I’ve been thinking a lot about how I grew up.
I was raised in extreme poverty surrounded by a cultish religious philosophy.
For most of my childhood we slept in vermin infested hovels. Often we had mattresses on the floor that we shared. Food was often scarce and we never had new clothes or toys. We did not own a telephone or a television. Looking back at old photos of us in front of our old rental we look like our hillbilly grandparents in the mountains of Tennessee.
As a child I did not know that we lived differently than almost every other American in modern times and I did not resent the struggle to survive. I even look back fondly on the days of gathering stinging nettles for food and going with my dad to hunt frogs and rabbits. My mother turned our poverty into an imaginary Little House On The Prairie story during the time we lived in the country.
I didn’t know how incredibly abnormal it was to have whooping cough so badly that I would drop on the floor trying to get a breath but have no medical care or parental concern. I didn’t know how wrong it was to watch my 4 year old brother curled up,on a chair burning up with a fever from a Brown Recluse bite, again with no medical care. I didn’t know how strange it was to give birth to a baby on a mattress on the floor in a dump covered in roaches.
Why did we live this way? My answer is, primarily pride and ignorance. You see, when you become part of the. “Faith movement” lie you can turn any kind of neglect, stupidity and irresponsibility into a spiritual act.
The medical neglect was religiously motivated. When your child eventually recovers from untreated diseases and injuries you can cry “ FAITH!” Look at me! I rejected all common sense and reason and this proves that I am a more spiritual person than all of those faithless heathens who get their children medical care when they are suffering.
As for the poverty, that was by choice. My father was highly intelligent ( IQ) and skilled. He had a mechanics license, he was an extremely skilled carpenter, he was an honor student who spoke Spanish, he was a war veteran and had a great variety of experiences. He also hated having a boss and was determined to be self employed no matter what that meant for our living conditions .
This last part was the hardest for me to come to realize. I was daddy’s girl. My father was always kind to me and he showed me how to work physically hard. I relished all of the time I had with him. I loved trudging through deep snow with a wheelbarrow to dig out wood from the fields, because that wood stove was our only warmth. I loved going with him to kill turtles and frogs so we’d have meat. I loved holding the light while he worked late into the night on that miserable junker of a car. I loved going to work with him on jobs where he worked long hours for little pay.
I did love my dad very much.
That said, as a parent I can see beyond that now. I have much more respect for my own husband who has endured horrible jobs and horrible bosses because making sure that his family is provided for is much more important to him than his own personal satisfaction. We are not a well off family, by any stretch, but my children have never known poverty.
Why does any of this matter now? Beyond my own coming to reality and wrestling with beliefs it matters because I still see people all around me who believe in these damaging lies.
For all of my life my mother has used “what your dad believed” as an argument sealer. If we loved our father we had to also love his philosophy. This is mentality used in churches all over the world to keep people from thinking critically.
All over the world people are making foolish and even dangerous choices using the excuse of “faith”.
It also bothers me greatly that my mother is telling stories of our life in poverty as if they are a simply sweet and lovely ideals and publishing them in a newspaper. It bothers me greatly that she writes novels romanticizing the faith movement. It further bothers me that she’s writing books that people are taking seriously as theological lessons in truth.
The life we lived had some very good aspects. I was primarily an independent wild child, running around messy and free in the fields all day long. I learned to be strong and to work hard.
We also learned a terrifying and false version of Christianity that filled us with a horrifying mix of arrogance and fear and has warped our ability to trust God from childhood to this day.
I have learned that anyone can find scripture to back up any idea. Any person,if they are not right with God or deceived, can use verses out of context to create any number of lies.
I have had a great deal of struggle and doubt that my upbringing causes me. I have learned to see past the idolizing of my father and the fear drilled into me by my mother enough to know it’s not right and not of God.
Look deeply into the lives of your theological teachers and favorite authors because they may sound much wiser than they are.
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