Spiritual Abuse

Spiritual Abuse. It is real, it happens today, and seems to be growing more and more as I look around.
Some of the first examples we have a spiritual abuse came through Judaic law. They added and added to those first ten commands until no one really knew when you sinned against God, or against the local clergy.
Through history, it has been evident. The early persecution of those who were not of the Roman Catholic faith, for one. 
Spiritual abuse can come in all shapes and sizes and look many different ways.
The dictionary says of spiritual abuse: Spiritual abuse occurs when a person in religious authority or a person with a unique spiritual practice misleads and maltreats another...


This doesn't sound like much fun.
But I have seen it occur over and over, and in every church I have ever attended.
I know that statement is powerful, I think I mean it to be.


But before I go further, I want to give an example of the instances I have experienced


My first real experience came when I was a teen. I was "on fire" for God. I was at church every time the doors opened. I could quote my fair share of bible verses, and I knew every single word of the 10 Commandments. (Said with much sarcasm)
Now let me explain that when you live in a small resort town, where the entire population is 400 in the winter, and jumps to 10,000 in the summer, that church can be exciting and fun. Even if the main focus of the church is to cater to those thousands in a short 3 month period of time. But when the air gets cold, everyone leaves, and the real work of a local church begins. 
There had been a couple in town, living in a tepee for a number of months. The church had given them money when needed, food, and warm clothes. They promised to come to church. I was excited at the prospect. Then one warm summer day, they did come. I sat proudly in the front pew, my normal spot as they made their way down the aisle. The pastor we had at the time practically ran down to meet them. But instead of a welcome hug, he told them they weren't dressed properly for church, and they couldn't come back until the took a shower.
Needless to say, I was shocked. I couldn't even concentrate on the sermon. I left church that day and rarely went back after that. I didn't want to be a part of a group that expressed acceptance by their own standards.


It was then that I began to notice that church, as I knew, was capable of spiritual abuse.


Since when do we have to dress to a certain standard to be able to attend church?
If you have lived in the south, or even visited, you will see that everyone wears their best. It is like a Sunday School Model show with the little old ladies and men standing at the door, inspecting everyone's attire to make sure it meets their standards.


Church here in this small town is really nothing like that. Most people come in ranch clothes, blue jeans, and some even have manure on their boots. Some times we may dress up a little, but only for Christmas or Easter, and I may still wear jeans on those days, depending on the temperature.


Yes, this is but one example, but it leads to a great many questions, and some of my opinions.


Since when has another believers opinions been greater than that of God?


I have seen preachers point their fingers at the church members, for not giving enough, doing enough, being there enough, and at the same time, ignoring the spiritual growth of the people in the pews.


I have seen musicians make people cry with their beautiful songs, then ten minutes later hear criticism coming from their mouths.


I have seen ministries use the very people they claim to be helping, all in the name of furthering God's Kingdom on earth. Just to throw them aside when the "rules" are broken or when you have an opinion that differs from the church leaders.


This all falls under the guise of spiritual abuse.


I am not pointing fingers here. I have done it myself.
Yes, I fully admit that I have thought to myself many times, even when I didn't speak it out loud, that "I am a better Christian than they are!" Oh how wrong I truly am. If it weren't for grace, I wouldn't be anything at all.


I keep hearing the childrens song, nah nah nah nahhh nahhhhh nah.


What is it that keeps us doing this terrible thing? Instead of loving those around us in our local church, we judge, point fingers and whisper insults.


I believe the problem starts when each of us decide to follow Christ. Suddenly, just as we are on the verge of such an incredible spiritual high, feeling pure and secure, someone starts sending is messages full of rules.
"We don't do things like that in church."
"We don't act like that in church."
"We don't speak like that in church."
People start telling us what a believer should do and not do.
All these things are the beginning of spiritual abuse.
Like we, in our own wisdom, know more, and can teach more than the Holy Spirit.
Where did this spiritual arrogance come from?
In my deep psyche, I feel it is an innate need to form power.
New believers trust older believers, they have wisdom, so, shouldn't we listen to them?
NO!!!
In fact, we should question every single thing they say, using the Holy Spirit and the Word of God to judge the real truth.
God doesn't care what we look like, or for that matter, what we smell like. He really doesn't care if our church pews have cushions or if we sit on the floor. God really doesn't care about the many little things we deem important. 
God sees the individual heart, right where it is.
He doesn't ever see our sin after we have asked Jesus into our life. No, not even the sin I commit tomorrow. Why? Because the blood of Christ has covered all my sin, and when God looks at me, He sees me. The child He loves. 


More on spiritual abuse in the days to come, this is a humble start.
Just know, God's Grace is enough for me, and for you. He loves you just exactly the way you are, and no one else matters. Rest in His arms and heal, He will never let you go.

Time goes fast and stands still

Just over a week ago, my mom and I ventured to my sisters house to begin working on a project we had planned a few months ago. Just about six months ago to be exact.
My brother had a plethora of t-shirts. After he died, none of us were sure what to do with them. No one wanted to give them away, or dump them in the trash. 
So, after a few discussions with Glenda, my sister-in-law, we decided to make memorial quilts out of them.
Now, some of you may be thinking that because we live in the world of little towns, we would have nothing more to do than make quilts and jelly. Nay, say I. This was something we had to tackle, and soon.
We all picked out the t-shirts we wanted on our quilts, bagged them up, and took them to Penny's to begin the major task. 
Now, you have to keep in mind that none of us have ever made quilts. Yes, I have made some small baby quilts, nothing hard, easy one pieces. But we had decided it couldn't be that hard to make a few quilts. Well, 10 didn't seem that hard, we figured, if a person could do one, we three could certainly make 10. No problem. Oh, for famous last words.
First, we had to iron on backing to all the shirts. No easy task. It took my mom and I a day and a half to complete it. Penny supervised. Millie, my dog had come along with us, and was bored after the first few minutes of watching the steaming irons. She had more fun later when the material scraps were all over the floor for her to play with.
After completing this part, we moved on to how to put them together.
First, we had to make squares. Because, quilts have squares.
This would have been much easier if some of the shirts didn't have logos that covered the entire front of the shirt and sleeves. 
Not wanting to destroy a single logo, we cut the shirts in half, and decided that we would use the entire shirt, laid out flat, front and back to make the smaller lap robes for the kids. Each one would have a single shirt.
Now to put them on the material we had purchased. 
We spent the rest of that day contemplating how this should be done, and eventually decided we would use a simple zig-zag stitch, and piece them together.
It took us one entire day to finish the top of one quilt. There had to be a better way. Simply cutting out material and piecing them together was not going to work. 
Light bulbs came on above our heads when we decided to sew the entire shirt onto one piece of material.
We had four days left to complete all the tops so that my sister could take the quilt tops to work and place pictures of John on them.
In all honesty, after we figured out this part, it did fall into place and with sewing machines smoking, (or was that Penny and I?) we were able to get all of them done with a couple hours left over.
I have now decided this was one of the best therapy sessions I have ever had. We all needed that time together. We all shared memories of my brother as we cut and sewed. Some so funny we rolled with laughter, others so sad we had to take a break and cry a while. 
Mom shared a story about my brother bringing home a dead cat, and telling everyone his dad would fix it, because dad could fix anything. (I have to admit, he can fix just about everything, and make it better than it was in the first place, but a dead cat full of bugs was not something he could quite do.)
Penny talked about the memorial service and all the people that had come. We had so much love and support that day. God's hand was holding us close that day, and many more since then.
I talked about how John loved his nieces and nephews, and all the things he did for them through the years. They loved him so much, and it had nothing to do with anything he had ever given them. They just loved him because he always loved them unconditionally. They all new John would give good advice, a quick smile, and a pat on the shoulder. 
We talked about even more, but those things seem the most important to me right now.
Now that the tops are finished, Penny is putting pictures on them, and then my mom will take them all over to her friends who does quilt and has a huge machine, to have them finished. They may even be done by Christmas!
Now to tackle making jelly...hmm...maybe next year!

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