Call me crazy, if you like, for suggesting this possibility… but it seems to me more likely that it is a woman’s “indiscriminate subservience” to a man which gelds him over time, rather than her spirited, loving, challenge of him. Authoritarian patriarchy mass-produces nutless weakling men… bitter, abused women… and scarred, emotionally-deformed children, and ought be abandoned as the utter, perverse failure that it is known to be. ~comment by “Pj” on Alternet article, How I Escaped the “Biblical Family Values” Nightmare That Drives Perry, Bachmann, and Tea Party Politics Discuss on the NLQ forum. Comments are Full post …
Tag: woman's submission
Justice Is No Lady: Chapter 8 ~ Backlash
Warning: This story series contains descriptions of physical abuse.
by Defendant Rising
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.”
Tea Party Family Values and the World’s Greatest Freak Show
On fundamentalist counterculture & juvenile black market adoption fantasies …
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 …
Daughter of the Patriarchy: The Waiting
by Sierra
I loved driving. I’d always known I would. As a child, I collected Hot Wheels cars until they numbered in the hundreds. When I was twelve, my mother decided to teach me to drive in case my father’s rage spilled over completely and I needed to escape. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. The car felt huge and seemed to move so much faster when my hands were on the wheel. I crowed with pride as I successfully navigated the winding roads of our rural neighborhood, passing a UPS truck with wide eyes and short breath.
As I grew older, I periodically stowed away money for a car. At my bakery job, I thought I might finally have a chance when I amassed $1,000 – a year’s savings. Anxious to get wheels, I researched motorcycles and mopeds, which were both cheaper and had a younger age restriction, but was repeatedly told that young ladies shouldn’t ride motorcycles – how could I, in a skirt? I was prepared to make it work until winter convinced me of the foolishness of that plan. I focused my energies again on hunting for cheap cars.
Time and again my savings evaporated: my father took the thousand; rent and food took the rest. I was a contributing member of the household; that meant petty savings for a teenager’s car was low on the priority list. Each time my mother’s outdated and under-maintained car ran itself into the ground and she was forced to buy or lease another, she promised that next time, I’d get to keep the old one. It never happened.
When I was sixteen, my mother and I moved to a farmhouse apartment in a rural area with only one general store within twenty miles. I applied for a summer job there, but was last in the queue of several farm kids and was never called back. My mother commuted to the bakery, an hour’s drive, and I was left to fend for myself in the house. My halfhearted attempts to master Algebra II soon dissolved, and I began to spend my days online, as I had done three years earlier. This time, I was playing a video game: Dark Age of Camelot, an online roleplaying game. All pretense of homeschooling was silently dropped. Our house was not in order; public school was not an option. And so I vanished into a game.
Sven and I played the game first together, igniting no small controversy in the church. The fantasy genre was already suspect: everyone knew that good Christian kids didn’t read Harry Potter, much less play any game resembling (God forbid) Dungeons and Dragons, where kids practiced actual incantations and learned to command the legions of the devil. (Oh, how many high schools would mysteriously burn to the ground if that were true!)
Sven and I defended our pastime vociferously: we knew no occult spells. Sure, there was “magic” in the game, but we were only pressing buttons to launch imaginary fireballs at opponents. There was no devil here. Our loudest opponent, a 26 year old, insisted that the only way to avoid witchcraft was to avoid the appearance of magic.
He was holier than we were; he only played Grand Theft Auto.
As my life dwindled to Sunday church services and fellowship, occasional trips to northern New Jersey to work at the bakery, and the closed Algebra book on my nightstand, I investigated more areas of Dark Age of Camelot, playing in zones where Sven didn’t play, and interacting with other people. Eventually, I made friends. I joined a group called “Lema en Estela,” where I found I could live in another world: one where I didn’t have to demonstrate my piety. I could be imaginative here. I could compete and win without being told that I was violating God’s order. I could make jokes without being told to be sober and serious, for the hour was late. More important, I could have long, friendly conversations with people who accepted me for who I was.
Soon I’d abandoned Sven’s realm to spend all my time with Lema en Estela. I was hiding, but I was safe there. Safe from the impending failure that was my high school education. Safe from my father’s intrusions back into my life. Safe from the judgment of the adults at my church. Safe from the false girl friends who used me to get to Sven. Lema en Estela, as ephemeral as it was, was a beautiful refuge from what otherwise was an empty time.
Dispelled ~ One Girl’s Journey in a Home School Cult ~ Part 9: Sparks Fly
Please note: The content contained herein does not necessarily reflect the values and opinions of the NLQ blog and its administrators.
by Chandra
I still remember what I was doing on Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001. It was a gorgeous morning, crisp azure sky with nothing but the blissful autumn sunshine overhead. Not even a cloud. I pulled into the church parking lot, sunroof back and something along the lines of Green Day blaring. I arrived at the office early, unlocking the door and booted my computer, prepping to attend to the stack of projects that pastors needed completing. I glanced over the counseling schedule for the day and realized that it was going to be a light day. After I had started a pot of coffee for all the guys, I went back to my desk to begin my day.
Somewhere around 9am the news came flooding into the office about the tragedies that were surrounding our eastern coast. Several key members of our church were in the air on business meetings, yet to be accounted for. My co-worker and I went to the sanctuary to pray and when I came back, my inbox said, “You’ve Got Mail” from this mysteriously attractive guy named Darren that I had met over the summer in the singles group. I was a baby, just 19 when I met him. And he was 29. But we were friends and we started an email conversation on 9/11 about the current events facing our nation. And for some reason, this conversation never stopped.
I was still living at home and I knew for certain I wasn’t about to let my parents screw up my chances at finding love and happiness. I knew I needed to leave the house before I could date, because there was no way in hell that I would ever consider courtship. My parents were so screwed up, that that model would not have worked, even though that was their clear desire for me. They wanted to be able to control whom I married so that they could continue to control me from beyond my father’s house.
I began to actively search with a dear friend for a place to rent later that same month. Things at home had grown substantially worse, if that was even possible. I was never home, often leaving early in the morning and often not returning until well past midnight. My sexy Honda became my refuge and respite from the intolerable home environment. My mom grew increasingly intrusive and controlling, opening my mail (keep in mind, I was 19), analyzing my credit card statements (again, I was 19 with a full-time job and zero overhead), my eating habits (she told me that I had bulimia- HA! I wish!), and my choice in clothing (my father told me while going to church that I looked like a prostitute).
I was told that my lack of pitching in with my hard-earned money to help out with household costs was the reason that my parents were in so much debt. I believed it, and internalized these statements, rather than recognizing that my dad’s sexual addiction was the cause of their financial state. Rather than throwing my money to them, I determined that my best option was to leave.
I was weary of trying to make things work at home, of no freedom and completely humiliating incidences. My mom would call people I was hanging out with, demanding to know where I was and when I would be home. Many times, she would be awake when I arrived home, and would begin her emotional tirades against me from the moment I stepped into the house. They never set a curfew, so I never felt compelled to keep it. Once, my mom barged in on a church single’s party, tracking down where this social gathering was. She appeared and demanded if I was there at the house. She came in, and dragged me by the hand out of this home and humiliated me in front of everyone. Again, I was 19. That was the final straw. I ripped into her, telling her how much I hated her and it was not two weeks later, that my friend and I found a condo that was offered to us by a member of the church where I worked.
I was thrilled to at last have found a place to live away from my parents toxicity! I had my little red Honda packed and ready to go weeks in advance, but I would be required to live with my parents through the holidays. My girlfriend and I were free to move in anytime after Christmas, so the day after Christmas, I planned my move. And this guy Darren, who had befriended me that autumn had the truck that I needed. I did not need help from my parents, and refused to take it. I needed to leave, flee- as far away from them as my situation would take me, and I wanted them to have no part of my new life.
I got myself moved and found my parents and my brother in my new condo, unannounced. I had forgotten to lock the door. I was more than just a little angry that they wouldn’t leave me alone, and told them to leave. This was my life, and I wanted to live it apart from them perpetrating their abuse and control on me. Little did I know what a long road I would have ahead of me in actually obtaining that freedom.
No Charity in the Remnant ~ Part 7: She Trusted Them Because She Trusted God …
by Whisper Rain
The months that followed were a bit of a blur. Whisper’s newfound happiness was getting attention, and she had to figure out how to explain it. People would just walk up to her out of the blue and ask her what happened, because she looked like a different person. At the time, the simplest explanation that made the most sense (in the context of the teaching in her new church) was that she had finally surrendered herself to God completely. Yes, it felt a little “off” to put it that way… it was a woeful oversimplification at best… and a complete fabrication at worst. But Whisper didn’t know how to explain what had happened, so it didn’t seem like such a big deal to let people think it was something they could easily understand. She didn’t think there was any harm in letting it go at that. Especially since the being of love she had encountered that night was someone she certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to surrender to.
Whisper listened with rapt attention to the preaching at her new church. She was so excited to hear about God and study the bible! She soaked up the teaching like a sponge. Then she went home and read all the popular Christian books, careful to keep her mind open to whatever new ideas they might present to her… A life of trust was so simple! At first, she very rarely rejected an idea from a christian source, believing that God was moving everywhere, and might speak to her through anything, if she would keep an open mind and listen. Whisper bought all the books on godly womanhood that she could find- she quickly filled a bookshelf. Then she discovered “I Kissed Dating Goodbye,” and started collecting books about courtship, modesty, and various other popular Christian topics. Whisper quickly became convinced that she needed not only to be a Christian, but to be a conservative Christian. More dedicated than the average “lukewarm” variety, and therefore closer to God. More than anything Whisper wanted to be close to God. One day Whisper overheard a glowing review of the book “Created To Be His Help Meet”… so she added it to her “must read” list.
After her experience, Whisper knew deep down that some of the things she started doing & believing were outright reactions to her “old self.” She thought that was a good thing! Happiness instead of misery was good! And it really was. But quickly, under the teaching she was now open to, independence was traded in for submission. Individuality traded in for femininity and “modesty.” Critical thought was replaced with “teachableness.” She willingly destroyed her secular CDs, and replaced them with hymns. Whisper’s parents started to get uncomfortable… what was happening to their daughter? WAS this their daughter?
Whisper left her old self behind. She didn’t really let herself think much about that “dark time” before (as she was told) “the light of the gospel shined in her heart.” Even the very event, the beautiful thing that had happened to her that night, was dragged out into the light, picked apart and labeled. That was her “conversion experience.” She quickly learned to define it all in the correct terms.
Whisper began to learn that, in her new church, there was more to outward appearances than she had thought. These people didn’t dress the way they did because it was comfortable. There was a specific meaning behind everything… either a verse of scripture or a “godly principle.” They dressed the way they did to be an example to the world- to truly be a shining light.
Family Driven Faith ~ Part 2: It Is Good to Be Free
A Former Independent Fundamental Baptist Pastor’s Perspective on Biblical Manhood & Womanhood
by Bruce Gerencser
As an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) pastor I taught that the Bible clearly defined the roles of men (husbands), women (wives), and children. (a hierarchy) The Bible was clear; the husband is the head of the home and the wife is commanded to submit to the authority and rule of her husband. Like the pastor in the church, the husband is the final authority in the home. It matters not if he is worthy of such responsibility. A husband is disobedient to God if he refuses to be the head of the home. The wife, if she refuses to submit to her husband’s authority, is a Jezebel and risks the judgment of God.
I taught women that God’s highest calling for them was marriage, having children, and keeping the home. I discouraged women from going to college. After all why waste money going to college if you are going to be busy having children and keeping the home.
I taught men that God’s highest calling for them was to be leaders. Men were called to lead the church and the home. (and lead the government) The strength or weakness of any culture, church, or home depended on whether or not men were fulfilling their divine calling to lead.
Children were at the bottom of the hierarchical system. They were under the authority of God, the Bible, the pastor, their father, and their mother. (And according to my sons, the oldest brother) Children had one divine calling in life, obey!
This kind of hierarchical family structure has been a part of American society since the day the Pilgrims stepped ashore on the eastern coast of America. Over time, due to social, political, and economic pressures the hierarchical family structure was weakened. As women gained the right to vote, began working outside of the home, and began using birth control, they realized they could live without being under the control and the authority of a man. Modern American women are free to pursue their own life path, free to live lives independent of men. When women marry they are no longer considered the helpmeet. They are equal partners in the marriage. Their values, beliefs, and opinions matter.
However, in the IFB church movement women still live in the 18th century. Bound by commands and teachings from an antiquated book, they live lives strangely and sadly out of touch with the modern world. Every aspect of family life is controlled by what the Bible teaches. (or what an authoritarian Pastor and authoritarian husband/father say the Bible teaches)
I have no objections to a women willingly choosing to live and participate in a hierarchical family structure. If an Amish woman wants to live as the Amish do then I have no reason or right to object. (though it is difficult to determine if they willingly choose. Is it a free choice when there are no other options?)
For my family and I moving away from a hierarchical family structure was difficult. We had to relearn how to live. We had to examine sincerely held beliefs and determine if they still were applicable to the new way we wanted to live our lives.
I realized that I had lorded over my family. I had dominated and controlled their lives, all in the name of Jesus. By doing so I had robbed them of the ability to live their lives independently of my control. Every decision had to have my stamp of approval. Nothing escaped my purview. After all, God had commanded me to be the head of the home. Someday I would give an account to God for how I managed the affairs of my family. I took the threat of judgment seriously.
The biggest problem we faced was that since I was the one who always made the final decision my children and wife lacked the skills necessary to make good decisions. My children quickly adapted to their new found freedom, shouting a Martin Luther King Jr. like FREE FREE AT LAST, however my wife did not fare so well.
Michelle says, Never enough babies!
