Hephzibah House Journal

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

Monday, September 30, 2019

Christy ~

“  In fact, if a rebel seeks your assistance, it is very likely you yourself are a rebel because rebellious hearts have "rebel radar," and will instinctively seek out those with whom they have a compatibility.”    Ron Williams from the sermon Subverting Parental Authority



Christy showed up at Hephzibah House like a shot of sunshine, like a fresh breeze over the city dump. She drove a car. She had stylish bobbed hair. She had snapping, intelligence eyes, and a warm smile that erupted from her whole face.  

I drank her in. I studied her.    Pastor Williams said rebels attracted rebels and sniffed each other out in a crowd.  Was Christy a rebel?  Miss Diana seemed to think so,  she scowled and grunted and stomped her feet whenever Christy tried to be kind or engage in a conversation with us girls.

Christy brought a new idea,  a different opinion.    Maybe Ron Williams was wrong,  maybe it was not Christian what was happening at Hephzibah House~maybe it was not Christian at all.  


I watched Christy's body language. I watched her face. I watched her eyes. It was blatantly obvious that Christy was shocked and horrified by the food, by our lack of medical care and personal care, and by the brutality of our treatment. She was alarmed by the lack of schooling,  and horrified at the nightly beatings.  Over the 3 months of summer, young  Christy connected with almost every girl.  When she left I prayed and wished and hoped  she would find a way to help us.  I imagined her coming back with a posse of pastors and deacons to rescue us.   I sighed,  if Christy did not return to rescue us it meant that Ron Williams was indeed right and holy and good.    
As the days turned to weeks and then months I knew what had happened.  The fresh idea,  the other opinion had been extinguished.  

Christy must have repented of her rebellion.        

Thursday, September 26, 2019

Cindy Giovannetti

Ron Williams frequently discredits his past students’ accusations as bitterness, piling on, forever unreliable due to teenage misdemeanors, or simply inaccurate.  I mean, who can really say what happened so long ago?
I was at Hephzibah House the summer of 1981. 
I was not there for being what Ron Williams considered a “wayward girl.”  In fact, I was “good enough” that he hired me as a summer staff member.
I was not abused at Hephzibah House.  Indeed, Ron was actually quite kind to me.  He was charming and charismatic.  He made me feel like an important part of the ministry that summer.  I loved him as a pastor and believed in the work he was doing. 
I left at the end of the summer in good standing.  I had no reason to be bitter against him and have never spoken against him in bitterness.
However, I will speak out against him. 
While Ron Williams didn’t abuse me, he did abuse the students, and he convinced us all that he had a special word from God to do so. 
I was so stunned by the harshness that I wrote about it in letters home to my then-boyfriend, now-husband.  I will share excerpts from these letters below.  
But first, I need to say something about collaboration. 
In 1981, we dared not speak of our dissatisfaction.  For example, we did not discuss the fact that we were hungry.  Never.  Not a word, not an eye roll, not a sigh.  No girl would have dared express discontent about anything. 
In fact, because all the other girls smiled pleasantly through all the trials, I sometimes wondered if I was the only one shocked by the situation.  
So, no, no one collaborated with me when I wrote down these observations. 
Nearly 30 years later when I reconnected with my former students, they told me they kept smiling only because they feared allowing any other emotion to cross their faces.  Virtually all of them were harmed by their experience at Hephzibah House.  I'm talking about permanent scars, both physical and emotional.
When someone encounters a true Christian ministry, they don’t walk away scarred.  If they walk away scarred, it wasn’t a Christian ministry they encountered.
So, here’s some of what I wrote home:
Observations of paddlings
“The other night Maria, my sweet girl, got in trouble.  The spanking was horrible!  She got eight licks!  Eight!  Eight licks! 
And I promise you, Sharon hit her as hard as she could!  It was like she thought she could beat the badness out of her.  It was like she was not hitting a human being at all.  
And this didn’t bother Sharon at all.  She did not have any spirit of sorrow.  No “this hurts me more than it hurts you.”  She just picked up that huge paddle and beat Maria with all the strength in her body, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, like it was nothing. 
I would pass out if somebody hit me that hard.  It is not like a normal spanking.  It is truly horrifying!”
“The girls are paddled constantly, but I’ll never get used to it.  It makes me feel sick.  They get anywhere from 7-10 licks for all sorts of minor offenses—for biting their fingernails, for not being feminine, for pride, for being homesick, for crying. 
And Pastor Williams beats them hard!  I’ve had my share of spankings, but nobody has ever hit me that way.  I’d pass out.  I don’t know how they stand it day after day, night after night.” 
 “The absolute worst thing that they do here is the nightly spankings.  We tuck the girls in bed.  We kiss them goodnight.  Then, presumably, they begin to fall asleep hoping to be left to sleep until morning.  
But then Miss Emery begins calling names over the intercom for them to get out of bed, go down the stairs, and be paddled. 
I lie on my mattress (in the floor) [staff members slept in the floor across the doorway] dreading to hear the next name she calls out, even though I know she won’t be calling mine!  I cringe and cry a little with every name I hear.  I can’t even imagine how terrified the girls must be.” 
“We have this system for punishments.  When a girl does something wrong, we assign work duties, which are like demerits, except you have to work them off.  It takes an hour to work off a work duty.  If you get over 35, you get paddled every night until you’re down under 35.”
“And poor little Cherie is so little.  She gets paddled every night because she has more than 35 work duties.  She is not allowed to speak to anybody but staff.  She is really not doing well.  I mean physically.  She looks just awful.  Her skin is all broken out in a terrible rash.  It’s all over her body.  She’s so thin, and she looks terrible.  She must be miserable.  It just breaks my heart.”
About the food
“I could not eat the first meal they served me.   We had a huge plate of leaves with no salad dressing.  Do not picture the kind of lettuce that comes in a head from the grocery store.  This plant comes out of a garden.  It has the texture of canvas and the taste of grass.  And no dressing!  Also we had a large Cool Whip tub full of beans (no seasoning).  Each.  I ate about a third of each.  It was awful!  Oh, and we had water to drink.
“The next morning for breakfast we had a fried egg and powdered milk.  It tasted awful!  The milk wasn’t even cold.  But no one dared say a word.  I ate.  I drank.”
“I dread each meal.”
“For supper last night we had huge bowls of spinach with sardines.  Then, for breakfast we had a bowl of bran.  Not Bran Flakes.  Not Raisin Bran.  Just the stuff that looks like dust like you would buy at a health food store, soaked in water.  It has no flavor.  It has the texture of wet sawdust.  It is very hard to swallow.  I feel like I’m a missionary to Africa.”
“The food here doesn’t taste a bit better.  I can barely force myself to swallow it – but I do.  It’s important for the girls that I eat it.  I’m famished, but I don’t want any more!
My main problem is the lettuce/grass and the huge bowls of greens.  Sometimes it’s gritty with dirt.  And we have it almost every day.  Huge bowls of it.  Which must be consumed, grit and all.  Last night for supper we had a bowl of beans.  The night before that, it was boiled chicken wings.  (Don’t even imagine any tasty sauce.)  This morning we had plain bran again.  We are hungry all the time.”
“The atmosphere around our dinner table is nothing short of oppressive.  The girls are afraid to say the wrong thing, to look at the wrong person, to grimace at the taste of the food.  Miss Emery snaps at every mistake.  The girls who aren’t allowed to eat sit in hungry silence.”
“The girls have to work off three “work duties” a day (and five on Saturday) in order to be allowed supper each night.  Supper is the biggest meal of the day, so to miss supper means missing most of the day’s food (especially on Saturdays when we only get two meals.)  It is truly pitiful to see the girls who aren’t allowed to eat sitting on the couch with nothing to do but watch us eat.” 
“Meanwhile, the girls are hungry, and I mean seriously hungry.  Their stomachs growl constantly.  The ones who have been here a long time are painfully thin.  Renee looks like she’s about to starve to death."
About the work
“I wish you could understand the work here.  I could never describe it so that you would get a good mental picture of it.  The girls do hard manual labor every moment that they’re not in school.  Some of it is regular cleaning and scrubbing.  But some of it is heavy outdoor labor like a man would do.  They are just exhausted all the time.  Some of them are so thin!”
“We do so much work in that dang garden!  Saturdays we work in the garden all day, without even a break for lunch.  It’s hard, hard work, and the time drags unbearably.  Sometimes we can chat, and that makes it so much sweeter.  Other times, though, either the girls aren’t allowed to talk or we’re too far apart. 
Saturday nights, after working all day in the blazing sun, my arms are lobster red with sunburn, and I’m covered with bug bites.  I’m just exhausted.  We all are.”
About the isolation
“We just got two new girls Dawn and Cheri.  Pray for them.  It’s a very lonely time.  They aren’t allowed to talk to each other or the other girls.  They have no contact with their family or former friends.  It’s a terrible adjustment.”
“They are allowed one phone call every three weeks after they’ve been here one month.  But they only get to make the call if they have less than 9 work duties and at least an 87% on scripture memory (not an easy task).  Naturally, that means a lot of the girls miss their phone calls. 
And, when they make their call home, a staff member is on the line with them so they can’t complain or beg their parents to come get them.  They’re not even allowed to cry.  If they start crying, the staff member will cut off the call immediately.”
Just plain meanness
“Miss Emry and Sharon snap at the girls, talk down to them, and criticize them constantly.  Like at breakfast today, Miss Emry said, “Karen, your hair looks terrible!  Remind me to give you a work duty.”  (Remember, after 35 work duties, each one translates into a paddling, so essentially, Karen was going to be spanked for her hair being messy.)” 
“You would not believe the room checks!  We don’t have daily room checks.  We have spot checks.  It includes everything:  inside drawers, inside closets, shelves, beds, etc.  Whatever doesn’t check gets stripped and dumped all over the floor!  You’ve never seen such a mess in all your life!  It’s like a crime scene.  I can’t tell you how shocked I was the first time I saw this.”
No love
“I guess what I like least about it here is that this is not a place of happiness.  Someone is always in trouble, or scared, or crying, getting paddled, or being criticized.”
“If anybody is loving these girls, I don’t see it.  They are regarded, spoken to, and treated very harshly.”
“I just wish the girls could be loved.  They do not feel loved -- not by the Williams, not by the staff, not by their families, not by God.  Pastor Williams says I’m na├»ve about this.”
“I wanted to tell her [Mrs. Williams] how much the girls are starved for love.  How lonely, confused, and discouraged they are.  How severely they are punished.  How afraid they are.  Surely she wouldn’t want her own children to be treated like that, would she?”
Because I was only there three months, I wasn’t privy to everything that ever happened.  For instance, I don’t remember any diapers or other toileting issues.   I don’t doubt this happened, based on so many testimonies; but I don’t remember it going on the summer of 1981. 
I also wasn’t aware of the pelvic exams.  I don’t doubt this happened either, based on so many testimonies, but I can’t vouch for it personally.  
I can vouch that Ron Williams preached to them daily about the utter importance of their purity and modesty.  It is beyond me how he thought they could reconcile the constant deification of purity with his authorizing their violation.
I can also verify the lack of menstruation.  None of the girls menstruated the summer of 1981.  I have no explanation for why this was, but it can’t be anything good.  And no staff member was unaware of it as it was charted and posted publicly.
But maybe Ron Williams has changed since then 1981!
If he, indeed, had instruction from God on how to manage girls (as he claimed often in recorded sermons and published literature), he can’t have changed much because God’s word hasn’t changed.  But if his methodology was not from God, and thus he was free to change it, then he owes the girls from 1981 an apology for the harm he did to them.

Saturday, September 21, 2019

Patti

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

Mindy~

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. 
IT'S. NOT. ACCREDITED. 
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

Robyn

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?