A Beginning of Sorts: Who Am I?

Telling a story is hard. I’ve never considered myself to be a story teller. As long as I can remember, I’ve reached for words on any surface. In college, I played with words like toys, picking them up, watching light reflect off the surfaces. Words were stars against the pitch black that helped me navigate through life. I couldn’t always rely on people, but I could rely on books. Never judging, always open.

I stand in awe of the story tellers that put their words into form, making something useful, delightful, terrible, or wonderous.

Perhaps it’s the pedestal I set storytellers on which makes it more difficult for me to spin my own tale. Lots of thoughts come up as I type. Who will listen? Why would they care? If I say anything off-color, what will they think?

Ah, but as you and I know, that’s just resistance. We can’t let those forces guide us. So, to begin, the only place to begin, is where my story actually starts to make sense for me.

I wish I could remember when I first heard of the podcast, “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill”. I don’t know how it was recommended or why it looked interesting. But, for whatever reason (and I tip my hat to the angel that put it in my prevue), I started listening to the podcast and couldn’t stop. 19 episodes later, I knew I had found something that related to me. I remember telling my husband that “… this feels familiar but I don’t know why.” At the time, I was working with some co-workers who loved listening to cult podcasts. I joined them and over and over again, listening to the expansive variety of cults, all of it felt familiar. More and more, I felt like I (at one point in time) had been a part of something that felt like a cult. But, I had no names. No leader I could point to. No glass of Kool-Aid I could identify. I was on a path but had no idea where it would lead.

One day, my husband sent me a podcast titled, “Groomed for an Abusive Arranged Marriage”. The guest on the show was Alyssa Wakefield. Listening to her upbringing, I could feel the familiarity creep up again. Her childhood felt like my childhood. Alyssa spoke of a teacher named “Bill Gothard”. I sent a text to my mom…

Me - “When you were homeschooling, did you listen to the teachings of someone name Goddard? Or something like that?”

Mom - “Bill Gothard”, “Why?”

Me - “Is he the one that taught about the umbrella of protection?”

Mom - “Yes. And, [if] you remember, I concluded there was a problem with that.” “Why?”

Why? Because I’d found my cult. I didn’t know who Bill Gothard was or what he taught exactly, but I found the first piece of the puzzle. I’d found my cult!!!

But, who he was or how deeply his teachings affected my family, would take time to uncover.

And, it didn’t take long to learn the other factors that made my childhood what it was.