Like most fundie kids, I was raised with the belief that Jesus was returning at any second. It was what our parents prayed for- the end game, the chance to be reunited with our loved ones, and of course- be greeted by our Savior face to face.

The Rapture instills a sense of urgency, but also complacency.

Think of all your loved ones who aren’t saved- they will be left behind! They will have to suffer through the Tribulation!  There were debates within our household as to which members of our extended family would “take the mark,” thus damning their souls forever. Being left behind after the Rapture was a fate worse than death. It was our mission to convert as many souls as possible. As the song goes, “Be a missionary every day! Be a missionary every way! Be it in the town or country or a busy avenue, Africa or Asia- the task is up to you!” (It really annoys me that I can still remember all these songs!)

The complacency comes in with the idea of, “Well, what’s the point of planning anything if the Rapture is going to happen so soon?” Why plan for adulthood? Who cares what I want to be when I grow up if I’m never actually going to grow up? You could set up milestones- like “I hope I get my driver’s license before the Rapture” or “I hope I get married before the Rapture,” but the Rapture dominated the future. It could be today, tomorrow, or a decade from now. (It’s ironic that my church always scoffed at those who predicted the dates of the Rapture while teaching these were  “The End Days.” I always thought it must be nice to believe that the Rapture will happen on an exact date- so get your experiences in while you can!)

As a child, death is such a distant, almost incomprehensible, concept. But the Rapture! Now that was real. It was going to happen any time in the near future. We would be taken up into the sky, leaving all our loved ones, pets, and all familiarity behind to suffer an agonizing fate.

For me, this created a particular, peculiar phobia. I DON’T WANT TO BE RAPTURED WHILE I’M NAKED!! To this day, I find it impossible to relax in a bathtub. The first time I had sex I was petrified that this would be the moment that the trumpets sounded. The idea of being in the sky, surrounded by other Christians who would be horrified and shocked by my nudity (or the circumstances causing my nudity) was unconscionable.

I often thought about different scenarios involving the Rapture. How many people would be killed because a bus driver, an airplane pilot, really anyone operating any vehicle, suddenly disappeared?

The dead are rising from their graves? What will that look like? What if a person was cremated, or buried at sea? What if they were the victim of a twisted psychopath who spread their body parts across the country? What if a woman was in labor- would they both go (if the mother was a believer) or would the baby just disappear? How did that apply to any pregnant woman?

As per usual, my over-analytical thoughts and questions were dismissed. I was overthinking and while God hadn’t revealed the details, he certainly had a plan to cover all these instances so I needn’t worry about them.

Chernobyl happened on my birthday. This was a true sign of the imminence of the Rapture. We were all told that Chernobyl translates to Wormwood which is what turns 1/3 of the world’s water to blood. I mourned the loss of adolescence, the experiences I would never know. But then…nothing. No trumpet sounded.

Every time a prominent, secular politician took center stage, there were debates on whether or not he could be the anti-Christ. Anyone who promoted the idea of world unity or *gasp! a “One World Government” was a good candidate for the position. When the European Union first formed- this was a sign it was happening! (Also a reason many Christians view the United Nations with suspicion and contempt.) Anyone promoting world peace could be the anti-Christ. (I guess it’s not in God’s interest that people of the world are friendly with each other.)

Wars and rumors of wars? The Gulf War.

Lovers of self and money? Look no further than the decade that was the 1980s.

Famines? Ethiopia. Earthquakes? Everywhere.

Oh it was happening! “I’ll fly away, oh glory. I’ll fly away!”

At some point, I realized there was a for sure sign that the Rapture would happen that everyone was missing. The rebuilding of the Temple. The Temple cannot be rebuilt because that particular spot is currently home to The Dome of the Rock.

Let’s be honest, Christians aren’t particularly big fans of Jews. Why does Israel have such support amongst Christians? It isn’t that they feel guilty about the Holocaust. No, it’s because Israel needs to exist in order for the Lord to return! The Jews are a necessary evil. They might have murdered Christ, but they are a vital component for his return.

(Disclaimer: I am not here to spark a debate about anti-Semitism within Christianity. I am part Jewish- which technically makes me a full Jew according to both groups’ logic. I have suffered enough anti-Semitic remarks, discrimination, and even physical assault to know how many *not all* Christians feel about Jews as people vs. Israel- a nation comprised of Jews.)

So, until the Temple is rebuilt and Judaism, in it’s most ancient form can be practiced again. We’re all safe.

Mind you, every time I hear a strange, loud noise in the sky I might think Oh Shit! And I’m still not going to lounge in a bathtub for hours on end.

And while I don’t believe in the Rapture happening any time soon, or ever, that little fear still niggles in the back of my head. I suppose it always will. I still struggle with the complacency- not Rapture related anymore, but now as a learned behavior. And let me tell you- the interaction between that and my OCD is just delicious!

There have always been wars and rumors of wars. There will always be children disobedient to their parents. There will always be women who lack the natural love for their children. There will always be earthquakes, pestilence, famine, and other natural disasters. The love of self and money will always exist. It will always be The End Days.

TW: Sexual abuse/molestation

Growing up fundie is a minefield of oppression and repression. Everyone has feelings or emotions that do not fit in with the will of god, so we are taught to pray, study the Bible, find out why god is testing you.

Fundies accept anyone into the fold- hell- the worse of a person you were before you found Jesus- all the better! What a jewel in the crown of the one who led you to the Lord!! I remember when Ted Bundy was executed and all the talk in Christian circles was how amazing it was he had made a profession of faith before his death. How amazing! (Basically, this taught me that you can do whatever you want- so long as you get saved at the very last minute!)

Naturally, within this mindset, there are people who will take advantage of this system. There are also people who don’t seek proper treatment/counseling because temptations are a form of spiritual warfare and clearly not the sign that there’s actually something very wrong. And, of course, there are those people who will rise through the ranks and use their position of spiritual power to abuse others- trusting in their good deeds and commitment to Christ to cover for them in case they ever get caught.

As a pastor’s daughter, I witnessed the results of abuse, abuse itself, and was also the victim of abuse.

A man molested me repeatedly from the ages of 3-5. This man also molested my sister- which I was forced to watch. Years later, he also molested my brother. Good thing this man is in prison now! Oh wait, he’s not, he’s a relatively successful pastor.

Inappropriate touching by babysitters also happened multiple times.

I didn’t say anything. I knew it was pointless. I was misunderstanding- I was being too sensitive. The responsibility of the terribleness always fell back on me.

I had tried to tell my parents about the man. But I was little- a 4 year old doesn’t know how to properly convey the bad things that are happening to them- they just don’t know (nor should they need to!!) the terminology. It ended up coming out as “I don’t like Mr. S.- he gives mushy kisses.” “Oh, he’s just being affectionate because he loves you,” I was told. I didn’t know the words to convey that this man was sticking his tongue in my 4 year old mouth and forcing me to watch as he masturbated on my baby sister. What 4 year old knows those words or concepts?!

So with that dismissal, I kept my mouth shut. I fought going to their house, but was never taken seriously. When we were there- especially if we were being babysat, I did my best to find an adequate hiding spot. I distinctly remember being dragged out of a cubby beneath a set of stairs where I had been hiding in the dark, folded in on myself to become as small as possible with the hopes of disappearing- or at the very least becoming invisible.

We were never taught that our bodies are our own, or that our physical space was something that we could demand respect for. As pastor’s children we had to shake hands, give hugs, sit on people’s laps- all without having a say regarding how comfortable we were with these actions.

And all this while knowing that we could never accuse our abusers. They were upstanding citizens, they were doing the Lord’s work, it was demonic to make such horrible accusations against a fellow Christian.

With no outlet, abuse becomes internalized. With no justice, abuse becomes guilt.

I find it hard to believe that my parents didn’t know or even suspect anything! My sister wet the bed far beyond the appropriate age- a classic symptom of abuse. We all fought on going to that particular house- did they never think there was a reason behind that? Did they just turn a blind eye? Did they suspect something but considering the person, find it hard to believe that a child of the Lord would be allowed by the Lord to abuse the most innocent?

I know I’m not the only PK with this story. Sometimes I wonder if PKs aren’t bigger targets because of who they are. I know of multiple PKs who are also victims of childhood sexual abuse.

And it will continue. Because fundies don’t trust an outsider to deal with an issue. They prefer to pray, try to solve problems within the flock, and pray some more. Clearly someone isn’t “right with God” if this is happening. Clearly once someone is “right with God” this won’t happen again. Clearly these incidents are the result of demonic influence- no need to call the police- what do they know about combatting Satan and his horde of demons?! Matter of fact, the justice system might exacerbate the problem as jail is full of people under demonic influence!

It’s ironic that personal responsibility is removed for Christians. They preach about free will- but actions are always the result of either divine or Satanic influence.

And so predators continue to flourish and abuse within the church. And they will continue to do so because no one is willing to stop them.

A lot of people think that my dad’s suicide was what caused my lack of faith, my betrayal of my childhood, and my continues cynicism. But that’s not entirely the case.

I was always questioning things I was taught. I got tired of hearing the standard “Because God said so” or “God made/wanted it that way” answers. To me, that was never enough. My continued questions were met with annoyance, frustration, anger, and attempts to demean and humble (or humiliate) me.

One of the earliest incidents of this that I can remember took place when I was about 3 or 4. My parents told me that potatoes have “eyes.” “No they don’t,” I insisted. My parents probably thought this was fun , surely they had to understand my toddler brain picturing eyes in the only way I knew them. The debate lasted the entire drive to church. After services, my parents asked the pastor to take me aside and confirm that potatoes do indeed have eyes. He pulled me into a darkened classroom and insisted that I accept the fact that potatoes have eyes. I did so, albeit reluctantly, but I lied- right to the pastor’s face. I still didn’t believe that potatoes have eyes. No one had bothered to explain that the root buds on potatoes were also called eyes, had they done so- my toddler self might have been able to understand the argument. But I was humiliated- a sting I feel to this day.

Although this event is marked permanently in my mind as a reminder not to question religious authority, it really didn’t discourage my curiosity. My questions only grew bigger and deeper over time. My dad was none to happy that his oldest child was constantly questioning the beliefs he was preaching to his congregation. He grew more and more frustrated. By the time I was a teenager, my questions were met with the admonishment to pray about it and let the Lord reveal the answers to my soul.

This was a cop-out in my opinion- especially due to the fact that I had never established a  “personal relationship with Jesus Christ.” I didn’t know what that meant- and I still don’t know what exactly that entails. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.

I made multiple professions throughout my childhood, was baptized a handful of times. But, for whatever reason, I never felt any different. There was no “flood of peace” a special connection with the Divine. I always figured I hadn’t been sincere enough, wasn’t humbled enough, was missing some sin to confess. My inability to just accept things as they were taught was my stumbling block. My prayers felt flat and forced. Reading the Bible only gave rise to more questions. I began to feel that there was something wrong with me- or maybe there was some inherent flaw too large to allow Jesus to be part of my life and come into my heart.

And then, around 17 or 18, I simply gave up. I was tired of going through the motions, of faking the smiles and the beliefs. I was tired of being held up as an example to the children in the congregation. I was just tired of giving so much and not feeling anything in return. I was tired of hearing everyone else talk about experiences with the Lord- “Jesus laid this on my heart,” “the Lord led me to this,” “God has plans for me.”

If anyone should be having those Divine experiences- certainly the Pastor’s daughter should be one of them! But I never did. I never had a moment where I felt what everyone else claimed to feel. The only thing I felt was resentment.

That exhaustion of “faking it” was what led me away from religion initially.