Hephzibah House Journal

Hephzibah House Journal
Susan Grotte's journal from her experience as a student at Hephzibah House, told in short-story form.

Saturday, September 21, 2019


My question is why??? No one is listening.

Every women that went there has to same story no matter what years. I graduated in 1984. I got whatever that paper was that said I was done. One of the happiest days. I never even told my parents because I did want them to feel guilty. I just kept in all inside. Unsure how I feel about opening this box with no changes still. Very Very sad .  

I got out of Hephzibah House and I completely blocked everything that happen there from my mind. First, I never thought any one would believe it and I needed to move past it. For the longest I thought I deserved it.
I can only remember was actually happened to me and not really all of that. I can tell you every thing I remember.

I was one of the girl workers. I remember laying tile in the big house. Gardening, you could not miss a bean or blue room. 
My bunk was right above that blue room. I could hear every girl that had to go there every single night. Praying my name would not be called.
I remember only one black girl she didn't stay long she was pregnant. 
I remember awful tales of past students who got out and didn't make it. I don't know if there was any truth to that other to just scare me more.
I remember I was not allowed to be friends with anyone because we were to bad for that. I remember not knowing if I could even trust the other girls for fear they may tell something on me. I remember Don Williams being bad and the awful sermon that night. This was before he married the younger house mother there her name started with a W.
I remember my feet turning all the way blue from working out in the cold so long. I remember my back side being black and blue then yellow for weeks. It hurt to sit down. These are just a few of my on personal memories.  

Patricia Stewart Parker

Thursday, September 19, 2019


To whom it may concern:

I arrived at Hepzhibah House towards the end of 2001 at the age of 12 and a half and left at the beginning of 2005 at almost 16 years old. During my time there I not only suffered physical and mental abuse but I also witnessed the abuse of others while I was there. Upon my arrival, they (staff) required us to undergo a "medical" exam from someone who they claimed was a doctor. The staff members put me in a small closet where the exam was to be performed. While getting prepared for their "doctor" to come into the closet,  I'm already crying and telling the staff that I already had a full physical exam done by my own family physician before arriving there and that I didn't want to go through this again. The staff member slapped me across the face and told me this was a requirement and that I needed to just suck it up and comply with the rules. As I'm crying more, this said doctor comes into the closet to perform this exam. He didn't say a word to me. He wasn't wearing anything to identify himself as a doctor. So no scrubs, no white coat, just jeans and a collared polo type shirt. The staff member that had just slapped me is now holding me down on this table as I am dreaming and telling them NO repeatedly  and another staff member was prying my legs apart for this doctor. At this time, I'm not being held down and restricted by two staff members. There was no type of sink or anything in this room so the doctor didn't wash his hands. This "exam" he did lasted for what seemed like forever to me but probably about 30-45 minutes. During the entire time, as I'm being held down and my legs held in a pried open manner I'm screaming as loud as I possibly can hoping that someone will hear me to help me. This "doctor" shoved different objects that I wasn't able to see inside of me during this examination and I screamed even more in shear pain and agony added to the terror I was already in! I just wanted it to stop! When it was finally over, the staff made me clean up my own blood and mess from the eternal damage they had done! It hurt so bad for so long after this traumatic experience I could barely move or walk.

Friday, January 25, 2019

Sarah Perkins

Hephzibah House was a dark time in my life. I was there for 2 months shy of 4 years. My stay was comprised of sentences, with a few times of "grace." For years after I left, I refused to give much time or thought to my stay there. Bringing it up now, a decade later, leaves me shaking and feeling betrayed. 
I do not like talking about it, because for those who do not know, it is hard to convey in precise terms what life was like. But I have talked about it because I feel the need to stand up for myself, & for the Girls still living under it. 
No one deserves conditions or treatments like those imposed on them. Criminals had more rights than we did as children.

Background on me:
I was adopted at the age of 5 1/2, with my little brother, Ben. He was 3. Out of the same family, into the same family. Our older Sister was taken & adopted by a different family. My baby brother & I were close as children. Inseparable. My parents felt that our closeness was a problem because Ben would listen to me over my parents, wouldn't speak to anyone except me for the longest time, etc. 
My Parents felt the best way to fix this was to keep us separated. As much as possible. We would get in trouble for being in the same room together without an adult present. We were not allowed to play outside alone together. We could not talk to each other unless an adult (as in our parents) could hear the conversation. 
When I was 8, my Mother was tried by the court and convicted of child abuse and neglect. Her state license for fostering children was taken. I do not know why my brother and I were left in the home. Maybe because we had both been wards of the State before adoption... maybe because my Father was not found guilty. Idk. What I do know is that she blamed me. She said I could not stand to share the spotlight with other children, so I had to take that from her too. 
Our relationship worsened. When I was 8, she told me she'd tried everything she'd known to bond with me. She said she was at her wit's end. There was nothing more she could do. 
This was after she'd taken me to Saturday sessions with our therapist. I was told to lay down on the end of the Persian rug that was sprawled out on the floor. They rolled me in it. The therapist instructed my Mother to lay down on top of me, wrapped inside the rug. We stayed that way for 3 hours. A timer was kept. 30 min break. The process was repeated. We did this for months.  
They said it was supposed to aid bonding. Simulate a birthing canal. 
I don't think it did. 
When I was 9, Ben was diagnosed with Asperger's. To enforce the separation, my parents rotated sending me off to government-run respite homes, & family-run ones, on weekends. When I was 10, they tried to have me institutionalized at a Christian mental health facility. When that fell through, they allowed me to continue living at home, & settled for sending me away on weekends. (From Friday night, when I got home from school to Sunday afternoon. I was allowed to come home on Sunday night.) When I was 11, they sent me away for the summer to an independent lockdown Christian facility. What started as a way for my parents to become closer to my brother, turned into me being sent away because "I wouldn't listen to my Mother."
From Day One, we didn't agree. She had no issues separating my Brother and I. I felt it was unfair & wrong. Attempting to go around that rule made my life unbearable. My Mother put an alarm on my door, bolted my window shut, (where it opened 3 inches), and left a baby monitor in my room turned on, in case I tried to talk to talk to my brother through the heating vent in the floor, or use the wall tap language we'd created. There was to be NO communication between my brother and me, whatsoever.  
It culminated, into the morning before school, when my parents sat me down and told me I needed to choose between going to a juvenile detention facility or a boarding school. I chose boarding school. They did not want me in the home any longer. That is what she said. My Dad sat there, he didn't agree. He didn't say anything. He wouldn't meet my eyes.  
I was in 7th grade then. I was 12.
I went to Hephzibah House at 12 & was left there until I was 16.
My parents told me when they decided on HH. They'd debated between 3 different schools, and narrowed it down to the one in Indiana. I was allowed to read through the criteria and the paperwork. My Pastor did not approve of them opening and reading my mail, and he made that clear to everyone involved. 
Pastor Theaker was a Chaplain, in Vietnam. He felt that censoring our mail was a violation of our basic human rights and our rights as Americans. He told Hephzibah House that, in as many words. 
Hephzibah House required our parents to address all letters to Hephzibah house, itself. So opening our mail became legal. My brother gave out the boarding school's address to some of my friends, who addressed their letters to me. It didn't matter. HH still opened, read, initialed those letters, then returned them to my parents. No one let me know I had received them. 1 friend wrote me 2 years with no response. I didn't know until I got home. My parents saved & kept all mail I'd sent them, all returned mail, and the
Hephzibah Happenings sent home each quarter & put them in a tote for me.
Girls who are accepted into Hephzibah, have been vetted. They do not accept Girls who are violent, have violent tendencies, or have a history of violence. Violence includes throwing things. Their paperwork is specific when it states, if a girl becomes violent in their care, she will be removed & her parents will return to get her.
Their doctrine teaches that a woman must be submissive in all aspects of her life. She must do so with a smile. She cannot hold a position of leadership over a man, in work or personal life. They recommend against a woman holding a job outside the home period, but they teach that she is NOT Allowed to hold one in the fire department, law enforcement, or military. 
To hold a job outside the home, a Daughter must first have her Father's approval, (regardless of age, whether adult or no), and a married woman must have her Husband's approval. There is no life in between being a Daughter, & a wife. As a woman, you do not move out of your home until you are married. Your Parents approve your Husband. Once married, your Husband controls your life. Women are admonished not to attend Bible College because education will result in a stumbling block to her. A woman with a degree will be proud, & will argue with her husband. It will lead her to vanity. Attending a secular school, (which is not of God) does not happen. Whether male OR female. There are no children outside of marriage. There is no divorce. Once divorced... (gasp). There is no remarriage. If remarriage occurs, the new couple will spend their life together living in sin. They teach a child's will needs to be broken & molded into a happy and sin free (as possible) human being. Therefore a rod should be used on that child, starting when he/she reaches 1 month old & ending when they are grown and out of their parent's house,...(Married) Women who wear pants are going to hell. Christian women must be submissive & wear modest clothing. If a woman isn't trying to be modest, ("one of the fruits of the spirit that results from being saved") then she's most likly not saved at all. The single type of modesty accepted. Theirs. Shocker.
HH questions the salvation of Christians outside "the remnant." (the remnant= IFB churches HH supports & HH) (IFB= Independent Fundamental Baptist) "Those Christians don't do this, & don't do that... at best they're backslidden believers, at worst they're not saved." 
If I don't hear some semblance of that phrase for the rest of my life, it will still be too short.
Arranged marriages were preached from the pulpit, & encouraged. A woman's hymen, if damaged by sexual intercourse, consensual or not, was not fated (by her own actions) for God's Best. Not His 1st Best, His 2nd Best, or His 3rd. That woman could have God's 10th Best. They specified His 10th Best. That is why they stuck a speculum up me. To see if I was a virgin. To see if I was worth "saving," & then marry me off into the remnant to an unmarried Pastor, Missionary, or Pastor's Son. God's 1st Best. True. Christian. Leadership. Instead, I grew up & chose to be marry someone like me. A Marine. 
They take these teachings literally and preach them from the pulpit. They print tracts, bulletins, and booklets containing this doctrine. Guess who collates the things they print? That's right. HH Girls. For Free. While our Parents pay them for us to stay in their care & go to "school."     
My parents drove me to Hephzibah. Mrs. R, and Miss Naomi were the ones who sat with my Mother & I upstairs. What they did was called an intake. After it was over, Miss Naomi led me down the stairs, and handed me off to Mrs. Kagin. Mrs. Kagin was waiting for me beside the open basement door. I walked through, Miss Naomi didn't. She shut and locked the door behind my back. 
I looked at Mrs. Kagin, she was in standing in a small hallway, & carrying a basket of stuff I'd never seen. There were no girls I could see. She motioned to the basket & said "These are your things. I'll need your help labeling them when you get out of the shower." I looked at her and said, "Where are the other Girls?" She said "In School. You'll meet them later." I let her know, "I took a shower this morning." She responded with, "All girls take a shower when they come here, to get the worldliness they bring with them off, such as makeup." I told her "I don't wear makeup." And she replied, "It doesn't matter. You have to take a shower."
So I did. 
She was upset that my shower lasted longer than 3 minutes. I didn't think it was a problem.
All showers I took after that were 3 minutes long. It was a rule. No one was exempt. The time exception to this was after we gardened poison ivy for them. 
Each summer we would pull poison ivy out of the gardens nearest to the road on their estate. I'm sure they could've done it, but they didn't. We did.
Normal shower times went thus, 1 min to get undressed, 3 min in the shower, 2 min to get redressed. 
Poison ivy shower times: 1 min to get undressed, 2 min in the shower (cold water) with a big chunk of lye soap, 3 min in the shower (hot water), 2 min to get redressed. 
The lye soap had to be used by each of the Girls who used that shower stall. We did not have individual bars of lye soap.
There were 3 bathroom stalls. We were allowed to take our bath baskets in the shower stall with us, as long as we cleaned them out and showed them to the staff each time we went to put them away. We were not allowed to take our electric razor in the stall with us. Saturday was the day in the week we were allowed to shave. Those who did not have electric razors had to use the weird round ones and shave by hand. 
Shaving was an ordeal before shower time on Saturday. You had to ask permission to shave. If granted, you asked permission for a place to sit in between the bunks to shave. If the places on either side of your bed were unavailable, the staff would pick you a spot. Once they did, you laid your towel down in that spot. You asked a staff permission to watch you go to your wardrobe, or to Closet A or B to get your flip flops. Once completed, if you did not have an electric razor, you asked staff to watch you so you could pour yourself a tiny bucket of water out of a five gallon pail.   
Our razors were taken out of Closet C by Miss Theresa. She was the Staff who signed them out to us. If you did not have flip flops on your feet, & a bucket of water laid out by your towel, Miss Theresa would not sign out your razor to you. 
The Staff watched over our shoulders while we shaved to make sure we followed the rules and stayed modest. Shaving above the knee was Not Allowed. Ever. 
Razors in the shower was not allowed. Once you were done shaving you had to dump, bleach out, and dry your bucket. Once the staff checked it, you could put it in the stack. The staff had to watch you dump, bleach, and dry out your bucket. Last person to finish shaving with a bucket had to take care of the whole stack of buckets. Last person to finish showering in each stall had to clean the stall.
Showering was done After all work duties in the house was completed, and before dinner. No one wanted to be last. 
If you were too slow, demerits. If you were too fast, demerits. If you were neither, but messed something up, demerits. If you talked out of turn. Demerits. Made eye contact with a girl you were not allowed to talk to, demerits. Made eye contact with someone, when on sentences, or made eye contact with someone when they were on sentences, Demerits. Did not say "Yes Ma'am" or "No Ma'am" after asked a question or given a direct order, demerits. Had the wrong attitude or demeaner when responding. Demerits. Didn't respond in the appropriate time, demerits. Had to ask a staff more than 2 times to check your floor, demerits. Forgot to ask permission to leave a room. Demerits. 
Extra bathroom break, 15 demerits.
Did not eat your food in the time allotted, demerits. Failed weekly or monthly Scripture, Sentences.
Demerits were given on a regular basis during the day. Having enough demerits, at the end of a week, resulted in sentences. Sentences were Bible verses that were written out, corrected by staff, fixed until they were perfect, & then Ok'd. 
16 demerits- 100 Sentences
17 demerits- 200 Sentences
18 demerits- 300 Sentences
19 demerits- 400 Sentences
20 or more demerits- 500 Sentences  

Sentences: No communication for the duration of that week. If you took longer than the week to write your sentences, you did not speak for the duration of that time. You are not allowed to speak until the staff approves them. It takes them a couple days sometimes. 
-No tea or honey on Sundays. (Which is THE 1 day that week HH Girls can have it)
-No Books besides the Bible or book report books on Sundays
-No looking at, making eye contact with, handing something to, or speaking with students on your talking list
-No speaking to staff except to ask "Miss Mary, will you please pass the salt?" or "Miss Sarah, will you please check my floor?" 
-Required to wear your school uniform to Church so the flock (Church Congregation)knows you are in rebellion to the Lord.
-If there is a snack or treat after dinner, you will not get it. Sometimes, they force the girls who don't have sentences to eat their snack/treat in front of the girls who do, as punishment. 
-Evening school is spent writing sentences. An evening around the fire crocheting is spent writing sentences. Friday night activities are spent writing sentences. Time spent on an action other than work is now spent writing sentences.
Violations of these rules or the other rules in the rule book constitute more demerits. Communicating (ie. looking at, handing something to, speaking, looking in the mirror at the same time, etc) with a Girl not on your talking list. Sentences. 
Being on sentences, & communicating with ANYONE. Sentences. 
As in, Sentences for the NEXT Week.
If Mrs. Halyaman/Mrs. R felt sentences weren't disciplining a girl enough, or they felt she was in rebellion, they'd pull her out of school, after individual morning devotions, and she'd do the entire house's work duties. Spend the whole day on her hands & knees, cleaning. 
If she did not complete the work duties before dinner, she would not eat. They'd feed her ensure. Ask me how I know. 
If a girl was sick, & "had to stay in bed." She could eat 3 meals of ensure or she could go hungry. As they said, "Those who Do Not Work. Do Not Eat." 

After about two weeks there, I was given a physical. This was the one time I saw a "doctor" at Hephzibah House. Miss Theresa told me he was a doctor. He did not. She said I was going to get an exam. He did not. He did not say hi. He did not tell me his name. He did not wash his hands. What he did do was give me a full pap smear. I waited in a line-up of 3 Girls, chairs sitting in the dorm. I was the last to go. The Girls before me went into Closet C, one after the other. The Girl right before me was in there for a while. She screamed the whole time. They made me turn around in my seat so I couldn't see Closet C's door anymore. When it was my turn, Miss Theresa & Mrs. Drazich were waiting for me inside. They had me get up on this brown awkward looking bed thing with a strip of plastic covering the leather, & stirrups. He came in. He didn't talk to me. Miss Theresa said "Do I have to hold your hand too?!" Sarcastic & condescending-like. Mrs. Drazich took my blood. He pulled my nightgown up & checked my boobs. (I didn't have boobs yet) Mrs. Drazich told me to put my feet in the stirrups. I did. He put his hand on my knee, told me to "Hold Still" then moved his hand away. All I felt was pain. He pushed the speculum all the way up my vagina. I was a virgin. It hurt so bad. It took FOREVER & it was freezing. I was 12. When I asked him to stop, "Please. Stop. It hurts." He responded with, "Hold still. I'm almost done." I bled for weeks afterwards. My menstrual cycle didn't start until I was 14.  

For those who don't know, Closet C is a storage Closet located in the basement of Hephzibah. (Where we lived.) It has 2 phones, old-fashioned circle dial phones. We were allowed 1 monitored 15 min phone call with our parents each month. On our birthday month, it was 20 min. Mrs. Halyaman would call our parents 3 times. If they didn't answer our phone for that month would be bypassed. Incoming Mail, outgoing mail. Monitored. Sometimes, letter my parents sent me had whole portions black-markered out. 

Meals were gross ordeals. The fed us "salad" crawling with bugs. The soup had little to no meat in it. It tasted off sometimes. There's millet gruel in the morning. The salmon sandwiches were freezer burnt. They didn't want to throw them away, but refused to eat them themselves. There is little meat in our diet besides soup & special occasions. There is no menu choices or options. You Do Not get to choose, & you don't know what's being served for dinner until it's served. If you do not eat what is served, you do not eat. They'll save it for you for the next meal. You get demerits each time you refuse, & it's re-served Cold. On top of sentences. And possible extra work duties. 

Meal-time portions were nightmare inducing. From 1/4 portions which could feed a toddler. To 1/2 portions which left you hungry in 2 hours. To full portions, which grown men struggle to eat. Pastor & Mrs. Halyaman ate with us Sunday nights after Church sometimes, neither could eat full portions. He tried once. 
Full portions are half portions doubled. Go figure. 
Pick your poison. Either outright over eat or starve... or overeat & (once the vegetables cycled through your system) starve. 
That's why snack/treat time was so detrimental. I remember I was so hungry it would keep me awake at night.   
Our morning began when the staff turned off the fans & said a prayer. 
"Good morning Girls, it's time to pray."
We had 15 min to make our bed, get dressed, brush our teeth, and do our hair. 
We had to ask the Staff permission to check our bed, watch us while we went to our wardrobe/closet, ask permission to go to the bathroom, ask permission to open the bath basket cupboard to get our toothpaste, once we got in the bathroom. Ask permission to use the sink and the mirror. Ask permission to open the bath basket cupboard again to put our toothbrush/toothpaste back, and get our deodorant out. Ask permission to use a shower stall to change in. Ask permission to open the bath basket cupboard to put the deodorant back. We were assigned bathroom toilet stalls we could use... A, B, or C. If the one assigned to us was not available, we were not allowed to use the others even if they were open. We could not look in the mirror, or be in the bath basket cupboard with a Girl we were not allowed to talk to. 
We were not allowed to wait in the bathroom if a changing stall or toilet was not available to use. We would be told we needed to leave the bathroom, and come back in a few minutes. Even though, you are told you need to leave, you must still ask permission. All girls try to go in the bathroom at once. You must not brush against, make eye contact, or acknowledge another Girl's presence, or you will get demerits. 
The BM & menstrual charts were hung up on Closet B. Visible to those who lived there, ministry personnel who came downstairs, and visitors.  
The Girls who were forced to wear diapers, because they "wet themselves" had to get up before the fans were turned off, strip their beds (when they weren't wet), bleach the mattress off, and hang their bedding outside, (snow or shine). I mean that literal. 
When they did wet the bed, they were made to hand wash their bedding with a ginormous tub they had to fill with 5 gallon buckets. 1 cycle of washing. (Dump & change water). 2 cycles rinse. (Each had to be dumped & changed out) Then hang out the bedding on the clothesline. Regardless of whether it was warm outside, moderate, or below freezing. 
Girls who bled a lot on their periods had to wear diapers at night for the week duration of their cycle. The Staff did not want to get up for extra bathroom trips for those Girls, me included, to change their pads, and they did not want to be made to watch us hand wash our stuff each time we bled through. If we bled through we were required to hand wash our bedding. 
I never saw the point in hanging clothes out on the line in winter. It all froze. It didn't dry. The Staff said it would conserve the energy we used. 
I think it just froze our fingers and our clothes. We ended up having to go back outside at the end of each day, take it all down, and throw it in the dryer. So I don't understand the point. 
We hung work duty wash rags and dry towels on the line too. Plus kitchen rags/ dry towels. To this day, I do not see the point of doing it in winter.  
We did work duties after breakfast, before school, and after school- before shower time & dinner. Dishes were done at breakfast & dinner. Dish crew had 15 min to be done in the morning (or demerits). And 30 min at dinner (or demerits).  
Lunch dishes were added to the amount being washed from dinner. As well as dinner dishes, sent down from upstairs to clean. 
Head coverings were seen as being submissive to God and authority. We were admonished to wear them.
School was supposed to be all year long. Each day except Sunday. The ACE (Accelerated Christian Education) course work was/is not accredited except in a few Bible Colleges.
They pulled us out for work duties, & extra work projects, whenever they felt we needed discipline, or they wanted help with something. We unloaded the food bank trucks, wood chipped their gardens, (with flat bed trucks full of wood chips & five gallon pails) weeded and picked those gardens, cleaned the church, cleaned school street, raked their leaves, cleaned the outside cooler and freezer, harvested walnuts, collated their scripture, collated the Hephzibah Happenings. They owned a Scripture barn, where they printed thousands of scripture portions, tracts, booklets, pamphlets, Hephzibah Happenings, doctrinal literature, & Bibles. We collated those by hand. In one summer we did 45,000 scripture portions alone. A different year, we did 100,000 scripture portions. It filled an entire semi shipping container. They sent it to the Middle East, to "help save lost souls." 
Each quarter, (3 times a year) we collated the Hephzibah Happenings that were mailed out to our Parents, Pastors, supporting Churches, & Christians within those Churches. Thousands of them, each time.  

They had beehives they kept right outside the gate (locked from the outside) that led into our backyard. The fence was 13-15 ft high. We carried and cleaned five gallons of honey. We picked the food, washed the food, chopped the food, stored the food, then once or more a month cleaned out the cooler & cooler room where the food was stored. We cleaned and oiled the Kagin's house. We cleaned the ministry's vehicles. They drove them into the fenced-in backyard, & pulled us out of school to clean them.  
We cleaned Pastor & Mrs. Halyaman's house. Raked their leaves. The mail that came to Hephzibah House had stamps, so we spent a couple hundred evenings a year, when we could have been in "evening school," cutting boxes & boxes of stamps that they sold to collectors for money. We cracked apart dried walnuts, (that we'd harvested) and spent evenings pulling the meat out of them with picks. Took us weeks to do them all. Miss Naomi threw them in the freezer, & we got to eat a miniscule portion of them once on a holiday. The rest they ate. We harvested walnuts each year I was there. 
Stamps & walnuts meant that sentences would not be written that night. We'd get to listen to a story tape. (Most Christian)  Judah Ben Hur. The Hiding Place. (by Corrie Ten Boom) The Lone Ranger. Or a preaching tape. Taped sermons preached by a Pastor in the HH congregation or Pastors in congregations they approved. We also listened to an hour's worth of preaching each night before bed. Preaching, Christian, Christiana, Stories of what a child would have been if it hadn't been aborted, Tilly, literal readings of the Scripture... book by Book. Etc. They wouldn't turn the fans on until the audio tape was over. I can't fall asleep when someone is talking. So there went at least 1 hour of my sleep a night.

We had individual devotions each morning, & group devotions each night. They told us we were whores, strange women, women with devious machinations in our hearts & minds during group devotions. "Get your heart/mind right with the Lord," was one of their favorite sayings. I mean "their" as a collective. They all say it.    

Hephzibah House did not believe in medication. I had ADHD as a child. I have it now as an adult. I took ADHD medication & I took Melatonin to go to sleep. Neither were allowed there. I was taken off my medication before going to Hephzibah House. No Girls were allowed medication, including Girls with light spectrum Autism. They did not believe those things were real. They taught that if God gave you a disease, you were meant to have it, therefore medication's not necessary. If you have a disease & you do not wish to have it. Pray. If God does not take it from you, you're meant to have it. "It's your burden to bear."

Ironic that they don't believe in medication, but they do believe in vitamins. 
We had the option to take these horse pill garlic & green tea vitamins each morning & night. 
We did not have the option to refuse the horse pill-sized Men's One A Day vitamin we had to take each morning. (Which side note: does NOT contain the amount of iron a menstruating female needs.)  

When you get to HH, they give you a diagnostic test. They don't feel that (secular) Public Schools have valid teaching, so they discredit it. They do not test you on your level. What I mean is this. When I got there, they did not give me the 7th grade's portion of the diagnostic test, take where I placed on it, & start me from there. Which is what an accredited school would have done.
No. No. No. No. 
They tested me on every grade I'd EVER learned.
 If I forgot something from 5th grade, or got it wrong they made me retake that Grade's PACEs involving that subject.
Some Girls place in 3rd GRADE at 15 YEARS OLD. 
DID I MENTION... This school is NOT ACCREDITED or accepted BUT for a FEW Bible Colleges???? Let me say it Louder for the People in the Back. 
Ironic. Because. Get this.
They would not allow lower level staff to grade our PACE's. 
Miss Mary- graduated High School in a Public School. 
Miss Avery- High School in a Public School.
Miss Sarah- graduated ACE
Miss Theresa- Had been a Catholic (gasp), graduated High School in a Public school, was divorced, & had been in the military.
Miss Leah- graduated ACE
Miss Theresa was the Head Staff. Miss Theresa & Miss Sarah (sometimes) were the Ones downstairs QUALIFIED to grade our PACE's. That's what they said. In real life terms, they were the ones ALLOWED to grade them. A "privilege" they did not use much. 
Lol. No one else downstairs was QUALIFIED to grade non-accredited schoolwork. 
Go figure. 
Each PACE had a corresponding Answer Key PACE that correct answers could be read off of. The answer keys were locked in rolling drawer cabinets in the New Addition.
During school, we sat in cordoned off cubicles. 3 personal (arms length in front) white wood walls stared back at each girl. They made them so girls could not communicate with other Girls. 1 empty cubicle, then 1 with a Girl. 1 empty cubicle, then 1 with a Girl. You get the idea. It made me feel alone. 
Each subject had 10-12 PACES to pass into the next grade. So English had 12, Math had 12. And so on. 
Before you received a new PACE, they x'd to page 3 or 4. That was the farthest page you could finish before handing in that PACE. Each section allowed in each PACE was 3-4 pages. Get 1 thing wrong in that section & you would not go farther until it was right. You go father. Demerits. 
Ask a staff to help you. "I don't know." "I can't." "I'm not qualified." 
"Where's Miss Theresa or Miss Sarah?"... "Busy."
So you hand in all your PACES. They give you your Bible to study while you wait. 4-5 hours go by. Mrs. Halyaman comes down & grades PACES. You get them back with 10-15 min left of school. With the possibility of stuff being wrong. 
Then the school day's over. 
Girls get stuck on PACEs for MONTHS like that. ALL GIRLS. Some in 3rd grade. And then they're like, "That Girl over there refuses to do her school work." "Some Girls come here & do a years worth of work in a few months..." to make that Girl feel bad. Out loud. I mean, we ALL have ears, just because we couldn't see the other Girls doesn't mean we couldn't hear the trash talking garbage spewed to make them feel bad. Plus the intercom made it easier for Mrs. R, than a trip to the basement, to shame someone. 
Heaven Help You if they berate you & you stand up for yourself. It could be the meanest, nastiest things a human has said to you since you've existed. Don't do it. It's Not worth it. Just say, "Yes Ma'am," and go about your business.
School Note: In School, Classical Music CD's are playing 100% of the time because they didn't want us to daydream or think about things other than schoolwork. Terrible school environment. I HATE Classical Music. 
I think that's enough about Hephzibah House for now. HH is a dark, abusive, hopeless place where love & light do not shine. Balance doesn't exist in that house or that compound. 

I joined the military at 17. Army. I got married. I have a couple Girls. 
I'd walk into Hell before I'd send my Daughters to this "school." 

Saturday, January 19, 2019


July 2008 - July 2010

I had a rough beginning.  My mother told me to my face that I was a mistake, that she wished she never had me. I answered to, Shithead, Dumbass, and Bitch. Throughout my life, I was told that I would never amount to anything. I was too stupid to accomplish anything. I was a good kid, I always listened to my mother because I was afraid of her, and yet I was always yelled and screamed at. I always got beat with the leather belt or smacked across the face. I was afraid to ask her for things, like if I could go to a party at school, to sign a permission slip or if I could eat lunch. I was always grounded in my bed for weeks at a time. The longest was 3 weeks. I waited until school so I could get up and play with my friends. My stepdad wasn’t really around unless I needed to be punished. If we were too loud in the morning (they would sleep in until 11am) he made me stand in the corner for 8 hours. He played bootcamp with me, he was the Drill Instructor and I was the 6-year-old recruit. He would scream at me and make me do exercises until I couldn’t anymore. He choked me a couple times; kicked me in the stomach and sent me to school with bruises. So when they started to go to an IFB church you would understand why I didn’t want a part in it. They were God-fearing Christians on Sunday but terrible parents every other day. When I was 14 I lost all their respect. I didn’t care anymore. When I was 15 I started looking for other things to keep me company. It was the worst sort and nothing could keep me from it. I ran away and lied to my parents so I could see my alcoholic boyfriend. And that's why I got sent away. Looking back 10 years later, now an adult, a mom and a Christian, I feel as though my parents slept in their bed but didn’t want to make it. They were terrible parents and didn’t want to deal with me. So they dropped me off to someone who would fix their mistakes. I included all that because I wonder if they had loved me like I love my children if they had shown me an ounce of care and listened to me when I called out, if I would have had to go to the boarding school at all. 

They all told me that all they want is for me to establish a good relationship with my parents again. They said that I didn’t even need to believe in God. But this was a lie. How could we establish a good relationship if we weren’t allowed to talk to each other? The letters we wrote once a week were read and re-read by Patti Williams. I've had letters taken back to me and re-written because they talked about why I was sent there. I had a letter rewritten because I told my parents that Mary smashed my face in the snow one day. We weren’t allowed to talk about why we were on sentences, (probably because the rules were so far past ridiculous that they would question their authority) we weren’t allowed to talk about when we were sick (because we weren’t allowed to see a doctor if we had a virus and we weren’t allowed to take medicine because medicine is a SIN). We weren’t allowed to talk about the other girls we lived with. The only thing that was welcomed was all the GOOD and NICE things that we did that week, and if God has placed anything in our hearts. The same went for the Once-a-month, 15-minute phone call that was also listened in by Mrs. Halyaman. If we said anything we weren’t supposed to, the rest of the call was canceled, and there was a possibility our phone calls would be taken away too. I didn’t get all of my mail because they were from unsaved family members. I didn’t get pictures of some of my family because they were wearing pants and they didn’t want to discourage me in my walk with Christ. I had family that lived in Indianapolis but they weren’t allowed to see me because they weren’t Christian. They taught us that even though they were family, we shouldn’t spend time with them because they were worldly. My parents came to see me once, but never came again because they spent their money on other things that were more important than me. (They didn’t even pick me up when I left HH)

They made me wear diapers. It wasn’t because I wet myself after all the ridiculous water we drank, but because my periods were so heavy. I would leak every morning, yeah that happens, but tampons were a sin, so I had to wear a diaper instead. Theresa loved to make fun of me for it. I tried to make it into a joke, It wasn’t like I could control my my flow, but the cutting jokes stung. “What are you going to do when you get married?? Wear a diaper to bed??” They made me show them the inside in the morning before I threw it away. Were we such bad kids that we didn’t deserve basic privacy? 

Sentences were given whenever the heck they wanted to give them out. If you needed to pee in the middle of the night you got 500 sentences. If you forgot to put your bag/purse back on your assigned seats, demerits. If the staff found a spot on something that you were supposed to clean, demerits. If you looked at a girl you weren’t supposed to talk to, sentences. Anything unlabeled was sentence worthy. If you forgot to take out your bath basket to be cleaned, demerits. If you over ate, sentences. In my mind I tried to keep track of all the things I did wrong and see if I had sentences that week. You weren’t allowed to look at anyone for a week. You weren’t allowed to talk to anyone, not even staff. They took away your ‘treats’ after dinner, if some family had donated any. They took away Friday nights, which we usually made cards or watched a christian based movie. We had to wear our school uniform to church so that everyone knew that WE WERNT RIGHT WITH GOD this week. And then during the week you would write Bible Scripture while everyone else was doing school. It was easy for the staff to give sentences to the kids they didn’t like. Mary did it all the time. It might not sound like much, but when your not allowed to talk to anyone for weeks at a time it gets really lonely. There was a girl there who didn’t believe everything that HH taught. Theresa picked on her the most. She was on sentences every other week. It wasn’t because she was a bad kid, because she really did listen. We didn’t really have a choice. She just didn’t like her. Theresa did that with another girl that I really liked. If I paired up with one of the favorites nothing happened, but If I wanted to pair with the other girl I wasn’t allowed because there wasn’t supposed to be any cliques. 

We cleaned for hours at a time. I understand that they needed to keep the place acceptable for health inspectors, but was Ron Williams disgusting van being searched too? We cleaned the staffs cars, we cleaned their church. We cleaned the room they kept for visits. We cleaned the giant freezer that was outside. I HATED cleaning it. It had to have been below 0 in that freezer and yet we cleaned and cleaned. We pulled weeds in the garden and in the spring it took forever. We had to do it perfectly or we would get demerits for failed job. We picked all the produce, washed it, and packaged it ourselves. In the summer, because I was a trusted student, I got to go to the Kagins garden and pick all the produce from theres as well. I did get bad knees from scrubbing the floors for so many hours. A sac appeared on my knee cap. My mom didn’t want to take me to the doctor so I took care of it myself. Yellow fluid seeped out of my knee. I thought I had taken care if it but it came back. A lady at my church helped me out with it and it doesn’t bother me too much now. 

The Food was given in huge amounts. A half portion was a regular portion for a 15 year old. We were to eat double that amount in 20/30 minutes, If you were late then you weren’t right with God. They literally told us this. I remember one girl couldn’t stomach all of her pasty oatmeal crap and as Miss. Theresa was yelling at her, she threw up. Bam. 500 sentences right there. Then she made her clean up her own vomit. One time I took extra time to finish my giant bowl of Mac and cheese and I got ripped to pieces. We ate straight potatoes for dinner. We ate thick nasty bean soup for lunch. If there were bugs in our food we couldn’t make a big deal about it or we would get demerits. We only ate what the people donated. But after reading others testimonies I feel like we were lucky.  It is interesting to me, that HH is a ministry because “Ron and Pattie loved us” but as we were eating trash they were 150+ pounds overweight. Patti seriously had trouble walking because she was so overweight. 

We had no privacy. I had to show them my poop. I had to show them my dirty pads. I had to count my dirty underwear in front of them. I had a staff behind my shoulder when I was shaving. I had a staff outside my bathroom stall. I had to write the BM chart and let them know if I missed one. They made me drink something that made me poop. I had to have a staff with me when I was throwing up. We had a talking list. At first I wasn’t allowed to talk to most of the girls there, because the staff felt they weren’t right enough with God and they would be a discouragement to me. I was only allowed to talk to 2 girls and then one of them went home. We weren’t allowed to talk when staff were not present. We weren’t allowed to look at each other if we weren’t being monitored. If we went outside to dump the 5 gallon bucket of water we had to yell, Coming Out or we would get demerits for trying to communicate without a staff. 

If you were really truly sick, that was too bad for you. You had to lay down for 24 hours, even if you felt better in 12. You weren’t allowed to eat anything and you weren’t allowed to have medicine. They gave us a zinc C vitamin. I was sick so many times down there. It was miserable. Since we had to be watched everywhere we went, we couldn’t sleep long either. They would wake us up so we could lay down in another room. I caught virus after virus but I wasn’t allowed to see a doctor. 

I feel like they taught the Bible the wrong way. It was more of a history lesson than a life changing experience. There was devotions twice a day. Scripture was read by CD player as we fell asleep. If we were in trouble we wrote out scripture. On Monday- Thursday nights we listened to preaching as we cut used stamps and box tops so they could collect money. Sunday, along with our services, we listened to more preaching in-between. Sunday afternoons we sat on our knees and had hour long praying sessions. Forcing it on us like this did not change us. We had to memorize scripture weekly (5 verses) and then a large amount a month. If we failed then we wrote it out again 100-500 times. They told us that we are all heathen, that we amount to nothing. I believe that they truly believe themselves and thats why they treat others so poorly. The staff always fought with each other. The staff were always annoyed with us girls. They taught us all the sins. The sin of pants, makeup, earrings, nail polish, immodesty, reading novels, watching movies, listening to music. They would tear our families down and tell us that they are living in sin. When I came home I was so confused because they told me only true Christians only wear skirts but my mom, sisters and grandma wore pants. The staff were terrible teachers. Miss Theresa had something against Miss. Avery and treated her like a bad dog. She yelled at her in front of the girls all the time and belittled her. Miss. Mary told me she was struggling with the fact that she wasn’t married yet (She told this to me) and that was why she started yelling and lashing out on everyone. That woman would not. stop. yelling. It pissed me off so much because she would yell over stupid crap. I wasn’t afraid of her like I was my mom so I yelled back and told her to stop, which got me in the demerit book for Bad Attitude. The staff always attacked each other and they didn’t care who saw. Nobody is perfect, but I was angry because I had family in Indiana that I wasn’t allowed to see because they weren’t Christians, and yet, they treated me better than some of these saved staff members. 

They taught the same doctrine any IFB would teach. A woman is only good for getting married and making babies. We are worthless and don’t deserve Gods love. That we live by tedious rules and not by Gods love. I find it interesting that the people who are really devout IFBs are the angriest of people. The staff told us that they played music all the time because they didn’t want us to think. Its a sin to get piercings and tattoos because our body is the temple of the Holy Ghost but its ok to beat your kids and leave bruises and welts. I found Christ there, but it wasnt the devotions or the memorization that they made me do. It was because God found me and he talked to me. After I was saved I converted to all their ways and I was a favorite. I didn’t get into much trouble, I just observed the others. Now that Im an adult and Im able to see that this isn’t right. I wasn’t beaten like the others back in the 80s and 90s, but that isnt because of Rons changed heart, its because he will get in trouble legally. He would if he could. I feel like HH could have been a good idea as a safe house to find God, but he became power hungry and wanted to do things his way. I don’t believe Christ is behind him in his ways. I really thought all the girls who were sent there were in bad places like mine. Bad boyfriends, alcohol or drugs. But I was shocked when I realized that some of these kids didn’t even do anything out of the ordinary to be sent to a rebellious home. A close friend of mine was sent because she made a facebook behind her parents back. One was sent because she just liked a boy, but didn’t have sex with him or run away to see him. Others were sent because their parents just didn’t want to take care of them. I knew a girl who was sent when she was 12. She was there for 4 years. When I caught up with her later, I found that her parents just didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of her. So HH stepped in and took whoever and treated them all the same. 

I don’t want to be a hypocrite. Sending me there got me out of the trouble I was in. There were good times there. I did feel safe there because I knew I wasn’t going to be beat or cussed at anymore. The first time anyone told me, “Good job” was when I learned my books of the Bible. I would rush through my 3 minute showers just so I could hear Mary tell me that I did a good job. We had birthday parties and game nights. We learned how to crochet and played volleyball in the summer. Pastor Dave and Mrs. Halyaman took me on a visit because my parents wouldn’t come. Dave has always been a good friend, and thats why its taken me so long to write this out, I don’t want to lose his friendship but I don’t stand behind this school. I was saved and right with God but I still wanted out. I wanted to go home. But my parents sent me to Bible College instead. I fell off the wagon soon after and had to find my own way back, which I did and I have never been happier. Its been 12 years since I stepped through those doors and I still have nightmares. If the place is so good, why would I still be feeling this way? 

Wednesday, January 16, 2019


I was barely 14 years old in July of 1998 when I was sentenced to 15 months at a “boarding school for troubled girls” called Hephzibah House.  There was no judge, no jury; it wasn’t that kind of sentence, but a sentence nonetheless.  I was found guilty and sentenced without a trial; my authoritarian parents and their pastor were the judges without me ever pleading my case or even aware that I was on trial.  I served 8 months of my sentence, but those 8 months were detrimental to my mental and physical health.  I knew then and still know now that a state run juvenile detention center would have been more kind and at least there I would have been guilty of actually doing something wrong. 
My parents are die hard conservative, Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB), they believe a woman’s place is in the kitchen –barefoot and pregnant preferred, that a woman’s highest calling is a missionary wife or pastor’s wife, and that breaking a child’s will and spirit is incredibly vital to saving her soul. I was raised where the length of my skirt determined my worth, except I was already being molested despite the length of my skirt, the lack of makeup, my hair as my “head covering”.  My mother was physically and emotionally abusive to me and several of my siblings, although she called that “spanking” and “discipline.”  After several altercations with my mother, I ran away for the night but went to the private church school we attended the next day.  I stayed at my brother’s home for a few days on another occasion, but went back home determined to get along with my mother.  I was back home about a day when she said we were headed to the zoo, so my brother and I got up early the next morning and went with our parents. I woke up in the car at a house. My parents said something about us visiting this Hephzibah House and to come in.  I had to use the bathroom so was willing.  We were ushered into a conference room of sorts and sat at the table. A man stood behind me.  A big man was talking to my parents as they were looking at papers.  I don’t remember much of that initial meeting other than the big man (Mr. R) and the demonstration of how they “spank” which included lying down on the floor with chairs over the shoulder area/ legs, and the paddle.  There were women in the room as well, although I don’t recall who.  I refused to leave the room with them and a man grabbed me and forcibly took me downstairs.  I kicked and screamed, but it was no use.  I was taken down the hall to the shower/bathroom and was told to strip and shower.  I did. I sobbed in that shower.  I couldn’t understand how my parents could do this to me, how they could just leave me there. All my clothing was taken from me and replaced with an itchy shirt and jumper: the uniform.  
Time no longer existed there, I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone except staff, I wasn’t allowed to make eye contact with anyone except staff.  I was completely silenced.  I begged God in that triple bunk at night, crying silently to take my life or save me or something.  Even God was silent. Psychological abuse in the worst way.  In the entirety of my stay at HH, I spoke to 3 girls, but only ever in the presence of staff.
 I was forced to drink astronomical amounts of water, and even the half portion of food which I was given the first couple days was too much. I had read the rule book (required reading) and thoroughly understood what would happen if I didn’t eat my food: demerits and the food saved until the next meal where both portions would be required.   I gained over 20 pounds, and was then overweight.
Within a few days of my arrival, I was given a vaginal exam in a hall closet room across from the bathroom, the same room we would call our parents and pastor in the future for our monthly 10 minute phone call home.  I don’t recall much of that either, other than a big woman telling me to lie down and take off my underwear.  I guess I did what she said because I recall a man looking briefly at my face and without a word touching my vaginal area.  I dissociated in that moment, but the cold (real or imagined?) seeped through the back of my dress from the exam table/ bed thing.  Even there, my innermost parts weren’t protected, only they called it a “medical exam”.   To me then and now, I was raped. I only recall my period a couple times there, but I wasn’t regular before getting there.  I recall having to ask for pads and trying to make sure I didn’t ruin my underwear because staff would have made my life hell for that. I have spent my life with documented reproductive issues.
 We were allowed to go to the bathroom about 4x a day, scheduled times, and one scheduled break at night.  Holding my bladder was worse than the abusive silent treatment.   Holding my bladder was torture.  It would have been torture without the added problems from UTIs,  I was given more water and cranberry juice to cure the UTIs, a problem compounded.  I’ve spent my life battling UTIs since then.  Had I wet myself, I would have had to wear adult diapers, shamed, and shunned even more than I already was.  There was a gal who came after me that couldn’t hold her bladder.  She was forced to wear diapers, show them to staff, strip her bed daily, shamed at every turn.  She tried to hold onto her dignity but every bit of it was stripped from her, just like her underwear.
Our bowels were recorded on a chart in the hall way. All of our bowel movements.  If you didn’t mark you bowel movements, you received demerits or it was assumed you were constipated and were forced to drink Metamucil with extra water.  Of course, then you weren’t allowed to use the commode outside of the scheduled bathroom breaks.  I spent most of my stay there constipated, but there was no way I was telling them that, I lied on the chart.  Digestive issues is yet another lifelong complication.
Showers were 3 minutes, timed.  I was allowed to shower on Thursdays and Sundays due to my greasy hair, thankfully; but most girls were not allowed to shower on church days unless they were on their period.  
I went to the doctor two times if I remember correctly, and was on crutches for much of my stay there because scrubbing the brick floor on my knees caused swelling in my knees.  I was given a gardeners knee pad so I could keep scrubbing the floors, despite the pain, fluid on the knees, and necessity of crutches.
The indoctrination and propaganda was everywhere.  We read the bible, wrote the bible, listened to the bible, day and night.  Our punishment for too many demerits was writing the Bible –“sentences”. Hundreds and hundreds of bible verses written over and over and over. I became numb, regurgitating their own words, trying hard to be good enough for them and maybe even for God.  I may never recover from the spiritual abuse.
Mr. R’s granddaughter received free violin lessons from me, at the expense of my education.  They took from me anything they could, especially my talents.  I loved to write and had started a novel but they forbid me from writing.  I continued to play my violin and write after HH, but so much of my joy in it was lost.  I laid down my violin for the last time a few years ago.
I always like to see the silver lining in everything, to find the joy that no one can steal from me; but I cannot think of one good thing that came out of Hephzibah House for me. I already knew the Bible, knew that I wanted to question my parents cultish IFB doctrine, knew that women are meant for more –that no one’s genitalia defines them, had a strong work ethic, was kind and compassionate, had clear goals for my life and my education, including writing and music.  All of that was derailed by Hephzibah House.  My education suffered greatly, my self-worth was destroyed, my life was hopeless, my physical health suffered exponentially.  
Thankfully, after months of dreaming of death, I got sick and they sent me home. The nightmares never went away though.  Even after all these years, my parents still get to abandon and imprison me in my dreams.

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Deborah Bogardus: Surviver Stories

            My name is Deborah (Fritz) Bogardus. I was a student at Hephzibah House (HH) for over 3 years.  I have tried to write down my experience at HH before but have always ended up putting it aside, unable to complete it.  When the subject of HH is brought up, life seems to stand still. I get sucked into this spiraling black hole, even 25 years later. The damage is done. I survived it. I will not allow the people who are responsible for my treatment and experiences at HH to destroy the unconditional love, mercy and grace I know my Savior has for me. I am able to stand firm in my faith, despite HH.   It is extremely difficult reliving these memories. Very few memories were good.  The only good memories I have are from spending time directly with other girls, those were rare moments, but ones I treasure.
My parents fought a lot.  I couldn’t take the constant bickering and fighting.  One night, I ran away to a friend of a friend’s house. The next day I was returned to my parent’s home. I was immediately taken to the ER. My parents wanted to make sure I hadn’t been raped. I assured them I had not been, but was asked to be examined by a physician. I agreed. The physician explained they were going to do an exam. I saw a speculum on the tray and said I do NOT want a vaginal examine. The Dr agreed it was unnecessary and respected my wishes. I had a regular physical examine minus the vaginal exam/ pap smear.  I was 13. I had never had sex, done drugs, drank, smoked etc, and in general, was not a problem child. I was a typical frustrated, unhappy, complicated, hormonal teen, growing up. Unbeknownst to me parents looked into reform and boarding schools. I was not told I was going to HH.   I arrived at HH on May 13, 1994. I was 13 years old. I remember being so scared. My first interaction with Ronald Williams was that day. Most of the conversation was a blur, but I vividly remember he told me I would be living there for a minimum of 15 months. He said there were staff ladies who would be taking care of me and if I ever stepped out of line or became defiant, I would be brought upstairs and he would discipline me. He proceeded to pull out a long wood paddle to show me. He said two chairs would be placed over me, one over my shoulders, and the other over my legs. Two staff would sit on the chairs while he administered discipline. I was terrified at the very thought.
I was led downstairs to the basement by a staff lady. The door shut behind me and was locked.  I soon found out all the doors and windows had locks and alarms. The basement opened up as a walkout by the kitchen. The entire backyard was surrounded in a huge fence at least 15ft high. There was no way to leave. I was a prisoner. 
 I was told I would be allowed to see my parents in 3 months, my sibling in 6 months. Little did I know I would be monitored at all times, unable to talk to my family and tell them what life was really like for me.  I was required to write my parents and pastor weekly. Every letter was monitored and read. If any content was unflattering or did not portray HH or their staff, or our activities in a good light, we were required to rewrite it or our letter would not go home.  Often letters from home had blacked out content. Staff decided what we were allowed to read and receive from home. The same monitoring went for phone calls.  We were allowed one 10 minute phone call home each month. On our birthday month we received an extra 5 minutes.  A staff lady would dial the number, connect with our family, call us into the staff closet and sit next to us the entire time, monitoring our conversation. Our letters from home were opened and read before we received them.  We were not allowed to have communication with anyone other than through our parents.
We were dehumanized.  We became puppets. Shells of the girls we once were. We were unable to help each other. So many times I cried myself to sleep, horrified that I couldn’t speak up or help as one of the other girls were punished for some ridiculous offense that day. While I was never beaten by him over the course of my stay, many times I heard girls being beat. I witnessed girls coming back downstairs from being “disciplined”. They would be visibly shaken tear stained eyes. You could tell they had been broken.  We became hopeless, helpless and broken. 
The day I arrived I was forced to strip and shower moments after I walked through the basement door. They took my clothes while I showered and provided me a uniform. I wish I had taken a longer shower, because after that moment, every shower I had at HH was timed. We were allowed 3 minutes of running water. 10 minutes total in the bathroom stall, 2min. to undress, 3min. to shower, and 5min. to dry and dress.  After I was in their approved attire, I was led down a hall where other girls were.  Relief poured through me when I saw another girl my age. It was short lived. I asked her a question and a look of sadness filled her eyes as she nodded her head toward the staff lady. I looked at the staff lady who told me girls were not allowed to talk to each other unless they were on their talking list.
 Every single aspect of our lives were controlled. We could not use the bathroom unless it was during the allotted bathroom break. So many times over the many years I witnessed normal, healthy girls wet themselves or their bed because they were not suppose to use the bathroom and could not physically hold it. They were then forced to wear diapers and be publicly shamed and humiliated further. We could use the restroom “anytime” but they gave out a punishment so severe we would hold it as long as humanly possible. Using the restroom not on a scheduled break was instant 16 demerits.  I am positive many of us girls have experienced damaging, long term affects due to holding our urine to the point of severe pain almost daily. I regularly heard girls stirring in their beds, rocking, crying because of the pain, sitting on the edge of their bed, waiting for the clock to strike the precious moment we could get off our bed without punishment. The mind games were sickening. Most of us girls, who previously had normal menses, stopped menstruating due to the trauma, stress, and lack of nutrition our bodies were put through.
  Staff would move beds in front of the exit doors at night. As if alarms and deadbolt locks weren’t enough, they had motion lights added so that if a girl got off her bunk at night, all of the lights in the dorm would turn on.  
Demerits were handed out liberally.  If you accumulated more than 15 demerits, you had to write sentences. (a scripture verse was a sentence) 16 demerits=100 verses,  17demerits =200 verses,  18 demerits =300 verses,  19 demerits =400 verses,  20 demerits =500 verses. Writing out God’s word was their punishment, along with no talking all week, isolation, no treats, or any extras of any kind (birthday parties, special occasions, etc.)We were forced to wear our uniform to church services to further distinguish our shame. We would also be removed from outside crew for the week if you were deemed lucky enough to be on outside crew. Outside crew meant you were trusted enough not to run away. (Stockholm syndrome at its finest)  If a girl made it to outside crew status, she would walk (supervised the entire time by staff ) through the briefly unlocked door, work outside, and walk right back down into captivity.  We did so much manual labor that did not pertain to us girls, but help was needed by other staff, and we were free labor. We hauled massive heavy 5 gallon buckets, unloaded food trucks, cleaned the outdoor walk in freezer, thoroughly cleaned staff member’s homes and personal quarters, weeding their personal gardens, detailing their vehicles, raking and weeding  the outside grounds and collated so much scripture ( they had a printing press and made little booklets of scripture) when they needed it.    Demerits were given for all sorts of things, a chore not passing the white glove test, looking in the mirror at the same time as another student who not on your talking list.  Infractions were decided by the staff. It was easy to accumulate demerits.   I forgot my hairbrush on the dorm ledge and received 15 demerits for it. Already having had 4 demerits at the end of the week, that put me at 19 demerits which instantly gave me sentences the next week. This occurred regularly.  The staff laughed at me when I asked if we were allowed to earn merits too. There was a rule book we had to read and initial monthly. It was a thick rule book with so many rules you probably wouldn’t believe me unless you read it for yourself.
We were forced to eat and drink excessive amounts of liquids and foods at times and other times went hungry, our stomachs would growl most often on Saturdays & Sundays. Saturday we would be fed two meals and Sunday, being the observed Sabbath, very light food.  Food was mostly donated. Often food was rotten, expired, or just a mystery. They struggled to meet our nutritional needs.  I literally cringe when I hear Ronald Williams laugh at how much teen girls eat, as if it was some joke. Every bit of food was measured. We were forced to drink powdered milk.  I will never forget a new girl arrived and told the staff she was allergic to dairy. The staff did not believe her and told her to drink it anyway. She pleaded with them to talk to her parents. They would not listen to her and forced her to drink it. She drank it and within moments she vomited. She turned bright red and broke out in hives. They made her clean it up.
After 15 months of following the rules and doing what I was told, I went home. Unfortunately, nothing had changed in our home.  I still struggled. I never shared what truly happened at HH with my family.I had been brainwashed into believing that was acceptable behavior.  Talking about HH was one of the last things I wanted to discuss. I was free.  I was still unhappy in our home. The fighting continued. Discord, all the time. Looking back, my parents had to have known that if they sent me back to HH, they wouldn’t have to deal with me or my unhappiness.  I was so shocked the 2nd time my dad pulled up the drive at HH. I couldn’t believe they were doing this, again. I was numb.  I was now 15. I remember the first counseling session after I arrived back at HH. Ronald Williams asked me why I was back. I said I didn’t know why. I hadn’t done anything wrong. He asked me if I was still a virgin. It felt gross discussing this with him. I assured him no sex, no drugs, no alcohol. I had friends my parents didn’t approve of and I was generally unhappy. That was my offense.
  I was given a medical “exam” while at HH. I was forced. There was no option. I was brought into the staff closet by the compound nurse. It was a very tiny room which housed some staff belongings.   An old medical table was uncovered and some man preformed the exam. I had no choice. I had never met him before and never met him again. I was outnumbered physically. There was nothing professional about that exam. It was violating and traumatic. I have had lasting trauma as a result of that forced exam.
Medical care was a joke. If you were ill, you were forced to be in bed for 24hours. If you threw up you cleaned it up immediately. Staff would not offer help or support.  We were treated as an inconvenience. We would be required to stay on the bed for 24 hours.  It was not an experience any girl would enjoy.   You were given a can of ensure, no comfort food was allowed, such as a bowl of soup. The only comfort or affection I was given while at HH was a hug by my parents every 3 months. THREE PLUS YEARS. As a mother of 5 children, this alone brings tears to my eyes and breaks my heart.  We were developing young girls. This alone will have damaging psychological impact.
The sexual, physical, mental, emotional & spiritual abuse I experienced and witnessed while at HH have had lasting effects on my life.  What us girls were put through was not done in the name of God. We lived in a constant state of perpetual fear.  We could never be good enough.  We were not hardened criminals, yet we were treated like it. At night as we fell asleep we were often repeatedly subjected to listening to audio religious scare tactical propaganda. More brainwashing as we went to sleep. I cannot remember the name of one the audio tapes,  but I distinctly remember the sound of hearing  souls crying in hell, as they were tormented.  I remember praying to God and wondering if this is what He heard from our minds at night as us girls lay in bed. Our heartache. Our desperation.  We were forced to be silent, in our beds, while we listened to these tapes. Submission and obedience was key.  As a Christian woman who knows and understands what the Bible says, the methods HH used are more cult like than Christ like.

None of the staff ladies I was surrounded with in the 3 plus year span I was there had any formal training to deal with “troubled” girls. The school is not credited.  There is no program that the family of these “troubled” girls are required to complete at home.  No counseling is provided for the family as a whole. “Troubled” girls don’t arrive at this point in their life all on their own.  I have heard so many horror stories from other HH survivors. As mandated reporters, HH staff have covered up and lied to so many people in efforts to keep the doors of HH open. HH sounds wonderful in the brochure. They lead you to believe they are a ministry serving troubled girls out of the kindness of their hearts.  They portray that girls will experience a balanced life in their stay at HH.  In reality they are wolves in sheep’s clothing, sucking parents financially dry and accepting donations and raising support as they “voluntarily” serve Christ.  They lure in parents who are desperate to help their daughters, preying on families who are searching for help.  They forced obedience through fear, but they did little to reach my heart.   Unfortunately HH still has their doors open and still has girls forced in captivity as I write this.