publicly asked my father if two of my siblings would accompany us on a walk. We walked down the street until we got to a fence gate. At the gate, Aaron dropped on one knee and read me a scripture passage. He pulled a small box from his coat and presented me with a diamond ring.

The world started swimming. I have never felt more claustrophobic in my life. My sister stepped up to hold my shaking hand as he put the ring on – because I hadn’t verbally agreed to anything. Somehow or another, we ended up back in the house and a party was being amped up. Dad was taking photos and Mom was calling friends to tell them to save a date for a wedding. All this and I haven’t said yes. I went to the bathroom and tried to hide, but Adam used our lockless doors against us and he forced my sister in through the door to tell me to return to the party. Inside I was screaming that I hadn’t agreed to be his wife and yet there were dates being tossed around.

People were planning a wedding around me. The wedding was a go and the bride was a no. I was in a daze but through the daze I knew that it was time for me to leave. After the hubbub died down, and people were leaving, Adam took me outside by the hand for a “talk”. During the talk, I tried bargaining. I told him I might marry him if he would be okay with my staying in school and going for an advanced education. He was visibly uncomfortable. He said that he thought I was in line with the teachings of our fathers and God’s commandment for us. I told him I might be, I wasn’t sure, and that I needed time to seek out an answer. I also told him that IF we got married, I would NEED to have something that was just mine in our life (a job, a hobby, or the ability to further my education). I thought, maybe for a moment, that he was thinking about what I’d said because he got quiet. I wrongfully thought that meant he was considering some of what I said. Well, maybe he was, but not in the way I thought.

He grabbed my arm forcibly and said, “YOU is no longer YOU. YOUR WORLD IS ME NOW.” He quoted scripture at me and jammed my hands into my chest. He told me to get right with the Lord and see him for the prize he was. He had a house for us. He had a job. He was next in line for a political fortune (supposedly) and I “could have it all” just by marrying him and “Learning to love him.” I just cried – what else could I do? As I was trying to walk away, he spun me around by jerking my arm and pinned me to the fence. I won’t repeat what he said, but he grabbed my rear-end and said, “Yummmm…Ruth. Don’t lose any weight between now and the wedding.”

I went to my mother and told her what had went down outside. She insisted I must’ve misunderstood and went to get my dad. My dad was ambivalent. He insisted that I had misunderstood and then suggested that every woman enjoys it when a man pays you a sexual compliment.

That night – after everyone had gone to bed– I started grabbing clothes. I had no idea where I was going or what it even meant to get out of the family but something told me I had to go. I prayed to God to give me a sign to go. An hour later, I noticed a light go on at the neighbor’s house across the field. I wasn’t thinking very far ahead – I had just asked God to give me a place to run – a sign to go – anything. The light. I ran across the field with only what I could carry.

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The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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I spent close to, or maybe a little over a year, trying to dodge Adam’s calls. We weren’t officially “courting”, so I didn’t see why I had to speak with him any more than I was allowed to speak to other male “friends of the family” that called. Unfortunately, my father had decided that we should get to know each other better and that was the end of that discussion.

Adam was a very pushy guy. Many of his questions seemed inappropriate, even if they would’ve been asked in a normal dating situation. He would ask the standards:

• How many children do you want?
• Will you pledge to allowing the Lord to open and close your womb?
• How do you feel about debt?
• Would you be willing to sacrifice and go without in order to start OUR lives out with no debt?
• Would you allow me my patriarchal authority or would you insist on an equal partnership (said like it was bad thing)?

He would also ask the strange questions:

• How often do you think about physical intimacy (sex)?
• When do you think about it?
• Am I part of your fantasy?
• If we were alone, would we need a chaperone?
• How often should a married couple have relations?
• Would you allow your husband the freedom to try new things?

Later, as I was speaking to the brother who didn’t consumate his marriage for six months, I got to watch the horrified face of this brother as I relayed these questions from Adam. He said that Adam was definitely not following the ATI/IBLP, courtly love script. I didn’t figure he was.

In any case, I never “fell” for Adam. He wasn’t right for me. He was right for my dad, however! Adam’s family wasn’t a founding family but they owned a lot of land and were of interest to certain people in Gothard circles because they had what most QF families don’t have – a boatload of money. Getting Adam married into an “established” ATI family could help insure that his family would stay in and all of that land/money would stay in ATI circles. At least, that’s my opinion, I don’t have solid proof. Why else would my dad push so heavily for it though? I didn’t even know Adam in the way that most women know the man they’ll marry.

When I was sixteen, going on seventeen, Adam’s family came for another visit and it was on this visit that Adam asked to court me, with the understanding that we would become engaged in less than a year and married as soon as I was eighteen. His request was one of the most humiliating events in my life. We had just sat down around two long tables for dinner in a squished livingroom. Adam came around to the girl’s table and took my hand. I stood up and there, in front of every member of my family, he proposed the courtship (almost exactly as I stated it above) and presented me with a piece of jewelry.

I was caught off guard and didn’t know what to say so I started crying. People in the room saw what they wanted to see and mistook my tears for tears of joy. I guess they missed my attempt to untangle my hand from Adam’s and run for the door (it was too crowded or I would have). As they applauded and wished us luck, I’m not even sure I answered his request/demand. Before I knew it, I was being led to the table he was sitting at and my place setting was being moved by his brother. And with that I was officially pre-engaged to the boy I didn’t know and didn’t like.

Discuss this post on the NLQ forum!

The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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Day two of the Carson’s visit was on a Sunday and we had a worship service in our homechurch. My father led the service which, coincidently, seemed centered around the covenants of marriage and purity. This was a frequent theme in our church but it still made me feel ‘on the spot’. After service, we went to the park for a picnic. Historically, these picnics were semi-segregated by sex. The boys would gather around one area and do activities or chat with the men. The girls and women would set out the food and then congregate for “fellowship”. On this day, however, my dad suggested that I take drinks over to the boys and see if they needed anything.

Adam was, in hindsight, waiting for me to approach him. I asked the group if they needed anything and I was bombarded by requests. So much so that I couldn’t possibly carry everything back on my own. Adam volunteered to help me. The 100 yards or so back to the covered picnic area was the longest walk I’d ever had alone with a boy that wasn’t a family member. Adam took full advantage of the time and continued his interrogation from the day before. I answered in one word answers and didn’t contribute much to the discussion.

Shortly thereafter, my dad grabbed me by the arm and drug me behind the van to ask why I was being so short with Adam – apparently, Adam had told his father, who told my father, that I wasn’t being friendly enough. I told my dad that I was uncomfortable discussing personal things with Adam as I barely knew him and I had never been with a boy alone. My dad reacted in a way I thought, and still think, was strange! Instead of understanding the position I was in and congratulating me for maintaining the boundaries he’d instilled in me, he was enraged! He told me that I *would* answer all of Adam’s quetsions and I would do it JOYfully. I *would* be the “epitome of grace and womanhood” and I would “remember my place” as the eldest, “example” daughter. With that, I was pushed back to the fray. Adam was right there waiting.

The Carson’s visit ended with Adam asking if he could call me. When I told him he’d have to talk to my dad, hoping that would dissuade him, he said he already had and had been told he could. It made me feel like my permission was just a quaint formality, but unnecessary. I didn’t say I would respond but said I’d have to pray about maintaining communication. We weren’t supposed to communicate with boys unless God told us he was ‘the one’, after all.

A week later, the phone rang and it was Adam. I begged not to take the call and my mom made an excuse for me. This happened several times while my dad was away on business. As soon as he returned, Adam called again and I tried to beg out of it – this time, I was told that I was taking the call. Thus began a year of phone calls I dreaded and my father regulated.

Discuss this post on the NLQ forum! 

The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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As I’ve said before, my family did a lot of fellowship with other IBLP/ATI/QF families. Our house was a convenient rest stop for families travelling to and from sessions, conventions, and other gatherings. While our house wasn’t terribly large, it did have a large yard and land enough to park trailers/buses/motorhomes or a fleet of vans (the general vehicle of choice for QF families).

One afternoon, as we were cleaning in preparation for yet another gathering, my dad asked to speak to me. He handed me a rake and asked me to help him level a spot under a tree for the Carson’s* trailer. (NOTE* – I’ve obviously changed names here.) He explained that the Carson’s were good friends of his (even though I’d only met them a handful of times and couldn’t recall any special relationship). My dad veered off into the unexpected when he started asking me questions about my future. Dad asked if I had been praying for my future husband or if I had thought about “seriously preparing (myself) for marriage?” I don’t remember what my external response to him was but I do remember thinking that I was uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. After we’d cleared the spot, dad and I got in the cart to go back to the shed and he laid his hand on mine. He said that he’d been praying about my future husband and had received some guidance from the Lord. The Lord had guided him to the Carson family.

The Carson family had five boys. The oldest was eight years older than me (but still living at home). The youngest was two years my junior. The third boy, Jacob*, was a year older than me and I assumed that my dad was referring to this boy. Rounding out their family was Adam*. Adam was three years older than me (17, at this point). Because we weren’t allowed to socialize with the boys in other families (other than brief interactions with no physical contact or real deep conversation), I didn’t know the Carson boys very well. When they visited before, or when we saw them at conferences, I kept my distance and kept busy. I had no interest in any of the boys because they seemed odd to me. Jacob was, from my estimation, approachable and the most cordial of the boys. But the others were rowdy and loud and talked badly about others in a way that I found off-putting. Hearing my father say that I was now supposed to “get to know them” made me anxious. I had no experience with dating, it being forbidden, and was certainly not thinking of courting anyone at fourteen.

When the Carson’s arrived, my dad greeted them warmly and, as happened with all “fellowshipping opportunities”, gathered us all for a prayer. The prayer was standard procedure until my dad said, “…and Lord, please use this weekend to do your will…open hearts and minds to new possibilities, for your Glory.” As he said this, he looked at me. The prayer circle broke and for the first time in my life, I was told to go with my brothers and entertain the Carson boys while we toured the property. I protested and said that I was needed by my mother. My father grabbed my arm harshly and told me to do as I was told.

During the walk with the boys, I tried not to be noticed. I hung back. I only answered direct questions and was counting the moments until I could retreat into the relative comfort of my room. After we’d left site of the house, Adam slowed down until I had caught up with the group and he tried to make small talk. He asked me very personal questions about my faith and if I believed in the principles that certain people in our circle promoted. I’m sure I touted the party line and told him what I imagined he wanted to hear. This interrogation lasted until we got back to the house and I went to find my mother.

My mother was in the kitchen with Mrs. Carson. As soon as I entered the room, the tone changed and my mother began telling all present how skilled and capable I was in managing our home. “In fact…”, said my mother, “…Ruth, why don’t you take over dinner while Mrs. Carson and I watch the girls play! You don’t mind, do you?” What could I say? Open contradiction was unheard of and I’d prepared dinner for many many times. I did as I was told. When we gathered at the table for the meal, my parents made multiple references to how good my cooking was and how efficient I’d been in presenting the meal. It was strange praise. Even stranger when Mr. Carson took each praise in like a bidder at an auction, smiling and nodding to his sons.

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The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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Discretion vs. Simplemindedness – The ability to avoid words, actions, and attitudes which could result in undesirable consequences (Proverbs 22:3) – Bill Gothard

by RazingRuth

My body started developing secondary sex traits very early. By the time I was ten, I had breast buds and needed a training bra. What might surprise some is the fact that my mother and father saw this and immediately set about taking me to the thrift store to find some training bras. Yes, much to my embarrassment, my father went along for the purchase. It was humiliating to have the entire family standing outside the fitting room while my mother handed bra after bra over the partition for me to try on. When I found one that fit, she loudly announced the size to my entire family so they could search the racks. It’s one of the subtle hypocrisies of my family: your body was supposed to be a highly personal, spiritual thing, but because of reasons I’ll state below, it wasn’t kept private.

I also started having body odor and a need to shave my armpits a year later. This was problematic because, unless you were a boy, there wasn’t room in the budget for antiperspirant or razors. I realized that I smelled gamey so I took to stealing my mother’s deodorant on the sly.

The razors were a bit more difficult. My father ran the boys’ lives like a prison warden. To get a new razor, they had to leave the used one on his sink. He would look it over and decide if it was dull enough to require a new one and then leave the new one in their plastic basket under the bathroom sink. They were in charge of their razors and since my father hated wasting money, they were encouraged to use them until it cut their faces from dullness. If they went through more than a certain quantity every month, it was discussed during family time.

I wasn’t allowed, technically, to shave. Anything. My mother wasn’t allowed to shave anything, either. Dad decreed that God put that hair on our bodies for a reason and he didn’t see why women should shave at all. I always wanted to ask him why men should shave, then, given the biblical justification for growing a beard and applying the same standard of “God put it there” rationalization to men. I never did ask.

I did, however, start sneaking razors from the homes of people we visited and I’d hide them around the house, in places most people wouldn’t think to look. I just wasn’t comfortable with having hair under my arms and, at a certain point, I didn’t like it on my legs.

When it started growing on my pelvic area, I was in a panic! That hair stood for something I didn’t want to think about. It was an outward symbol that my childhood was coming to a close and in ATI-fundamental-QF circles, that had broader implications. Consequently, for about a year, I butchered my pubic hair in uneducated attempts to get rid of it. I plucked it. I shaved it. I did anything to try to stop its inevitable appearance or spread. One afternoon, I hadn’t been so careful after my shower and I left some of the evidence in the bottom of the bathtub. One of my brothers saw it and told my father. He punished me publicly with the “rod”.

I was humiliated.

My period started when I was thirteen. I had been feeling very crampy and grumpy for several days. It was so uncomfortable that I had told my mother I thought I was ill. I had snapped at a younger brother for something petty and my mom reminded me of the JOY principle. In our house, there was no room for PMS.

That evening, when I was changing into my nightgown, I saw the blood in my underwear. Once again, panic set in. I had no older sisters and my mother’s idea of educating me on my own body was limited to telling me rudimentarily how babies were made. She’d neglected to tell me about how painful a period could be or how much blood there would be. I knew that periods existed because I’d seen her sanitary napkins and been with her when she bought them. I’d seen the calendar and the dots marking the start and end of her flow. I knew about planning intercourse around ovulation. It was the physical experience of it that had never been discussed. I shoved my dirty underwear in the fireplace when no one was looking and shoved tissue into my new undies to keep from telling anyone about my new “womanhood”. I went to bed.

As you might guess, this didn’t go well.

When I woke up the next morning, my nightgown and bedsheet were bloody. I didn’t have time to hide the evidence. My younger sister woke up and started screaming when she saw the blood. My father ran into our room and shook uncontrollably. Seeing the sheets, he assumed I’d “defiled my body”. I am still shocked that this was his first impression. Rather than seeing his teenage daughter standing there in obvious shock and terror and putting two-and-two together, he assumed I’d somehow snuck someone into my room and had sex!

My mother followed my sister’s screams and my father’s shouts into my room. She, fortunately, recognized the look of confusion on my face and calmed my father into reason. It was like a light switched on in his head and his mood changed in an instant. He was now congratulating me and smiling ear to ear. Telling me we’d have a “special lunch” later in the week to “celebrate”. That was the last thing I wanted to do but I didn’t have the strength to argue after the shock of the morning.

My mother helped me clean up and it was business as usual until that evening when my dad handed me a marker and proudly, almost, told me to mark the day on the calendar with a “pink dot”. Mom’s dots were red. I was horrified. He meant for me to keep track of this publicly? In front of my brothers? But what could I do except obey him and walk to the calendar to “place my dot of womanhood”?

The following day, he and my mother took me out to lunch and explained menstruation to me. It was one of the most humiliating days of my life but it didn’t stop at menstruation. I was subsequently informed of my status as a woman, now, and how I should start praying for the “one God had for me” and thinking about the type of mother I’d be.

Discuss this post on the NLQ forums!

The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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by RazingRuth

Sincerity? – My dad was very careful about our public image. Most ATI patriarchs are. Though we didn’t go out in public very often, and certainly we never went out alone, when we did go out, we were dressed and pressed. My sisters and I were required to have long hair. This hair was not allowed to be braided, however, because that was un-Biblical. Usually, our hair was curled on rag rollers or sponge rollers and left to fall down in curls. The boys had high and tight, ALERT regulation cuts.

The girls in my family wore dresses only, until we reached the age of ten, at which point we could wear skirts and tops. The boys wore pants and polo tops. No t-shirts were allowed for either sex (if we were in the public eye). If you were in a t-shirt, you were most likely male and in bed or wore it under something else. Us girls had to wear full underwear; bloomers, underpants, undershirts, and bras.

Hypocrisy: One of Gothard’s teachings was that one shouldn’t be overly concerned with appearance. The first time I heard Mr. Gothard say that on a retreat, I was dumbfounded. What? We’re not supposed to spend much time worrying about our appearance…but we have to make sure we don’t violate all these rules for dressing and appearance?

Sincerity? – We were taught that the sins of the father carried over to the child. That’s partly why my dad was so concerned about our public image and remains concerned about our actions now. He sincerely believes that our actions reflect his sins. The more we stray outside the lines, the worse his sins must’ve been. This is why adoption isn’t utilized in ATI families. I knew one family that experienced a horrible tragedy. Mom and dad were killed in a car accident and they had two children. The Aunt and Uncle of the children were ATI and ended up being named guardians of the children. They asked Bill Gothard if they should formally adopt the children and the answer was “no”. Gothard allegedly told them that adopting the children formally would upset the “birth order” and be a lie. The lie being that the children weren’t really the fruit of the marriage and these children bore the sins of their father, not the adoptive father and mother. We heard, from the couple, that Bill advised them to find another placement for the children and if they couldn’t, to maintain the guardianship, but not formally adopt.

Hypocrisy – Gothard’s ministries include ministering to orphanages. You go and spend a week or more encouraging these orphan children into “building bonds with the Lord” rather than building bonds with other humans and potentially finding parents. Why go to orphanage at all if you believe the children are flawed with the sins of their parents? Why encourage people to go if you won’t counsel them to adopt?

Sincerity? – Homeschooling is a requirement for ATI. That’s the point of the community – a group of people who believe in Gothard’s method for education (The Advanced Training Institute) and spiritual path. Public schools are supposedly so evil that you’re not even allowed to play on a public school playground unless there’s absolutely nowhere else to play. Until you’re deemed to be of an age or maturity level that you can distinguish “right living from wrong living”, you’re not allowed to associate with publicly educated children outside your own extended family (and even that is supervised).

Hypocrisy – Bill Gothard makes millions off of public schools through “Character First!”. Character First is a biblically based character instruction program used in thousands of schools. I’ve read that it’s even mandatory in some states! Bill Gothard is a business man. He must have realized that selling curriculum to fundamental homeschooling families would never be the cash cow that is the public school system. Instead of following his own, skewed interpretation of being “equally yoked”, he takes money from public schools and public school children. Is this ethical?

I’m not saying anything that hasn’t already been said elsewhere. I’m just starting to realize that there were so many hypocrisies in my life and it makes me mad. Next stop- puberty!

Discuss this post on the NLQ forums!

The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

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by RazingRuth

Before I talk about my own experience, I want to talk about birthdays, in this movement, as a whole.

Birthdays in a Gothard family can vary wide and deep. The level of celebration depends on several things. First, how deep into Gothardism the family is and when they came in. Second, how many children the family currently has. Third, the level of legalism they adhear to. For some families, birthdays were spent in a very normal way, with friends and family, with gifts and cake. Our family was different – we were a Charter Family.

When us older kids were very small, our birthdays were nice occasions. Usually, someone from the community would come over and my mom would fix a nice lunch. We’d have a birthday cake and receive presents. Somewhere around 1987, my father read a lecture by Mr. Gothard and had an epiphany. Birthdays, he decided, weren’t spiritually appropriate, as they had been celebrated and were being celebrated by “others”. Like a lot of things, he felt we had to separate ourselves from the worldliness of society to be doing the right thing.

According to my father and other fathers in our ATI community, it was decided that birthdays should be an acknowledgement of your gift of life and a rededication to your service and purpose for the Lord. No cakes were necessary. Just a pat on the shoulder or hug, followed by a lunch or dinner with mom and dad where they talked to you about your beliefs and your future. I won’t lie. It was something I did look forward to because time alone with my parents was a luxury rarely available. However, when I would see other families having big birthdays in the park, I was jealous. My mom, as I’ve said before, didn’t like it much either. She felt that that kind of celebration may be appropriate for a much older child but she argued that little children should at least have cake and a gift. My parents battled on this. It was my mom’s mission to make sure we each had this small trinket and a cake.

Dad finally realized that, not being home much of the time, he was going to have to let this one go. He gave my mother permission to “handle” our birthdays- but he gave her “limits”. We could have a cake, but it had to be a cup cake. We could have a gift, but it had to be something useful in our life or useful in our future. Recently my brother and I compared our birthday lists for fun. Over the years when I was home, I received – a hope chest, a lace table cloth, a tea pot, my grandmother’s quilt, an apron, a family bible, a picture frame, and -one “toy”- a small doll crib for my rag doll. My brother’s gifts were- a small tool set, a Mag-Lite flashlight, an adult Bible, money to put in his savings, a saw, and later a repair book for cars. Those are the things we remember.

My mom would bring in our cupcakes or cakes at lunch. We’d break from play or homeschool to gather around the table and sing. We sang the regular birthday song until someone taught us the Christian birthday songs that started the rounds in our community. Only the birthday child got the cake and this got ugly at times. We were all supposed to be gracious and happy for the birthday boy or girl but most of the time we just wanted to steal their cupcake! Sweets weren’t allowed in our house and it was a prize.

Discuss this post on the NLQ forums!

The 49 Character Qualities of Ruth by RazingRuth:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

NLQ Recommends ...

'Breaking Their Will: Shedding Light on Religious Child Maltreatment' by Janet Heimlich

‘Quivering Daughters‘ by Hillary McFarland

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