The Phantom of the Opera.

So, I'm revealing my age a bit here. When I was a kid, my first memorable exposure to The Phantom of the Opera was Wishbone (gosh, I loved Wishbone) - a PBS kids show featuring a Jack Russell Terrier living out his imaginary interactions with classical literature.

I always found The Phantom of the Opera disturbing. Moreso when I realized that different version contained different origins of his face being the way it was - was it acid? Was it fire? Was it birth? Disfigurement? Who caused it?

It was always creepy - a girl at once drawn to and repulsed by this man, this face, this mentor. The power differential was grotesque. He could kill her. He could humiliate her. She was drawn to him, but as much as she was drawn to him, she had reason to fear him. No one could see him. She hadn't even been able to see his face for so long.

Sound familiar? If you grew up in a 90s evangelical faith, maybe it does. Maybe in ways you hadn't considered.

When the new movie came out, I didn't see it. Not for lack of desire. I just never got around to it. Not until college, when I  myself was involved in an subsect of faith that was extreme, even for me. When I saw it, I didn't make those connections at all. No connections were made besides, "Ooh, Wishbone. I liked that episode. I like this story. I bought the CD for the original musical when the movie came out. Wow, Gerard Butler's voice doesn't fit the part."

I knew my theatre friends loved the costumes. My historical friends loved the accuracy. My musical friends at least liked the main girl's voice. The rest of us could attest that it was the first time we didn't feel drawn to Gerard Butler.  When I finally saw it in college, I didn't think much besides, "Wow, this story is truly disgusting. Like, Wishbone made it kid-creepy. This is nauseating and terrifying. It's every woman's worst nightmare. This is creepy to a level I can't stand. I hate this. I hate everything about it." I've now seen the movie twice and it is absolutely revolting to me, which probably indicates that the directors and all those involved in production did a damn good job. Mad props.

I don't remember when it hit me, but there was a day - a random boring day, driving to my random, boring job, when I heard the theme The Phantom of the Opera, as if for the first time, and I was floored. This was my experience with faith. The dark parts of it.

I pause here to say, this is where current Christians don't get it, and where ex-Christians do. I am not here to defend my experience. I'm here to describe it from this side, and unfortunately, some of my ability to see things as I used to is gone. So I'm not softening any blows here.

The lyrics, which incidentally are sung together, with the power differential unequivocally falling with the phantom...

"In sleep he sang to me
In dreams he came" - sung by Christine

Particularly potent to someone who at one time thought God spoke to me prophetically through dreams, yet felt such distance in waking hours.

"That voice which calls to me
And speaks my name" - sung by Christine

The power was the fact that he knew my name. I was no longer anonymous. No longer anonymous. The one that folks adored, feared, and denied not only recognized me, but knew my name and spoke to me. This was basically the evangelical mantra. "He Knows My Name" is a song my Church knew well. It gave us identity. It gave us importance. None of which we could have without the bestowing of grace by Him.

"And do I dream again?
For now I find
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside my mind" - sung by Christine

Prophetic dreams were cool. The goal though, was to have Him in your head everywhere you went,, at every moment. Not being in tune with Him was actually sinful, indicating a separation of your spirit from His. A problem you had to solve with Him in your private life with Him.

"Sing once again with me
Our strange duet
My power over you
Grows stronger yet" - sung by the Phantom

It's a song shared by two, but One still holds the power, and it's not you or me. His power grows stronger over me. I prayed for it. I longed for it. I often prayed that my heart would align with His, that my heartbeat would beat in tune with His. He did not need to meet me. It was my job to meet Him. Come to His presence, hear His voice, have my heart adjust itself to beat with His... It was perfect. It was right. Anything less was imperfect. Just as the Phantom.


"And though you turn from me
To glance behind
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside your mind" - sung by the Phantom

We tried not to glance behind. We did not want to look to the past. Our songs reflected forward movement and forgetting the past, forgetting our history. In theory, those things could hold power over us, preventing us from being met and transformed by Him. But could they? We didn't know. We didn't need to look behind anyway; the risk was too great. Like Lot's wife, would he reduce us to pillars of salt? The past was gone. Our history was gone. Our entirety didn't involve our past; it all centered on Him in the present, and He told us what that meant.

 "Those who have seen your face
Draw back in fear" - sung by Christine

Yes, we were aware that in scripture, no one could look upon the face of God and live. Moses supposedly got to see God's butt. The Transfiguration - woah. The Prophets who represented God. And yet none could see God and live. The only ones that were pure enough to see God were taken before they could die - Enoch and Elijah. We feared His face. And because of Job and Elijah, we feared to see more.

"I am the mask you wear
It's me they hear" - sung by the Phantom, literally in response to her fear

..."Yet not I, but Christ lives in me." Yes Church, we died to ourselves and gave up our identity. We no longer live. "It's not about me", as my Youth Pastor reiterated (honestly, maybe not the worst message for teens). Your desires don't matter. Your needs don't matter. Your gifts aren't for you - they were given to you to be shared with others. Works really well in the Church because everything is sacrificial and sex is withheld. Imagine if someone waltzed into the Church and said they were skilled at teh secks. Blah, turn it off. But what else do you have to offer? Sex is off the books, but we'll whore out anything else you have to offer.

One of my very "first" prophetic dreams happened when I was a teenager. 13, maybe 14. It was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. I woke up out of sleep with very vivid recollections of my dream, which I recorded in a blue, sparkly gel pen ('cause I was 13). There were components to my dream, each of which had massive theological underpinnings which had massive impacts on the dream. Honestly, it's hard for me to discount the dream, even now.

The dream ended with me in a mall. Jesus and I were hanging out. He gave me a mask of his face to wear. My identity was now tied with his. This happened after graphic parts of the dream involving dying to myself, receiving the holy spirit, and forsaking "even family" to follow Him. All of which is biblical. All of which I did. So I donned his mask. No one could see Jesus, but once I wore His mask, they saw me. And they hated me. Just as Jesus said they would in the Bible.

It wasn't me. I thought I wore His mask over my face. Instead, he wore the mask of "me" over His face. Like everything else, I no longer mattered. My gifts and talents were given to me for His use - for the expansion of His dominion. If they weren't being used for such, it was sin at worst and a waste of life and gift at best. Nothing in my life was for me. It was all Him. Jesus died, then came back like the headless horseman looking for bodies to inhabit for His purposes. No Church would make the Headless Horseman reference (or the Phantom, at that), but that is absolutely what is taught in the New Testament and the Churches that are actually teaching the words of Jesus.

I'm the mask. It's Him they hear. My entire life was about minimizing my existence to maximize His. My prayers, deepest, earnest hours-long prayers from the time I was a pre-teen on reflected this.

And it worked. I lost myself completely.

And so Christine and the Phantom sing together:

"Your/my spirit and your/my voice
In one combined
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside your/my mind"

And as Christine realizes slowly the losing of herself, she sings:

He's there
The Phantom of the Opera
Beware
The Phantom of the Opera

And:

"In all your fantasies
You always knew
That man and mystery
Were both in you"

Which sounds a lot like the Eucharist - the man and the mystery both subsumed and consumed simultaneously, as we sacrifice ourselves.

Yes.

The Phantom of the Opera is there.
______________________________________________________________________________


A little self-conscious with my first real, public post since my last public post which was the first admitting my present non-theism. Once again, I do not debate my faith. Personal questions may be directed to me through message.

And again, this will likely resound with non-theists. And likely trigger a lot of automatic responses and feelings for those who are in the faith. Fair enough. If I was still there, it would for me too. The worst thing you can do is say, "Omg, *this* piece of knowledge and experience I have in my faith must have never occurred to this person. Let me share my insight so they can benefit from it."

Because: I have thought literally every response you have for me before. Partially because we were taught to have them. Partially because I was open to "receiving thoughts from God", which meant receiving thoughts that affirmed Church theology (or challenged it, but were still consistent with Christian faith). Nontheists have been through the ringer. Trust me. We have already have your thoughts, challenged it, and found it wanting. We don't want another debate.

I suppose nontheist blogs really are for other nontheists or for those on the fence (Sufjan Stevens). And that's fine. I'm not debating it. But here's the next installment of my story that I've been wanting to write for almost a whole year, and regardless of response (I won't respond to debate and probably not publicly to specific non-debate questions that aren't sent to my private message account), I finally decided to write it and post it. I hope it is helpful to someone.

2016 In Review.

This has been an important year for me. I think the themes I took from this year are 1) Control, 2) Knowing my needs, and 3) Finding balance. I'm going to go over some of the high and low points of the year, then explain these themes in relation to my year (and my journey away from the faith), then wrap it up. This is liable to be a long post. If you are strictly interested in my journey away from the faith, skip my year summary and read points 1) and 2) below.

So, January of 2016 started out on a high note. After a year of killing myself at work to be the best at my job and to prove my skills, bending over backwards to learn new skills, volunteering for extra work, working a lot of overtime, and playing office politics a bit, I was in line for a pretty major promotion. I had been passed over for a promotion, but was informed that it was because I was in line for an even better one. Finally, all my work and efforts were being validated. They said it would be just a few weeks. But I felt like I was really coming into my own, and it felt great.

Then February happened. My company had a round of massive layoffs. I was kept on, but many people were let go - including my boss and the only coworker who had seniority in my position over me. Along with them and many others, I waved goodbye to my potential promotion. I was assured I wouldn't be forgotten, but I knew the hope was gone. What's more, I could tell they weren't going to replace my boss. In fact, I took over as essentially the head of my department and my responsibilities increase dramatically - still without a raise in pay or title.

March. As you can see in a previous post, the previous year, my old pastor/mentor/friend was arrested on charges of murder. That was a long, ridiculous journey. He hadn't admitted to it by this point, but over the course of 2015, I became more and more obsessed with a need for answers. After his arrest, things got worse for me. No need to rehash that here again, but it weighed on me heavily this month. A dear friend and previous roommate came to visit me, and I was so messed up from the emotions of the trials added to the additional loss of hope at work after having geared my whole life and identity toward advancing in my career that I could talk about little else with her when she visited.

Later in March, I discovered that a friend of mine from when I was in college (was even a roommate for a short time) went missing. Within a week, I learned that her body was discovered. The details of her death disturbed me and I felt that weight and her loss heavily.

The first quarter of the year was so laden with grief, pain, and loss. I almost quit my job several times. I felt like I was going crazy. I wasn't sleeping well. I was hardly eating. I skipped lunch at work daily so that I could leave a half-hour earlier because I hated being there so much that I'd rather skip a meal than to prolong my time there by a half-hour. But I found it hard to skip lunch if I'd eaten breakfast. It was easier if I didn't start my metabolism. So I skipped breakfast and lunch almost daily.

I only looked forward to my time at the gym with my trainer and my time at violin practice with my tutor. Those places gave me consistency. They gave me a place to excel where work had taken that away from me. Those were my mainstays.

I got tired of everything. Everything was exhausting. I decided that something (everything) needed to change. So on March 31st I decided, "I'm finally going to grad school for psychology. This needs to happen." I discovered that applications were extended till the end of April, giving me less than a month to apply, get my recommendation letters, get transcripts, take and "pass" the GRE (which I'd never studied for before), and have an interview. It was a shot in the dark, but I decided to throw myself in whole-heartedly. I deleted social media and spent almost every spare moment of the month studying for the GRE.

April. I took my test and got better scores than I expected - especially given the short study time as well as my distance from formal study of the subjects. It was still a shot in the dark whether the school would accept me, particularly because my *official* GRE scores arrived at the school two weeks after the extended deadline. Sure enough - I was accepted! The same day, I discovered that my pastor finally admitted to killing Marie. The beginning of my answers. The beginning of some healing, even with the extra chapter of pain that opened.

Earlier in March, I also began seeing a therapist. I was having a hard time managing my emotions. I felt like I was on autopilot and was barely present anywhere. Going to work still felt humiliating and demoralizing. I still wasn't eating or sleeping. I was living, but it was merely "surviving". It wasn't "life-changing" or "mind-blowing" to go to therapy. I didn't gain more insight in session than I did on my own. But it shifted one very important thing for me. She told me to eat. She told me to sleep. Those were the only goals we set. I already had the gym and violin. I was already working towards the hope of grad school. I was already willing to keep working at my job or find another, dependent on if things got better or worse.

I started eating. I slept a little more. The food gave me the energy to "make it" better. It also helped me to set goals at the gym and actually achieve them. Once I got accepted to school, it was essentially a waiting game - gearing up for it all to begin.

In June, I wrote my previous blog entry - the one that really exposed my experience with my experience with my pastor. I recommend reading it. But I posted it here in this blog - this blog would hardly had any traffic. Which was anonymous. No one tied *me* to this blog. It was very helpful to get the words out. So helpful.

In August, I went to orientation for school. It signified the beginning of a new chapter. I terminated work with my therapist just prior to beginning my program. I no longer felt I needed it. I was excited about life again. School began fast and furiously. I dove in and acclimated almost immediately. Guys, I gotta be honest. I don't know about being a therapist. I'm in school for applied clinical psychology. I enjoy the program and I love my classmates. I am absolutely enthralled by learning. But this may be a stepping stone to additional education for me further on. I love learning and I feel like I am in my element. I no longer define myself, my identity, my worth by a job that I happened to fall into.

That said, in August, I also got a promotion. It wasn't a *major* promotion - less than the one I was promised before. But it was validating. And it occurred after I started school - even with a reduced schedule. That made me feel even better.

In September, I decided to "go public" with this blog, particularly the one about my pastor. The reason was, I felt like so long as I didn't share that story, I would hold it, as I like to, as proof that "you don't know me". Stories like that give me power to distance myself from others. Insofar as I don't let people into the parts of my life that are major, defining moments for me, I hurt myself and my ability to really be known and move on. So I shared the post. In doing so, I also "went public" with the fact that I am no longer a Christian - something that my closest family already knew and closest current friends as well. But I worried about other friends. And previous professors who I deeply admire - two who wrote recommendations for my grad school application. Professors whose biblical work and studies I still admire, support, and follow. In one fell swoop, two of my biggest "defining details" of the story I usually keep to myself were public. This was majorly healing. Especially when it turned out that sharing about my pastor helped others who also were stuck in their own healing with that.

In December, I turned 27. This week a coworker (kind-hearted man, a little beyond middle-aged) asked me with a chuckle, "Do you feel older?" I said, "Actually, I do."

This year has been hard. I have felt more "adult" than ever before in every way. It's been challenging and redefining. So, relating this to my themes and journey before I wrap up with a collection of "highs" from the year...

1) Control.
When I was in the faith, one of the biggest impasses I came to at every crossroads (major and minor) was: Who is supposed to act here? Me or God? In the faith, any time I came to a juncture, I'd ask myself or others what I was supposed to do. There were two conflicting answers - both biblical in theme, but colloquial in phrase:

1. Let go and let God. Wait upon the Lord. This was the option where you prayed a lot and waited for God to close doors because it's "not your job" to do so. You are to follow God, listen to His voice, and let Him be your shepherd. You prayed and tried to listen. You interpreted thoughts and wondered, "Was that thought from me? Or God? Or the Holy Spirit of God in me working through my thoughts? Is it valid or no?" You interpreted silence and wondered, "Is God speaking to me? Is His silence an answer? Is He speaking in a 'still, small voice' that I am too dense to hear? Do I have unconfessed sin in my life preventing me from hearing God?" Or you'd interpret events, "Was that a sign? Is this how God is communicating to me or am I being selfish and just reading into a situation because I'm impatient to wait?"
2. Move in faith. Name it, claim it. This was the option where you acted. God doesn't always tell you what to do. In fact, sometimes it's actually a test to see if you will be faithful in moving according to God's will - the will you already know in your heart. In this case, it would be sinful to linger and not move. Even prayer could be a distraction from action (sinful) because you could be using it to keep yourself from acting in faith.

The two options were always at odds. You usually considered both and weren't sure of the proper course of action and felt simultaneously sinful for acting and not acting while you tried to figure out which it was. And in any case, in my opinion, you always went with your gut and called it God (hoping it was true).

Honestly, the outlook as an atheist isn't much different in terms of waiting vs. acting. I waited. I didn't quit my job. If my job never improved and my feelings never changed, it would have been unwise to stay. But I thought it could get better. And to be honest, I needed the money. Luckily, it did get better. A lot better. In this case, waiting served me - at least for a time. On the other hand, when it came to school, I acted. I decided "enough is enough" and I moved forward. I kinda wish I'd been bolder and pursued this sooner. I've been talking about grad school for psychology for years. I put it off - I waited - until my circumstances made it unbearable not to act.

In the end, you *never* know whether it is wiser to act or to wait. You go with your gut. Sometimes you go with your inclination (mine is almost always the inclination to wait) and sometimes you drastically overturn it and BAM. Your life changes.

The difference isn't in the doubt you experience or don't experience about whether you made "the right choice". It's about the locus of control. I've decided this path and I will deal with the consequences. When I let God choose my path, my spouse, and my lifestyle, it didn't fit. Not long term. I'm not a pastor. I'm not married to the men I thought God wanted me to marry. I'm not living in the inner city as a champion for social justice. I don't even lead a home church. It's hard when it doesn't fit, yet "God" chose it for you. You can't complain and you aren't free to change it until you feel prompted by a new juncture or a sense that the "test" is over. I have the freedom to change my life when it no longer fits. Life tests me enough. I never force myself to "endure a test". When I stayed at my job as I hated it, it wasn't for some noble purpose. It was because it served me. It kept me going until it felt better. If it failed to serve me over the long term, I would have left. And I would have been better for leaving it rather than enduring it.

Control is huge.

2) Knowing my needs.
This is kind of related. When you have a God that knows your needs, your heart, and your thoughts better than you do, and you have an all-powerful God that provides, you are never in a position to advocate for better for yourself.

This is one of the biggest and most important shifts for me in leaving the faith.

If God knows your needs better than you do and is capable of providing, if you aren't receiving what you need, that means that God has deemed that you don't need it. If you don't need it but think you need it, you deal with that by praying, crying, toughening up, whatever, but ultimately doing without. Some people feel noble doing so. That nobility and self-evaluation is addictive. Even if it never becomes prideful, the second that nobility becomes a part of your identity, suffering becomes a part of your identity, as the faith indicates it should. You die to yourself daily, you have been crucified with Christ, your "sinful flesh" is dying but Christ lives in you, you are being renewed, you are taking up your cross.

Doing without becomes the norm so much that you are no longer in touch with your needs. Your need to bend over backward to please others and to help them see God through your actions takes precedence over your well-being, especially when your eternity is secure and theirs is at stake. Your need to please God takes precedence over your need to feel good about yourself actually. I mean, you think you feel good about yourself, because you have redefined what that means. Feeling good about yourself means feeling good about your integrity to live the life God has called you to - that nobility, that humility, that suffering. Which are all the same thing. So that even feeling good actually kinda means feeling bad.

I swear to you that there is an addictive high in that mindset. It *does* feel good. Suffering itself can feel so, so good in the faith. Even crying, praying, pleading, and hurting feels good. Recontextualization is the key.

But when it becomes the norm, when your needs are being redefined as "kingdom needs", when you cease to exist (which is an ideal in the kingdom ethic in some senses), you truly cease to exist. Your needs are gone or absorbed into a Whole Kingdom somewhere, while you wither away. And it feels good, but you are truly suffering and you no longer know yourself well enough to recognize the needs, much less to recognize yourself.

It's been a struggle to begin to recognize my needs. This is and will continue to be my biggest struggle as I move away from my faith. It's hard to recontextualize needs within the context of "self" than the context of "the Body/Kingdom". This year has really highlighted so much of that for me.

3) More on this in a later post. I think this will come up a lot more for me in the next year and a half.


So before I wrap up, what about some high lights? You know, apart from liking my job again, getting a promotion, starting grad school, discovering my needs and how to meet them, and shifting the locus of control fully back to me.

I celebrated my 3 year job anniversary. I celebrated my 3 year boyfriend anniversary (and I feel closer to him than ever). I visited my grandparents. My boyfriend surprised me with a trip to see one of my best friends. I turned 27. I've accompanied my boyfriend on multiple flights as he works toward a pilot's license. I got to fly the plane once. I still have a pet squirrel whom I love so dearly. I got all A's my first semester in school. I worked out on a pretty regular basis for the past year and a half. I still make time for hobbies and people. I'm feeling more secure in my faithless-ness and I'm okay with the fact that I still like Christianity and miss parts of my spirituality (some of which I intend to recover even within the context of atheism).

And I'm looking forward to 2017. Even though next semester will be a doozy!

At the Cusp of Forsaking - Journal entry shortly prior to "officially" proclaiming nonbelief.

What do you think was going through my mind?

Thankfully, we don't have to ask. I journaled and I journaled like a writer, with an audience in mind, even if that audience was me. I explained things as though I was an 80 year old with dementia some reason desiring to explore the pain once again of my early 20s (as all 80 year olds do?). For our sake, I defer to my journal of then, as a still-tentative believer, quickly on my way out. Hereon is my journal written then, April 30, 2014.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Tonight I am being more emotional than normal. Partially due to a few beers. Mostly due to me playing a little game of "What was I doing on this day in previous years?"

As this journal may indicate (and others before it), I thought some experiences in college really fucked up my faith. Mostly the prophetic stuff. Stuff with [omitted] and [omitted]. Stuff with [omitted]. Stuff with [omitted] and [omitted]. Stuff with me and [omitted]. Stuff with the [omitted] crowd and us. Stuff with [omitted]. Stuff with [omitted].

I hate that I needed someone to tell me what to feel and how to believe. I sought it at every corner. I thought these two years post-college would be me rebuilding. Hell, I thought living alone that last year of college would be rebuilding. I guess I have been rebuilding myself. Honestly, with exciting results that I am happy with. And suspect my faith community would not be happy with.

But my faith? No rebuilding. Just watching more pieces fall, not knowing whether it's a facade or foundation slipping quickly to its demise.

I thought it was college that messed me up. Then I played my game. In this week of 2004, a decade ago, I expressed depression. The recognition that I had no "life". The immediate sense of being too worldly and not focusing my mind on the "eternal". I remember years ago reading these entries and desiring to be in that place again. Now? I just find it creepy.

I called [old CofC Church] "progressive" and it was in comparison to my upbringing. We sungs new songs, clapping was ok, and [progressive young youth minister] was youth minister. So it had to be progressive, right?

At this church, at least half of the teens were homeschooled. Maybe less, but those who were, may have been considered "better", "more holy". It must have been at this church that most of my foundational faith was born.

At this church I attended a group called G.E.M.S. - God Expects My Service. Creepy already, right? It was a club that used scripture to teach young women to be pure, meek homemakers. It taught me that I was to be solely responsible for my family and their well-being, even down to physical needs, teaching us stay-at-home-moms in-the-making to prepare meals and to shop for food frugally.

I read books like "Waiting for her Isaac" which was a book about a 19 year-old woman trusting God and her parents in essentially choosing her future for her. It was praised for being a book with no: television, movies, disrespect, or feminism. I'm reminded of my years . . . at home when I was on the . . . "Titus 2" boards.

Titus 2 boards were strictly moderated so that only posts agreeing with the overall goal and aim of the group were allowed to be posted. They usually posted within a day or two of submitting the posts for review. In this way, any questions people had, any challenges to the mindset or to authority, even sincere ones with good desires, never were posted. It could lead one to believe that no one doubted or questioned - that it was a sign of weakness. Only self-deprecating posts with shame attached to such "questions" were posted.

This group was traditional to the core. Women submit. Women don't wear pants in the relationship or literal pants at all. Flowing skirts were Biblical. Headcoverings were "safe". We prayed to be "broken". We knew we were in a good place when we brought ourselves to tears thinking about how selfish, worthless and helpless we were.

Oh. Titus 2. Right. There were other rules. Skirts halfway between knees and ankles, definitely not exposing the knee - even when sitting. There was a "marble test" to make sure blouses weren't too tight. A marble should be able to drop down the shirt (front or back) right out to where it didn't get caught by "tightness" anywhere along the way.

There were rules for everything.

When I was 13 I was elated to find the book "Checklist for Life for Teens". A wonderful checklist to remind you of either 1) How good of a Christian you are or 2) How fucked up you really are.

It saddens me how twisted and "brainwashed" my little 14 year old mind was in that first journal. Damn it, in THIS journal. . . . How much focusing on the "eternal" really makes a fear-based, self-exalting religion.

If everything you do, even down to the clothes you wear, determine whether someone goes to heaven or hell, every decision is wrought with potential, indescribable guilty. Or glory.

I didn't get my "Savior complex" in spite of my faith. It was largely because of my faith. At best it was exacerbated exponentially by my faith.

. . .

So much has happened in these past 2 years though. I've let down my walls more, become more assertive (I even don't think it's "sinful" most of the time), made good friends with folks that people of "my faith" typically look down on, and developed my own passions that seem to serve no one but me (much to my anxiety still when I stop and think about it).

. . .

What is extra disconcerting is that at every step my faith has felt more like its own with some guidance, even divine guidance, by the faith community I was a part of. I dissented "enough" at each point to think it was mine. I had my own quote-unquote relationship with God. I had my own thoughts and ways of being. I still have questions about who God is really, how he interacts with the world, what's up with suffering, what life's about... But what I'm going through now is totally beyond all that in that I don't even know how to seek answers for the minor details of "good living" and what faith in action looks like, how to form my identity in relation to my faith, how I perceive myself and how I perceive others.

I can't trust "God" because, quite frankly, if I say God is leading me to make decisions, I'm likely ascribing things to God that are more biopsychosocial in nature as far as identity, how to live, etc. It has more to do with my own make up and the community I surround myself with.

I can't trust myself because I don't understand the source of much of my decision-making. Even if I feel "in control", the community of faith seems to be more influential (and possibly more invasive) than I think it is.

I can't trust others to guide those things because it almost always leads to guilt, confession, shame, denial of who I really am, and it almost always is actually detrimental to my faith in the long-run.

I'll tell you what I do know. I've been learning myself differently this year. These past two years. . . I am becoming more assertive, to my own benefit and gain when I've been led to believe that assertiveness is selfish and unChristlike. Afterall, Jesus died on a cross for people, right? The least you can do is this one little thing for so-and-so.

You can't express anger because it's ungodly. If you really loved God and the person you are angry at, the anger would dissolve. Anger is the conscious choice to worship yourself and this detrimental temporary feeling rather than loving the other person. They can never know Jesus' love if you express anger and/or hurt. You need to have grace for them. It's even more godly to give them grace by not addressing these feelings and just "give them to God". Most saintly to never even let the person know there was ever a problem.

Fuck that shit.

. . .

Lots of growth. Not sure how to reconcile all of this [sic] events and the resulting growth with my faith. I finally feel good about life again, good about my self again. Funny how that seems to happen outside the realm of my faith.

I cuss more and I drink more. But overall, I feel like a healthier, more balanced person.

It's nice not to neurotically question myself and God about every little thing, not to feel guilt all the time for where I am and where I'm not. It's nice to make decisions based on what's produced in and around me by the decision rather than some arbitrary moral/spiritual imperative.

I guess I just don't know what rebuilding looks like in this context. I kinda think it looks like what I'm doing, but it scares me because it's very slow-moving. Two years and I'm only just starting to open to these thoughts on this level.
___________________________________________________________________________________

At that point I still considered myself a Christian, even though it seemed as though the walls of faith were crumbling. And it took me two years to get to a place where I was more committed to a journey of self-authenticity than to a journey of faith. As it turned out, as you can probably tell from my tone and my using quotations around words and phrases like "God" and "my faith", those things became alien to me. Harmful to me. The only safe way I could refer to them, even while hoping to revive them, was in quotations.

I don't know the date I officially determined I didn't consider myself a "Christian" anymore. What i do know is that it took two years of fighting against the dissonance before I reached the place I described in my journal. And it's been another 2 and a half years since.

Still a lot more discovery to do. Still a lot more to know. Still a lot more worth to learn to ascribe to things worth emulating. But it's a journey. And it's finally *MY* journey rather than a journey I am on, so I better identify with it. No, this one is of my own forging, for better or worse.

Amazed to see how far I've come and encouraged to imagine how far I may be in another 2.5 years.

A Letter to My Friend - Ex-Pastor, Ex-Mentor, and Murderer.

James and Tanya,

I've been thinking about writing for a while. I have no idea what I'll do with this letter. I haven't planned any of it. It's just a stream of consciousness to work through my feelings and to share them with the idea of you. Just like I have over and over these past few years, in my head at work, at home in tears over a six-pack, whatever.

I'll start with your confession. I had just returned to the internet after a month-long hiatus as I crammed for the GRE. I had literally been talking about you and the whole situation with a friend two weeks prior, drunkenly crying about how I believed I would never get the closure I needed from the situation. I didn't believe you would ever confess. The problem was, by that point I firmly believed I knew you did it. I knew you killed Marie. The first I'd heard of it was when I was home from college at Christmas break. The church had a Christmas pageant that was super epic and funny, with Christian/Christmas spoofs on all kinds of popular rock music. It was a riot.

It was also two months after Marie disappeared. I guess it was that summer, Tanya, when you told me that you were having a baby from a surrogate. Your telling of it was a bit odd - you overshared a bit, but I didn't think much of it. I was confused why you didn't tell anyone/the church until the baby was almost born that you were having a baby. It didn't make sense to me to keep that excitement silent. But I figured it was your business and gave you the benefit of the doubt.

Anyway, by that Christmas, Sweet Grace Rain was Baby Jesus in the pageant. Marie was gone. I hadn't heard much of it. But I went to Starbucks with a friend, as I always did with my ol' youth group pals. And that's when they told me the theories. Theories, James, about you wearing two weddings rings. I dismissed it, but in the back of my mind paused to question if it was possible. Then Marie's disappearance, and the theory that you killed her. I think I laughed out loud. There was No. Way.

I don't know whether it was months or just days later that my mom told me that she'd heard the foul play theory from one of her own friends, one who was not even part of the church and didn't know you. That kinda took me outside of myself for a minute. Maybe the story had more traction because people outside the community also put stock into it. Or... maybe they only could believe it because they didn't know you and couldn't possibly know that you were incapable of killing someone. Yes! I thought, Of course that's it.

And I went along merrily, not believing you were capable of it. I was still disturbed by the story, but I felt personally wounded that people doubted you. The way your whole congregation instantly distrusted you hurt me deeply. You had built this congregation from nothing. And they turned their backs on you. You helped them through so much and they instantly called you murderers, polygamists, and liars. Charlatans and cheaters. James and Tanya: Narcissistic and domineering, respectively.

I was disgusted by the whole show. But the years passed. And Marie never turned up. I closely followed her Missing Person's page on facebook, where I was exposed to a lot of things I'd never heard. Things I never would hear from you. And once again, two camps formed. James, I'm sure you're familiar with the two camps. I'll come back to that later.

It was always confusing to see which church folk believed you and which turned against you. Who thought you were guilty and who thought you were innocent. I guess before then I thought the claim of murder was a conspiracist fringe sort of belief.

Then there was the facebook page. And it became so real. I saw more of the accusations, more of the evidence. Eventually Marie's family took the page down because the police told them they were releasing too many details from the case that could compromise the case and the potential jury if an arrest was ever made.

By that point, I was thoroughly confused.

You'd already moved to Arizona. I no longer believed that Marie was a surrogate. By that point, I believed that you had an affair that led to a baby, and that the surrogacy story was to cover it up. I started wondering about murder and believing it was possible. I felt guilty for doubting you. I felt like Judas. I felt like I betrayed you by even considering that was possible. It felt sinful to even wonder. So I was on the fence for a few years, straddling both sides. To those who professed your guilt and to those who professed your innocence, I was Devil's Advocate. Honestly, I wasn't "in conversation" with anyone about it. I say that, but really, all of that occurred in my own mind.

I didn't have anyone to talk to about it with. It was the biggest struggle in my life for a while and I had no outlet. I was Devil's Advocate for my own self. Like the ball of Squash being thrown at the same fucking wall, never getting anywhere. I was jostled, banged up, and disoriented and never came out for "winning" on either side because there was still a wall. You both claimed innocence to all of it. I felt crazy for thinking you were guilty. I felt crazy for thinking you were innocent. I wanted to not need answers, but I felt at unrest without them. This unrest only grew with the years.

Then: Cold Justice. I bet it felt pretty shitty to be called out on national television. I bet it felt humiliating to have your dirty laundry aired to the world. It felt pretty humiliating to me too. By that point I'd already believed it all: polygamy, murder. I believed it. My only unrest by that point came from not hearing a goddamn bit of fucking truth from your mouths. Not about any of it. Not even the polygamy. I don't give a shit what you believe about polygamy or polyamory or whatever. But don't fucking lie about it.


What was humiliating for me about Cold Justice was not "discovering shocking new information". It was receiving confirmation. James, all those texts you sent Marie while in church. Wow. Sure, we were never meant to see that. But it was humiliating seeing that and thinking, "Damn, I'm glad I kinda already knew this, but I can't believe I defended James and Tanya for so long in this. I can't believe they lied about this and I bought it for years."


It was humiliating to me to see members from my church giving testimony because they knew about it. It was humiliating to see them being questioned, their faces blurred, and me hearing their voices and seeing their stances and knowing exactly who was fucking talking. It was embarrassing feeling like they were all in on something and that everyone kept everyone in the dark. It was all a lie. A sham. And all these people knew something. And I struggled with it silently, in isolation for years. Finally I felt less alone.

I felt relief watching the show. Ok. Now we're getting some truth. Too bad I couldn't get it from my pastors/mentors/friends. Too bad I couldn't hear any of it from you. Just two months before you killed Marie, I sent you both a message on facebook. Do you remember what it said?

Among other things:
"[You] have been so faithful as mentors and as friends"
"Thank you for being honest, real people"
"Thank you for taking me seriously enough to share with me even the most controversial of your beliefs!"
"I love and appreciate you both."

I bet you felt so guilty. I didn't know your most controversial beliefs. I knew about your Christian universalism. I didn't know about the polygamy. Because you weren't "honest" or "real". Did you feel like frauds? Because you damn sure looked like it. You told me that you felt you could be more honest with me than most people in the church. And you weren't. You shared with me things that you didn't share with the congregation. But just enough to be "safe".

Anyway. Cold Justice reopened that itch. Like when you mindlessly scratch a mosquito bite, and it swells massively in response and itches like hell. I'd been through stages of obsession about the theories about Marie's disappearance in the past. But nothing like when you were on national television.

I was so conflicted. I felt so hurt. I still thought there was a shadow of a chance you didn't kill her. I still hoped that maybe she would show up somehow. But I didn't think she would. Yet I kept hitting that wall of your proclaimed innocence. Even after you were arrested. Which I found out at work, by the way. I saw you in cuffs with that look of resignation on your face. I burst into tears, went out to my car and cried until my face was numb from hyperventilation. Then I got my shit back together, put some cold cloths on my eyes to cover the redness. And I went back to work to finish my day. I can't tell you how many times I cried at work thinking about the case. And this was just the beginning of the next stage.

I obsessed. I watched every youtube video I could. I googled your names. I found a lot of stuff. I remembered a lot of details. I found the Martin Zender conference you both went to. I saw you had a group of "followers" on the Martin Zender facebook group. You basically have groupies, by the way, who are condemning other believers for feeling hurt and pain.

Fuck them. And fuck you if you taught them that grace means you can't feel. I remember your teaching of grace. James, you didn't make followers of Jesus. You made followers of you. And they will crucify themselves while condemning those who dare to express anger, hurt, or a sense of betrayal.

Like everything else, as I discovered on my google searches, you were a polarizing unit. I googled you and I first found your preaching website.

You know, the one you started after you were kicked out of your church for polygamy. The one you started after you killed Marie. The one where you preached grace because you needed to believe that God could forgive someone who committed vile acts. Or maybe the one where you needed to believe that somewhere, somehow you still had a following. I'm confused by your motivation. And, you did still have a following, by the way.

Two other search results popped up. A blog called "What Is James Flanders Teaching", and an equal and opposite blog called "James Flanders Is A Heretic". Polarizing.

After Cold Justice, two fundraisers popped up. One from Marie's family, wherein they were seeking funds to afford lawyers that would allow custody to Marie's family of Marie's baby, who was still in your care. Simultaneously, another fundraiser cropped up to pay for your legal fees, James. And oh boy, did this one sing your praises. If you didn't commit the murder, I still would have been peeved. This one made you out to be a pure victim and did not say a damn thing about the polygamy, which was now a confirmed public fact. Actually, it made you out to be a victim of legal rigamarole, and all it said of Marie was that she was essentially some poor, troubled woman that you and Tanya were trying to "help". Seriously? The polygamy was confirmed and you both *allowed* this person to frame it in this way? Even if you wanted to cover the murder, you could have been a little more human about Marie and how she was cast in that. And how you were. You could have covered for the murder and still been a bit *more* honest, but no one would give. Maybe you just got off on having followers. Sure seemed like. And trust me, I saw the facebook posts - they got off on *being* your followers.

At your sentencing, James, one of them said something about you being a "celebrity preacher". No one believes it. You had your sermons streamed on a crappy local TV program, which is how I found you and why I started going to your church. You don't think you're a celebrity, right? I hope you are shocked by his phrasing. But I swear to you, that is how your "followers" see you. To them you are a Unicorn, glitter and all. They've never seen someone so Christlike. And they needed to believe someone could be so full of grace. That's why they ran to your support. A lot of us love you. I still do. But it wasn't love for you that contributed to this "celebrity preacher" fandom following that you acquired. It was love for the image you created for them. Tanya, that image is why you felt you couldn't share your life with the congregation openly as you said you did with me. That image is why you lied. They said they needed it. You thought they needed it. And you all worked together to make sure that Golden Calf image was there, because if it wasn't, then what? And now we are all being forced to drink that molten gold. How fucking poetic.

While googling, I found all sorts of stuff. I forgot about all your previous enterprising ventures, James. All the silver-selling, weapon-selling (knives, wasn't it?), article selling, exercise DVD-selling (which I bought from some random ebayer who was selling it), musical album selling... You've always peddled your stuff. After seeing all of it, it was hard not to see your website as a self-aggrandizing site to peddle more of your stuff. Yet I related. I always have projects going which could be seen as self-aggrandizing: a board game, an art exhibit, a book, a CD... Ok. Maybe we aren't that different. It scared me. I wanted so badly to call you a narcissist. And trust me, I could have made a solid case for it and had all my friends thinking you were. But I couldn't. Maybe you were a lot like me. Maybe I was a lot like you. Maybe we were a lot human. Or maybe you are a narcissist?

But. You killed someone. So you had to be less, right? There had to be something that made you different from me. There had to be. And I searched for it.

And still there was no proof you killed Marie.

So I obsessed more.

I found your daughter's arrest history. I found your legal run-ins. I posted about the case and Cold Justice to various groups and I found someone who was a part of your polygamist retreat group. Turns out that even the group where you were honest about that part of your life felt that something was off. Marie was unhappy. You seemed to have a temper and control issues. You were almost reported to the police. This whole thing was almost prevented. I hope you wish it was. I wonder if the person I spoke with wishes that they did report you to the police. Yet their relationship with their partners prevented them from doing so.

I researched the group you were all a part of. I read the articles about why deception about polygamy is justified in the eyes of God. I read about how to live a double-life and why it's ok. I read a bunch of shit. It's funny how the one quality that I think you previously identified with and the one quality I admired you for above my other pastors was your transparency. Funny how it all became opaque. And yet you retained the image of transparency? You made a CD about your bipolar disorder. You talked about depression and suicidal tendencies. All these things that are so vulnerable, you revealed. But when it came down to it, you revealed only what benefited you. I can't blame you for that, per se. We all do so. But you claimed to do more. The opacity was dishonest, but it was abhorrent the way you claimed transparency as you were opaque. Like Jim Carrey desperately trying to write, "The pen is red" when it was blue. But you succeeded. For a while.

I learned more and more about you. More than you ever would have thought. Kinda ironic that your life became more transparent when you were no longer in control of it.

I found your band, Boondock Gypsies. I watched probably all the videos. You both looked too happy for murder to be in your past. I actually almost doubted again. Then I found "Devil's Whore". On all the sites it was uploaded on. Some of your sites and pages had descriptions of the song, some had verses, some had both, some had neither. All of it taken together and with the album art... I knew it was your confession.

I am utterly baffled. I wish you could explain to me who the "Devil's Whore" was. Because it sure sounds a hell of a lot like you were tempted and drawn into a lifestyle that you don't actually believe in, but justified because you liked Marie. Then it sounds like you blamed her for your temptation, wherein you paint yourself as a "weak man" in the face of "the Sirens" almost. If I'm reading that right, How Fucking Dare You. I don't believe your confession at your sentencing. You say you are taking responsibility, but I don't think you are. More on that later.

I continued to struggle silently with this. I drank a lot. I cried a lot. I remember distinctly one night where I was drinking and lighting sparklers. I don't remember why sparklers. But I remember distinctly mourning. Mourning the situation. All of it.

I had nightmares about you. Before you confessed to killing, I'm sorry, "bear-hugging" Marie, I had a nightmare that you had me alone in a room. You knew that I knew you killed Marie. I can't remember whether I was confronting you about it or playing dumb, but whatever the case was, you knew I knew. And you told me that you couldn't wait to add my bones to your collection.

Obviously, I don't think you would kill me. But in my dream, it clearly represented my fear of how much you could let my trust fall. If I trusted you both as much as I did, and you both let me fall as much as I did for as many years as I did, why would I trust you not to kill me? You killed a part of me. A part that would have died anyway, I admit. But my trust isn't the same. And I'm just one person. I wish you could understand the reach of the pain you caused.

Finally, you confessed. And I missed it, because I was taking a damn 5-hour-long test and studying my ass off. As it turns out, all of this stuff was coming to a head. Everything with your case, and one of my friends passed away unexpectedly and grotesquely in the same month. I decided to apply for grad school because my life was happening and moving on while I was stationary in a place I hated. There was so much darkness. At my job, with my friend's death, with your case. I was tired of passivity. So I decided to apply for grad school and had less than a month's time to take the GRE.

When I came back from that hiatus, my Mom told me the news. Meanwhile, my Dad had sent me an email about it. Both of them graciously waited until my test was over, but both of them knew how monumental your confession would be for me.

Do you know what my reaction was?

Well, first I called my friend to let her know. The friend I was ranting and crying to just two weeks prior about how I thought you'd never confess and that my whole life there would always be a shadow of a doubt and that I'd always feel guilty for thinking you killed Marie... That friend. I called her and let her know.

I drove home. And then what happened? I danced in my driveway. I *danced*. It was the worst news I could possibly receive after receiving the good news that I did well on the GRE. And I danced. Relief felt so good. It felt so good. I wouldn't have that weight and cognitive dissonance on me for my whole life, I thought. It was over.

Then I went to the bar for a celebratory drink for my GRE scores, wherein I drank too much. One of the locals who I've talked to a few times talked to me about the GRE and my plans for "what's next". They asked me what I would do as a psychologist if I ended up with a "twisted fuck" in my office. You know, like someone who killed their spouse or something. I didn't spill. But I drank more before I went to my gym appointment, where I got into an argument with my trainer about religion and politics. Then I went home crying, embarrassed that I'd had a religious debate with my trainer, that I drank too much, that one of the happiest days of my successes with the GRE was tainted with your fucking bullshit and that maybe I wasn't going to be okay afterall. Maybe the relief I felt was passing and there would only be more fucking pain.

Oh, I tried to make the pain useful. After you were arrested and before your confession, I painted a painting of you. It was so physical and interactive. It was a black canvas. The first thing I did was dip my hands into red paint, and put red "bloody" handprints in the background. They are barely recognizable as handprints, unless someone is looking for them. I painted your face to the left side of the canvas, in the same style as your most recent CD cover: sunglasses and all. I painted a downward-facing dove (the emblem for the Calvary Chapel Church which you started/pastored) with a rose dripping blood in its mouth, along with three interlocked wedding rings.

I hate that painting. It's the most realistic looking face I've painted yet and I fucking hate it. But it's so visceral. It's not a "good" painting. The face has some realistic qualities, but it doesn't look real. The bird and rose and rings don't look real. The bloody handprints aren't discernible. It looks atrocious, especially to me knowing what it means. But even to an average viewer, it is visceral. And it was visceral making it too.

And just a few days ago finding the video of your sentencing. I watched your statement first, then I went backwards and watched Marie's family's statements. Then I watched your character defense. Or started to. My boyfriend got home and I stopped for the night and haven't felt emotionally up to continuing it yet.

So we're up to date in my experience of this whole thing.

Now that we're "up to date" on how it "went down" for me, can we talk about this candidly?

James and Tanya, I am utterly baffled at your dishonesty. Especially towards me. I am confused because the way you set up our friendship. I know I am young, but the way you both interacted with me and the things the three of us shared made me think that you both considered me closer than you apparently did. Source: the message I sent you two months before you killed Marie which I quoted above. You don't have access to it since you both deleted your facebooks (I would have done the same), but those are direct quotes.

I don't think this is the case, but in the back of my mind, I've wondered, "Could I have been Marie?" I remember times, James, that you made sexually slanted jokes when the three of us hung out. Not directed towards me in any way, but you made them and I was caught off guard. Were you testing the waters? Tanya, were you testing me out as a sister-wife? James, me as a second (or third) wife? Or was I just a young confidante who you both appreciated but didn't want to burden with the troubles of your life? What was I to you? Was I a friend? Was I a troubled young adult? Was I "just another church member"? Was I a potential "something more"? What was I? Do you have any idea what you were to me? I told you all the time. Probably everyone else did too.

Maybe I elevated you too highly. Maybe I was just like the rest of them, your followers, who couldn't let you be human. I don't think I was though. I think I *did* let you be human. I think that's why you trusted more in me than you did with others, even if you couldn't tell me about your alternative lifestyle. I think I elevated you enough to find it originally unthinkable that you would have killed Marie, yet not so much that I blindly sung your praises like Flanders-hymns as though you could do no wrong even after the murder.

The older I've gotten, the more I have come to realize that you can never really know another person. That terrifies me. I still feel an urge to look for what's wrong - to find that piece that makes the murder make sense. I know people that think it was all planned because you both wanted a baby. I don't believe that yet. I dunno, I didn't used to think you killed Marie either. Let's give it 5 more fucking years and see what I think about it then.

But for now, I don't think it was because of Grace. I actually have suspicions that you started to feel unrest in your lifestyle. Probably unrest due to the secrecy it involved. I'll stop here. I don't give a fuck what people do in the bedroom as long as all involved are consenting adults and that manipulation is not a tool to confuse consent. I can't attest to the last bit, but definitely all were consenting adults in your situation. And if you weren't a pastor representing the Bible and supporting the belief that most of your congregation believed you supported modern interpretations of the Bible, I wouldn't think it's anyone else's business. But you presumed to speak not just for God (I guess by a certain point your belief of God supported a polygamist view), but for the congregation.

You misrepresented the congregation you spoke to and were not up front about the dissenting views you had. If you had dissenting views and believed they were of God, you should have stood up for them. Where, precisely, in the Bible did you find support for covering up lies within the Body? There's support for lying to government, lying to non-believers, etc. I don't find support for lying within the Body. I think you went wrong there, especially when you claimed to speak for the uplifting and benefit of the Body. This is where Paul is like, "Hey, fuck you all. Bacon's awesome. Even if you won't partake, hey, some people maybe should feel that freedom." That's where you should have done the same if you believed polygamy was ok. Of course that's risky and you probably could have gone to jail. But guess what? So did Paul. And if you did, Marie would probably be alive and better off now than she was with you. So... yeah. Especially since others in your polygamist convention thought that *your particular* setup was somehow off and dangerous.

I still struggle with how to view you, James. I can't help but think you are a narcissist. Your confession didn't help you. I have never heard someone admit to killing someone in a way that made them seen tender. Who the actual fuck says that they "bear hugged" someone to death? Someone who is fucking hell-bent on looking like a good guy or a victim. You were not the victim, James. I don't think you were in a good place mentally, emotionally, spiritually. In those senses you were a victim. But you do *not* bear hug someone to death. It's not a bear hug when you have scratch marks and self-defense wounds on your body.

It was your fight or flight response kicking in and trying to stop the impending threat. I'm not fighting semantics. The prosecutor made the argument that you said "bear hug" to officials and "choke hold" to your psychologist. It doesn't matter when whatever you call what you did caused the actual death of a human being. The reason I care about the wording is because "bear hug" still implies that you consider yourself to be the good-guy/victim in this. A point supported by your song. Oh my goodness, the devil comes as an angel of light, and the devil's whore does the same, if only she didn't tempt you.

That's how I see that song. That's how I see your admission at court. You took responsibility. But I still don't know for what. Did you take responsibility for all of it? You seemed resistant at different statements that you didn't make. Does it bother you that you no longer have the ability to control the narrative? That maybe, God forbid, someone says you strangled Marie rather than bear-hugging her?

You know the real reason I am absolutely wrecked about this? Because not only did you kill someone and cover it up. You (and Tanya, I include you in this):
1) Lied to your congregation - your friends - about WHO you are and the lifestyle you support
2) Continued to lie and brought a thinking/FEELING human being into your lie who viewed you as somehow superior
3) Killed her
4) Didn't call the authorities to report accidental slaying (which is manslaughter; your non-report of it and covering it up makes it murder to me regardless of intent, which I damn well think you knew what you were doing, but adrenaline kicked in)
4) Lied to the whole church and your friends again
5) Buried her body in your goddamn shitty back-fucking-yard
6) Moved away and continued to lie
7) Evaded police
8) Continued to preach and create a new website where you'd still have a following even if you lost your church
9) Wrote a song blaming Marie for all of YOUR fucking problems
10) Had the fucking audacity to ask for affidavits and character support "in support" of your innocence
11) Allowed someone/a bunch of someones to raise legal funds to support you while LYING to them
12) Tanya, you never admitted that you knew about this and that is total bullshit
13) Still admitted guilt only after they reduced the charges to manslaughter

That's insane. Just the killing of Marie would throw me for a loop about who you are, what you believe, and what you stand for. It would make me wonder whether you were ever "mentor" worthy. it would make me wonder whether you ever really believed in or knew God. It would make me questions whether anything you said was worth believing in or could be trusted. But 2-13? To lie, cover it up, lie, cover it up... You truly only thought of yourselves.

I can't think of anything more selfish a person could do than to desire that which was "forbidden". Take it, manipulate it, cause it to beget them more joy, kill it, cover it up, and pretend it never happened. IT is a SHE. She had a life. She had a family. You had followers. You had a family. Now you have nothing. Nothing but the reality you caused by your selfishness.

More than anything, how could you let Marie's family go on questioning like that? I felt insane. I cried a lot, I drank a lot, I prayed a lot, I suffered alone a lot. And I never even MET Marie. I mourned over my ideas of both of you. I mourned for her family. I mourned for how hated you were. I mourned for the love I still feel for you. I mourned for the answers I thought I'd never have. I mourned for the answers I still will never have. I mourned for you. I mourned for Grace. I mourned that she would never know her mother. I mourned that she would only know you as her father. I mourned that she would know you as her mother, Tanya. I mourned that your other daughter didn't seem happy or that she grew up in an unhappy environment. I mourned for Grace before I knew that you killed her mother. I mourned for Grace's name - that the concept of grace is tainted for her.

Do you feel noble? Truly, you are following in the example of some of the greatest historical characters in the Bible.

Moses killed a man and covered it up. And God used him to free his Nation.
David had Bethsheba's husband killed. He was a man after God's own heart.
Abram lied about Sarai claiming she was his wife. You made the first Covenant with him.
Paul, the "worst of all sinners" is responsible for modern Christianity.

Good job. You lied about your "wife" Marie. You killed someone's prized lamb, as the prophet Nathan said. You killed Marie and covered it up. You were the "worst of all sinners" and continued to preach, because hell - Saul (I mean Paul) did it, and people were saved - Christianity was expanded!

Do you justify it? Do you see all this and think, "I am just like them. I am a man after God's own heart and I messed up"? If so, the Bible and the faith did you a disservice. And you did it a disservice.

You talked about Christian universalism. It was the last major theological shift I had before deconverting. *gasp* Which would have huge ramifications except your beliefs would still allow room for me in heaven as a non-believer. And if I were still a believer, I would still subscribe to Christian universalism and I would still want there to be a place for you at God's table. I don't believe in the afterlife, but as a non-believer, I now think that Christian universalism is perhaps the least harmful of belief styles Christians can have and I wish more had it.

Unfortunately you did it a disservice and have caused me to question the belief's benefits. As an atheist (for now), I know that morality and a lack of morality does not have to come from a belief in heaven and hell. But for those who grew up in the Church, those you preached to and led? Now they think that a belief in "heaven no matter what" leads to the most egregious sins - murder, sexual misconduct (how they view your arrangement).

I say that because I don't think you're that moved by Marie's loss of life or her family or friends' loss. I think somehow you think you get it because you were in love with her and lost her, so you are still the victim. Maybe that's my anger. Maybe it's my fear that you are so narcissistic you don't get it. And surely you can understand why your actions after her death would lead me to believe so. So if you truly aren't moved by the loss you caused to Marie's people, maybe you'll think of the loss you caused "your" people.

A lot of them turned their backs on a more inclusive gospel. A lot of them turned their backs on you. Some have probably and yet will still probably turn their backs on religion or God altogether. Most have turned their backs on you, and the few folks you have garnered through your webpage and who've defended you this whole time (who never bother mentioning Marie, by the way), are followers of you. I don't know whether they follow Jesus or not.

What you're reading here is my anger. Now follows my actual head right now, if you're ready for it.

I have no idea who you are. I never have. I never will. Humanity is frail. Any of us have the capacity to become that which we most detest in an instant. Very few people are immune to the effects of their biology and environment (heyyy, atheism has its points too). Those who are immune are very rarely immune by simple willpower or even the "power of Jesus". They are immune because of biological and environmental factors they didn't choose. I absolutely don't think that you were powerless. You had the choice and you made the wrong one. Multiple times. Consistently. And then justified it multiple times. Consistently. Dishonestly.

Do I think you "got what you deserve"? Well, no. I think you should have been tried and convicted of 2nd degree murder. I think Grace should not be raised in your home. But it's an imperfect world. I don't believe our justice system is whole. I don't believe most murderers are at risk of killing again and I don't think they should spend their days rotting in prison when most of them would never be repeat offenders and could offer society something if allowed them the chance rather than just making them leech off the system for life.

Whatever the case is, as far as our legal system is concerned, James, you should have been convicted of 2nd degree murder. Manslaughter would have been fine, a lower charge, if you had called police or an ambulance when you realized she was dead. But you prolonged the suffering of an unfathomable number of people. You may regret it, but you knew something was "off enough" about what happened to cover it up rather than to call and get help. So no, manslaughter is not enough. And Tanya, I think it's bullshit that you weren't arrested. As though you didn't know that there was a body in your fucking back yard. If you were a victim and were afraid to confess because you thought James would kill you, then you could potentially be exempt of charges. It's insane that you aren't charged with anything.

I can't believe the harm you both have done. And it's worse that you did it in God's name. I know you both had it hard. You were put in an unfair position. Pastorship will fuck you up fast. People exalt you and you become addicted to adulation. People harp about facebook and how people portray an image for "likes". Pastors portray an image for the sake of the spread of their religion, for approval, for fear, and at the end of the day for a paycheck. I understand that you couldn't be your authentic selves.

I mourn this whole thing. People are saying that you used religion to cause harm. I think your religious system used you and you sought well-being elsewhere. The cognitive dissonance was too much, things escalated, and you made a shitty decision in the heat of a moment. You were afraid. Nothing was healthy about your relationship with Marie. And this isn't about polygamy. Again, folks from your group said the same. What was off had to do with where things were with you *before* Marie.

Maybe that's why you had your "inner circle". Maybe they let you down. I seem upset that you didn't tell me about Marie. And in some ways, I am. I am pissed that you said you were honest with me when you weren't. I'm hurt that you portrayed our friendship in a particular way.

But I am so, so glad I didn't know. I can't imagine the guilt and regret I'd feel if I were one of them in the Inner Circle. Who is a perpetrator? Who is a victim? It's not so black and white.

I wish you would sincerely BOTH own what happened and take responsibility for the fullness of it. But by no stretch of the imagination do I think either of you would choose this if you grasped its fullness in that instant. It's easy to paint you as a narcissist, James. And maybe you are one. I don't know. It's just as easy to say that you have varied interests and that your family was probably struggling financially for a while so you tried entrepreneurial work. Tanya, Cold Justice chose to state that you were "domineering" and that you had control of James. But at the same time, they painted your situation with Marie as though you didn't choose it completely - that you succumbed to James' sexual desires.

We may never know. And with how much each of us lies to ourselves you may never know your own intentions fully either.

What I do know is that life isn't black and white. I don't forgive you really yet, but I know that life is confusing and that you probably don't feel like you chose to do what you did. I don't agree with your decisions and I am baffled by the mental gymnastics you performed to achieve the justification for those decisions, but I know that propensity in each and every human being.

I don't hate you. I still love you. I'm afraid of you. I don't trust you. Every human is capable of what you did. I hope I have cultivated the character that will lead me to have integrity to tell the truth when it hurts, to implicate myself when I've done something wrong, and to represent to people who I truly am. Essentially, I hope I've cultivated the character to not be like you. But I know that we all have that propensity.

The wall I keep hitting now has shifted from "they never confessed" to "so what? they confessed, but this horrible thing still happened; how is this possible?"

And it leaves me with more questions about humanity and about what the hell we are all doing and why.

I don't have the answers. I don't think your God does either. If he does, you didn't portray them well. Actually, you illustrated the profundity of our condition better than I could have. I don't know what else to say. There is no happy note. People suck. Hopefully we learn to suck less. I don't know what moving forward from this means, except accepting that no one is fully good and few folks are fully bad.

I don't know what good that does us since we can't trust one another's goodness to last. But hopefully we can love each other more fully somehow when we realize we can't know anyone fully. It's scary. Maybe it's worth the risk. Maybe it's not. Maybe life is trial and error. Maybe we'll figure it out. Maybe it's not too late for any of us. 

I don't know. I'm rambling hoping for a happy end. But there truly is just more sadness and pain to be had. The sting isn't as bad as it was before the first onset of answers. But some answers we'll never have, and that's the pain of the human condition which I am altogether more painfully aware of because of everything that has happened.

I wish healing for all involved.

I guess I'll wrap this up with three quotes that helped me in the midst of some of the worst parts of this pain.

"There is so much good in the worst of us and so much bad in the best of us that it's rather hard to tell which of us ought to reform the rest of us." - Unknown (many variations attributed to many people)

"I choose to believe in the basic goodness of people. I choose to believe that not all crimes are committed by bad people, and I try to understand that some very, very good people do some very bad things." - Primal Fear (movie)

“We always look for the signs we missed when something goes wrong. We become like detectives trying to solve a murder, because maybe if we uncover the clues, it gives us some control. Sure, we can’t change what happened, but if we can string together enough clues, we can prove that whatever nightmare has befallen us, we could have stopped it, if only we had been smart enough. I suppose it’s better to believe in our own stupidity than it is to believe that all the clues in the world wouldn’t have changed a thing.” - Neal Shusterman, Challenger Deep

Sorry, Not Sorry. Except maybe I am? I don't mean to be - my bad!

I'm going to unspool a thread that is composed of many micro-fibers. I'm not unraveling it, not examining every single micro-fibers. I will examine a few of the main ones, but mostly I'm just unspooling the thread. For what purpose? To see it standing on its own. To see what it looks like without the structure of the spool giving it shape. I want to see it shapeless on the floor, tired and powerless. Join me?

One of the most frustrating walls I've continuously run up against in my deconversion is one of the same walls I ran into continuously while still in the faith. Strange, because I don't think the wall is inherent to faithlessness, but is essential to the faith. I guess I still run into it out of habit. It's less obvious now, but subtly walking into a wall is only less painful, not less frustrating and limiting.

I mixing metaphors. The wall is better. And Mexico didn't even have to pay for it.

The wall is a reality I live in and is coupled with a feeling that continues to reinforce the wall.

The wall is: I live as though I am apologetic for my very existence. Sometimes it's blatantly apologetic, while other times it's a toned-down version of the same quality - meekness, humility, and timidity to name a few.

The accompanying feeling which is often (but not always) paired with the wall is the feeling of "I am not ___________ enough" or "doing __________ enough", reduced in its simplest terms to "I am not enough."

My faith instilled this in me, laying the foundation for this to be my basest self-concept, then further added on a layer in which this belief and behaviors enacted in this belief were required.

The Foundation
To illustrate exactly how foundational this belief is, I will share the "Daily Verse" I found on Bible Gateway on the way to find the verse I was looking for. The daily verse is Isaiah 55:8-9, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."

Your thoughts aren't enough. Your ways aren't enough. You can't trust your ways. You can't trust your thoughts. This first impacts one's understanding of oneself as being inherently "less than" or "lacking" - setting you up to always feel like a disappointment or a letdown. Further, it impacts one's ability to trust themself. If God's ways and thoughts are higher than yours, yours are untrustworthy in comparison. If God's ways are accessible to us through prayer, worship, etc., then if we trust our ways without seeking his, we are being foolish and lazy. We must immediately distrust ourselves and seek Him, who we can trust.

The verse I was looking for - Isaiah 64:6a, "All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags"

The best you can offer is trash. Your proudest achievements, the moments which many build a life and identity on - garbage. Worse - disgraceful garbage which cannot be touched without a wade through the mikvah. 

When my relationship with God was the most important one in my life - one I'd lose everything, even myself (which I did) for - how could this mindset and behavior not transfer to my relationship with others? Even more, it seemed it was supposed to, in order to "be a witness" or "be the Bible which non-believers would never physically read" or to "be Jesus to the world". 

The Requirements
I admit: grovelling was not a requirement of the text. It was just socially-approved and expected within the church. One of the big ex-Christian jokes is how many times the word "just" is used in prayer, and I don't mean the just that means "justice". I mean the just that means "only" - "just 5 more minutes, Dad", is usually how it sounded in prayer. Except the prayers were in earnest, for things that we deeply believed mattered. 

"Just come into our hearts." "Just fill this place." "Just show So-and-So your love." "Just be a comfort to _____." "Just heal." "Just forgive me." "Just speak to us." "Just reveal yourself." 

Just do this one thing for us, "I know we're not worthy" - another common refrain. We were literally begging a deity who was bragged upon by His own Son-Self for moving mountains if we command it. But we begged and pleaded to be loved, while apologizing for asking God to do what He was supposedly eager to do. Why? We either didn't believe He really wanted to, or we felt unworthy to ask Him to do what we believed He wanted to do, simply because we were so much "less than". Probably both and other factors I can't even begin to touch on. 

Every week (in my denomination as a kid) we took communion. It was a time of remembering what you did that week that made God kill Jesus 2000 years prior. Sure, sometimes the preacher came in with a different message, "It's a celebratory wafer in anticipation of his return!" Then we sung "Lamb of God" and remembered what it was really about. "I was so lost I should have died, but you have brought me to your side." Or we sung "How Deep the Father's Love" - "It was my sin that held Him there until it was accomplished", "Ashamed I hear my mocking voice call out among the scoffers." 

The little "unleavened bread" wafer - Jesus' body, crushed violently between our teeth, and crumbled into mouths that were dry from guilt - talk about tough to swallow. You killed him then, and were metaphysically killing him now. Wine would have made the experience more bitter, but all we got was basically a thimble of Welch's grape juice to wash down our guilt. 

We were told to "turn the other cheek" and to "walk an extra mile with an enemy when he forced us to walk one". We were taught not to be proud. We were taught not to accept compliments but to deflect them. We were taught to walk "in the light", but to eschew recognition for our good deeds. In fact, we were supposed to hide our good deeds. Walking in the light felt a lot like walking in the shadows. Walking in the light felt a lot like fearing I'd be seen. 

The Effects Now
I often find myself attempting to minimize my impact on others and on the earth. I've fought hard to stop apologizing before sharing my opinion. I've fought hard to learn to make my voice heard. I've fought hard to be my own representative, 'cause guess what? Not a lot of people ask God for His opinion about me. And He's the only one who was "allowed" to see my good acts and allowed to praise me for being a "good and faithful servant" without my deflecting it. 

There was recently a story circulating about a pastor's daughter who got married, then publicly presented a certificate of her virginity to her father on her wedding day. A lot of people didn't get it. Besides the fact that I grew up in the heart of purity culture and always desired to be able to "tell my father I was a virgin until my wedding day" (I swear to you - that was encouraged in my circle), this applies to self-recognition too. Why did she feel the need to present her father with it? Because in her view, he owned her sexuality until she was her husband's. 

What about when it goes beyond your virginity? What about when you recognize that your very self belongs to God and only He can boast in you. "...present yourself to God as one approved" - as in, present yourself to God for His approval. 


It becomes quite a burden of guilt to feel that nothing you do is "enough". If our righteous acts are "filthy rags" and "unclean", that you can never be "enough" is absolutely true. Certainly if you believe that nothing you can do is enough to please God - whose love for you is supposedly incomprehensible, of course nothing you can do is enough for mere humans you interact with. 

Every interaction is viewed through the lens of "How can I be better for this person? How could I do more for them? How could I please God better in my interactions with this person?" 

And because it's tied to your self-identity and evaluation of worth, it extends beyond other people. Nothing you do is enough for you. You aren't "enough" for you to accept you. 

The only safe place is with God, Oh Silent One. 

And everything you do feels tainted. 

If you are Me last week, this means that although you don't say the actual word "Sorry" as much (as in maybe only twice today), you are given roles of higher leadership, then when you take allowances with that leadership feel you are overstepping bounds and ask if you are being "annoying" to a higher up - who assures you that you are just fine (although they probably think less of your ability to lead). It means that when you see your personal trainer after 3 weeks of not working out, you expect them to shame you and are surprised they don't. Then realize that the reason you haven't been going was largely due to shame, which grew exponentially each day you didn't go. It means that when you go to your violin lesson and ask why things sound so screechy, your teacher says, "You hesitate a bit much." and "You try too hard to get everything perfect before you let yourself move forward. You'd be better served by getting through the piece and continually practicing the full piece." 

It's realizing that you hesitate at every decision. You pause, thinking you are making your presence too known if you act rashly or speak directly. You feel like less of a noble [Christian] person if you are commanding, yet you feel like a loss when others don't view you as "leadership material". You are not enough or you are too much. You feel out of touch with who you are because you have reduced your presence so much that you aren't even sure what your unadulterated thoughts or feelings are. 

I love the phrase "Sorry, not sorry." It's so hilarious. Even when I think I feel it and feel empowered by actually speaking what I consider to be boldly (which is still timid, if not apologetic), I still question my role after. 

I don't usually dwell on these things. But I wanted to expound today. These feelings and self-judgements occur so rapidly and subconsciously that I'm usually unaware of them happening. These days it takes running into the same wall over and over for me to even realize that this is still an issue. I'm so pleased with my progress in being less actually apologetic. But the past two weeks have been an insane reminder that timidity, oftentimes humility, and any number of other traits are really just apologetic-ness incognito. And I still find myself running into a wall I thought I broke down a long time ago. 

Hell, maybe the wall is broken and I keep stubbing my toes on the damn brick debris. It still stings. 



Back to the whole "thread" metaphor. I thought I would unravel one other component - being a woman. Then combine them - being a woman in the faith. I think these pieces together make this much stronger. I think most of anyone in the faith (or particularly ex-faith who aren't afraid to be somewhat defiant in expressing this frustration rather than glorifying it as holy) relates to this. I think most women (faith or no) probably relate to this. I think women in the faith are especially vulnerable to this. 

Another post for another time. This is too long already. 

Damn, that was almost an apology. Now's as good a time as any...

Sorry, not sorry.

Catching this Train.

To preface this blog, you really should read about this incredible experiential board game called Train. I am in awe of the creative mind behind it. Once you read about it, you will never be able to truly play it. But there's only one copy in existence in the world - your chances of ever even hearing of it outside of my recommendation are slim.

So, I guess I should let you know, reading this article is a massive spoiler alert, if for some chance you did come across it and decide to play it publicly. If you never get that chance or wouldn't take it, this article will enrich your life. It's a calculated risk, but you should go for it. Here's a link to one of the articles about it - there are a few others that are also very well-written and explore different facets of this game.
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Preface over. I decided a few years ago, while still deeply in the faith, to make a board game about people using their religion to shut others out. I know this sounds like an exChristian project - and sure enough, it became one. But it's actually deeply New Testament too.

The game instructions were written a few years ago, while I still identified as Christian. The idea was to get people in the church to play it, and for me to sneakily write out their reactions as they are playing it. And to film or otherwise record their reactions when someone won. The game could end many ways, but the best way to end the game is to get all of your players into the final space - the "Locked Chamber". You collect keys along the way, and can use them against others or choose to collect them for extra points. You can form alliances to benefit yourself or break them. You are assigned a "sworn enemy" from the beginning an may use specific tactics against them, or refrain and collect more points.

There are a number of strategies a player can employ. Competitive players can manipulate others or use cut-throat keys to completely demolish their enemies success. Non-competitive players can collect keys, hope their enemies don't take advantage of them, and could choose to treat their enemies well by not using any tactics. Their idea is self-preservation rather than competition. Most players will fall in some range between the two.

The Keys are a limited commodity, meaning that some will want to "store them up" and others will use them to benefit the short game and hopefully get all of their players in the Locked Chamber as quickly as possible.

This game is painstaking because there is a bunch of forward and backward movement. You may have to sacrifice one of your own players to get another one into the Locked Chamber at all. There is a dungeon which is difficult to retrieve players from. It can be done, but it is costly. However, leaving them in the dungeon also detracts from your final score. Players must decide the strategy to take.
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When a player won, the idea was that the Locked Chamber would open, and in it, they would find the verses Matthew 23:13, Luke 11:52:

"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people's faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to."

And:

"Woe to you experts in the law, because you have taken away the key to knowledge. You yourselves have not entered, and you have hindered those who were entering."
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It would be a great discourse for discussion. This game could be played in the Church and different strategies examined for their merits.

It turns out that writing rules for a game is not the difficult part. Don't get me wrong - it is a difficult part, but there's much more to it. I found a website that will produce a board game of my creation (The Game Crafter), but the technical aspects are time consuming.

I stopped the design of this game while still in the faith. I have begun resuming it now as an exChristian. Why?
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On a metaphoric level, I think the "lessons" from this game are useful. I think lessons aside, it could be an interesting cut-throat game. It is involved and painstaking, though, so I don't foresee it being a "staple" game, so-called, that people return to time and again. But the thought behind it is valuable. Gameplay is still very telling.

And honestly? I still want to attempt to market it to churches.

As an exChristian, I am not a bastion for tearing down religion. But I absolutely want to bring to light the misuse and abuse that religion can inflict on the world - and their own followers especially. I want to discourage that.
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I'm making the game this year. Instructions are remaining about how they were before. But graphic design and the technical components of submitting it to the Game Crafter will happen this year. I am passionate to finish this in 2016.

What are your thoughts on such a project? Would you like an update once it is completed and available for purchase?