Nine Months, One Lifetime, Part 6

The Holy Bible

I was unaware that there are rules of engagement, ethics, and professional boundaries that therapists are supposed to practice. Being oblivious to these rules, ethics, and boundaries, I could have never distinguished that a therapist can violate these guidelines.  When she said we were going to be best friends, I was flattered, curious, and taken to a different level in the relationship. Given my history and personality type, I treasure real friendships and place great value on them. I am a very kind, deeply loyal soul, and easily taken advantage of, particularly in this therapeutic relationship. I marched to the beat of her drum; I owned her imagined feelings that truly never existed; and I dismissed my inner voice. I was ripe for the picking and she knew it!

Now keep in mind I was persuaded to abandon my family. Over the next month, we began to talk about church. My husband and I belonged to a small IFCA (Independent Fundamental Churches of America) church of approximately 100 people on a good day. The college we attended was IFCA. We segwayed right in step with beliefs and practices into this church. We loved this church and became an integral part. We had developed a very close relationship with the pastor, his wife, and children, having dinner together no less than once a week. We were in attendance Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday evening. I was the church pianist, my husband did dramatic readings, we taught Children’s Church for a number of months, we taught the Junior High Sunday School class for a short season, and we did janitorial rotations. For some unknown reason, I began feeling disillusioned; I felt like the church was consuming my very life, as if a small piece of sand was irritating my oyster flesh. I would spend countless hours prepping preludes, congregational hymns, offertories, postludes, and at times special music throughout the week. We prepared Sunday school and Children’s Church lessons. Saturday evenings began feeling like torture as my perfectionist anxieties escalated in anticipation of Sunday’s demands. At one point, my Sunday morning looked like this:

Get to church at 9:15 am to prepare the classroom for teaching the Junior High Sunday School class; teach from 9:30 am to 10:15 am making sure we were always done right on time so that I could race upstairs to play the prelude while people filtered in and took their seats; play two or three congregational hymns; play the offertory; play one more congregational hymn; children were then dismissed for children’s church and we would head back downstairs to teach Children’s Church making sure we concluded at 11:45 am sharp so that I could rush back upstairs to play the closing congregational hymn and postlude.  

At the point I began seeing the therapist, this was my weekly prep and Sunday morning routine, and I was burning out, which trickled into displaced feelings and irritations with people in the church that typically I could ignore or tolerate. Particularly, there were two curmudgeonly older women who together reigned with a cruel iron scepter making sure there would be no changes or altering of traditions. One month, my husband and I were asked to fill in for the woman who normally arranged the flowers and such at the front of the church. When not in use, a large Bible was displayed on the communion table. One Saturday when we were filling in, we decided to move the Bible to the ledge of the baptismal, place an arrangement of wheat in a vase along with a matching plate and chalice on the communion table. When we arrived Sunday morning, one of the women marched herself up to the baptismal, took the Bible and placed it back on the center of the communion table. They were bullies; I had experienced that enough in my life; and I refused to let it go without approaching the woman. I asked her why she thought it necessary to move the Bible back to the communion table. I will never forget her smirk and smug attitude, stating, “Because that is where it belongs!” I walked away and let it be as not to create a scene or conflict, which I could not manage. That morning for offertory, I played an arrangement of “Blessed Assurance” which crescendoed at various parts. Afterwards, this same woman accused me of playing the offertory in anger. I looked at her and had to walk away. This type of nonsense wreaks destruction in a church and strips away unity. Throughout the next few sessions, I shared these and other frustrations I was encountering at church with the therapist, not understanding that I was overwhelmed and fatigued.

Now I chose this particular mental health institution because “Christian” was in the facility name. I assumed all employees were Christians. Never make that assumption, ever! As I shared my experiences with the therapist, I encountered opposition to church in general. She began exploiting her feelings about church. People in the church are judgmental, critical, and she said a number of times some stupid quote about you don’t have to go to church to be a Christian, just like a car does not have to be parked in a garage to be called a car. She skillfully began discouraging me from church attendance. At that time, she certainly did not disclose that she herself was not a Christian, so I believed she was a Christian. She began encouraging me to distance myself from the friendship with the pastor and his family, telling me it was not a healthy relationship. She began telling me that there are no absolutes in life, everything is relative, and there are no truths or moral absolutes about going to church or not going to church. She persuaded me into believing these people were just hypocrites. I needed to give myself permission to walk away. In hindsight, she added fuel to the fire and made the situation seem worse. She used words like, “to tell you the truth,” “to be honest,” and “believe me.” I was in the center of her fumes! I did not dare risk disagreeing with her.  

And, slowly I began pulling away from church. At first, I stopped attending Wednesday evenings. Gradually, it spilled over onto Sunday evenings. Slowly, I missed a Sunday morning here and there until I was not attending at all. As I allowed church to dissipate, I was being drawn in closer to the therapist. She continued to tell me that we were going to be best friends; she told me we were going to be sisters we never had; she told me we were going to grow old in a nursing home together. She was paying special attention to me and my little ones inside grew increasingly connected and groomed.

The one thing that I have held dear since childhood is daily reading my Bible. I love scripture! I love how it is planted in the very essence of my being and surfaces randomly in my mind. Whether I have read it in secret as a child, daily in high school during lunch quietly escaping into the library, at every job during morning break, over and over, my Bible is precious to me and is my truth. I did not allow the therapist to take that from me because I never told her of my daily scripture reading, but I did quench the still small voice within and began listening to her.

Satan masquerades as an angel of light! Satan is cunning! Satan leads astray! Satan is crafty! Satan deceives and lies!  Satan comes to steal, kill, and destroy! Satan is a stumbling block! Satan does not have in mind the concerns of God! Satan accuses! Satan prowls around like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour! Satan roams back and forth throughout the earth! Satan outwits and we are not aware of his schemes! Satan torments! Satan tempts! Satan is lawless and has no absolutes!! Satan will fool you!

To be continued…

Love you, mean it!