Nothing I say is to change anyone's opinions of places or events, because to be quite honest, I don't care what your opinions are. We can have completely opposing views, that is both of our rights. This is simply to explain my experiences. This is the second instalment of a four part series I'm doing. If you haven't read the first part, it can be found here.**
I was raised in the Christian church. I went to a Christian school, most of my friends were Christians. I attended Sunday School, we prayed at dinner, and did devotions as a family. I spent summers at Fair Havens, where we had 'Sunday School' type sessions every single morning. I was, what would be described as 'Christian'. Through and through. My grandmother was instrumental in my faith growing as a child/youth. She would take me to various events, concerts, conferences etc that would stretch my faith and introduced me to various branches of Christianity and worship. So I feel I had a fairly well rounded upbringing in terms of the church. I was never uncomfortable in any church setting, I could easily go from a Mennonite church to a Pentecostal church and not bat an eye.
I remember when we were kids, there was this huge hype put on accepting Jesus into your heart. Once you did that, you were saved. I was so scared that it didn't work the first time, I went up to the front every alter call for years. Maybe I recognized how much I 'sinned' on a day to day basis. Maybe I simply didn't think I was good enough.
I went to a K-12 Christian school in London, and I loved it. My dad was a teacher there, so I spent a lot of time before and after school just wandering around and playing with the other teachers' kids. It was a small school with small classes, and I'd been attending since I was 3 years old, so these kids were all I knew! We were super sheltered, we never heard swear words on the playground, and kids would complain how saying 'shut up' or 'crap' got them a detention. Life was good. My dad taught Phys-Ed and coached several of the sports teams. So that meant we got the joy of sitting through several practices, for several sports, for several evenings. That aspect was terribly boring. Until Ross.
Ross was in the high school part of the school, while I believe I was in grade 2. When my dad would have them running drills for badminton, Ross would call me over and let me get in some swings, and just let me participate in various activities. In the hallways, he'd stop for a quick game of rock, paper, scissors and let me tell you, having that extra attention was quite pleasant for the very quiet, meek little me (my how things have changed!). A few days before Christmas in 1996, Ross was killed in a car accident. This was my first experience with death, and shook me up. The finality of it all got to me. It's something that always stayed with me, and probably always will.
We left CAWO at the end of grade 5. I was heartbroken. I've always been a very nostalgic person and have a lot of trouble moving on and getting excited for new experiences. Mom's foray into the world of homeschooling lasted a whopping 6 months before she threw us into the Stratford & District Christian School, probably to save her sanity as well as our lives.
SDCS was nothing like CAWO. It was a bunch of farm kids who were all related I swear, and a bunch of cliquey girls who didn't like that someone new came in. Bullying commenced and I found refuge in the guy friends I made at that school, and my new found best friend I'd met through church. The principal was quick to lecture you on why you shouldn't say 'Oh my gosh' but was very quick to turn a blind eye to the issues going on within the social ladder. This school is where I learned to get a mouth, and was forced out of my shell. I didn't really have a choice on that one. I hated that school. I felt that I was seen as a 'lesser' person because I hadn't been there from the beginning.
Shortly after we moved to Stratford, we started at a new church. It was very small, and tight knit. Honestly, I've never encountered anything as cliquey as youth group growing up. High school was not as cliquey as youth group was. It was a youth group set in it's own ways, uninterested in outside conferences and other activities, as well as uninterested in new members. I didn't find an open space within the firmly cemented friendships in that group, so I started looking for other outlets. Other groups to go on retreats with and to attend various youth groups with. I met with a group of unlikely friends in the school library where we would discuss various aspects of God and His work. I met some amazing, grounded, loving and welcoming people. It was just very sad that I didn't find that in my own home church.
In our faith, when you get older, you get baptized. I didn't get baptized until I was 18 I think. This was quite late for someone who had grown up in the church. Many of our friends had been baptized at 14 or 15 and I remember one of my mom's friends once asking her if I'd done it yet and being nearly rude when mom told her I hadn't. Apparently my choosing not to be baptized yet was an affront to this woman. The week before my baptism I emailed Josh, a mentor of mine since I was a child, and somebody I have a great affection and esteem for. In the email I basically flipped out wondering why I was doing this. I had felt pressured to do it, and why did I want to join and proclaim myself as part of such a hypocritical and judgemental people?! He agreed with me, but gently reminded me why I was doing it. More on that later, but this serves to show that I had these feelings long ago. Doubts and concerns.
Please don't get me wrong. In everyday life, I'm quite content overall. I feel loved, and accepted. However not from the Christian community. I've never felt so rejected when it came to life as when it involved Christians. At nearly every turn, I felt like I didn't belong. And most definitely like the black sheep. I've always felt more acceptance and love from those who didn't practice 'Christianity' as a whole. From youth leaders who allowed and almost encouraged segregation among the youth, to a work environment turned sour due to people's biases and misdirected beliefs, I have never found a true 'home' within the Christian environment, with a few specific exceptions.
Every summer growing up, I camped at Fair Havens for the summer. It was my refuge. I LIVED for it. My favourite place in the entire world. Playing basketball with Cam in the morning, giggling in the girls bathroom with Rachelli, waiting and wondering which of our friends would be returning for the next week. Not to mention our AMAZING leaders. Joel & Joel. Terry. Scott. It was fantastic and every summer was exactly what every child's summer should be like. Building forts, swimming, boating, watching fireworks, catching fireflies, roasting marshmallows, just living life big.
If I were to get super deep about it, I would say that I think my complete and total infatuation for the place stems from how I was able to be a through and through child at Fair Havens. I could just run free. At home, we had to be good examples to the hundreds of foster kids who came through our home. I don't think people understand what a big responsibility it is to be a biological child in a foster home. When I escaped to Fair Havens, it was just pure fun.
So the natural progression would be that I should work there when I became older. Right? Of course. When I found out I'd be working at Fair Havens as a guinea pig SIT, I thought it was going to be the best summer of my life. It was unfortunate that I was so wrong. One of the biggest mistakes of my life, to be honest. Right behind returning for two more summers. I felt alone, rejected, and like a black sheep for each and every of the three years I worked there.
I should mention that I have been blessed and cursed with a gift. One I did not ask for and would sometimes like to return. People have a natural tendency to trust me and will open up to me for no reason about things that they generally won't open up to anyone else about. Foster children would tell me life stories that their workers had been trying for months, sometimes years to get out of them. Girls at school would come up and tell me their problems (ie; possible pregnancy) and ask for aide. Co-workers at camp would come and tell me their stories and issues, and I, being 14 at the time had no idea how to cope or deal with these situations. One such co-worker opened up about finding his deceased mother a few months before, while we were playing with a bunch of two year olds in a sandbox. Kind of heavy stuff for a 14 year old. I went to leadership for advice and aide, and I think I was labelled a 'drama queen' because I brought the issues to light, and admittedly was truly freaked out with the responsibility, when really I was just trying to figure out a way to deal with all of the many things being heaped on me constantly. I'm also a fixer. I hate injustice and I hate having things hanging over my head where it concerns people and their problems. I want them to have peace of mind. I tend to get pushy to achieve that on their behalf. Character flaw? Perhaps.
The following summer I knew that Fair Havens wasn't going to be the place for me so I applied, and miraculously got accepted to a summer work internship in Quebec through the government, to better my french speaking skills. My french vocabulary may not have expanded, but my view of the world certainly did. It was eye opening to say the least. I'd always been sheltered, and suddenly I'm in Quebec, with a bunch of non-Christians who simply did not understand my way of life/ thinking. Our first night in Quebec City, our group went to get pizza and everyone at our table ordered beer except me, who was admittedly that loser who asked if they had root beer. We were 15, and drinking had always been a firm no-no. I grew up a lot that summer, and had to find the boundaries of what I would and would not do on my own, apart from my parents and the boundaries they had set for me. I did things I knew they wouldn't approve of (such as attending an overnight work party they had told me was 'mandatory' where basically they all used the leftover day camp money to get smashed. I literally slept under several stacks of chairs that night.), and learned why maybe those restrictions had been put in place.
Basically, my nostalgia and love for a place that didn't really exist anymore, and maybe only ever really existed in my own mind made me make horrible decisions for myself, putting myself into a toxic environment repeatedly. I worked at the camp for two more summers, alternating years. I think I kept going back because I wanted to be accepted, and in some twisted way I wanted approval from the place and people I held in such high regard. I felt like each year I was a failure, but I couldn't make sense of it since on the opposite years, when I worked for the low income housing day camp, I had rave reviews and they begged me to return. Year after year. At the day camp we were treated with respect, and I felt that it was lacking at Fair Havens. I pulled away from other staff members, and found solace in CH. I'll get to that as well.
Prior to my final year, I was struggling with whether to apply or not. My mom said I should absolutely go for it, that it was in God's hands and if He wanted me to go, I'd get the job. I couldn't see it happening, at that time I was in a place of eternal darkness, but I went ahead and applied. By some miracle or twist of fate, I got the job. When I arrived, I was asked to fill out a health form. I wasn't sure about listing my anti-depressants on the form, the whole concept was new to me, but my mom said to do it, it was against the law for them to share that information without my permission to anyone who doesn't need it (ie; anyone but the nurse). The result of this simple act was having my supervisor drive 3 hours to the camp, to berate me for 3 hours, sending me back to my doctor's and in effect having my medication doubled for my depression because I was so upset about the things she said, simply because she found out I was on anti depressants to begin with. My doctor pressed me to quit and sue for misusing information and causing harm. That was not even an option in my mind, however in retrospect, I wish I would have done something, anything so that what happened to me wouldn't happen again later to somebody else. The pills did make me physically sick at times. I did miss work at times from it. This is 100% true. However I did a good job in that program. I still have countless notes and letters from parents thanking me for making their week enjoyable, since they didn't have to worry about their little ones, and knew they were in good, caring hands. Regardless, a month or so into the program, I was asked to step down. To add insult to injury, after I'd signed the papers that removed me as a staff member of the camp, I was given until 5:00 that evening to get off the property.
I think what got to me most was the inequity of it all. In a place that preached love and Christ's compassion, it was severely lacking in the actions. While other staff members were doing drugs, and getting drunk in guest rooms and bathrooms, I never once crossed any lines like that. While other staff members were making blatant and horrendous attacks on their supervisors, I did not. Yet the only one who would stand up for me, was me! Not even my parents, who I thought would be on my side through thick and thin did anything. In fact, when I was asked to step down, it was my mom who took over my job. Oof. Kick to the gut.
This was a place I had trusted wholly, and it let me down completely and I have never and will never get over what it did to me. I hate failing and I beat myself up over it constantly. I still harbour a lot of anger towards the place, and the people involved, as I've realized recently. The feeling of betrayal is a harsh one.
Three weeks after I left Fair Havens, I moved to Edmonton, dumped my anti depressants down the drain and have never needed them since. You see, it was situational depression. I wasn't happy in school, I felt alone and not where I was supposed to be, so I got depressed. I went to Fair Havens hoping for some light, but got more of the same, only worse! At least with school, the professors and school recognized that I had a medical issue, and it was dealt with accordingly. With *some* Christians, I should have been trusting God to heal me, so I was sinning, and should not have been taking the medication. Being on anti-depressants doesn't mean that you are broken. It means you recognize there is a problem, and instead of ignoring it are attempting to fix it. Do I need to say that a little louder maybe?
Now, to counteract those that will say that I'm whining, and only looking at the negatives, I do need to say that there was a bright light within all of that darkness. At Fair Havens, there was a group from Christian Horizons who worked with physically and mentally handicapped adults. They were the most honest, open, truthful, loving group anyone could ask for. They didn't preach at you. They just practiced it, and because of that it made you want to be more, to know more and to love more. They would talk about anything, things that would get you a one on one meet with a 'mentor' if those at Fair Havens heard you talking like that, but things that needed to be discussed. Nothing was awkward. It was just honest and true. They are one of the two most incredible groups of people I have met.
There was Momma. She was the cook at Fair Glen and probably one of the most loving, caring, God fearing women I have ever met in my life. To meet her is to know what it is to be loved, and what it is to be treasured. She guided us in God's love, while being able to allow us to enjoy our summer. I can remember more than one food fight in that kitchen that ended up with ketchup everywhere, and some very amused guests documenting the entire escapade through the lenses of their cameras. She took care of us. She never judged, she just loved. And always saved me a batch of my favourite muffins.
There was Josh, who has known me for far too long, and I've had so many incredibly eye opening discussions with concerning God, the church, disappointments and frustrations. He was always so down to earth, and honest. He was a brilliant mentor over the years. He never tried to justify anything. He would listen, usually tell a hilarious anecdote from his own life, and remind me, again, to look to God, not the people who fail continuously while claiming to do 'His' bidding. I probably drove him nuts over the years with my questions and frustrations, but I will always adore him, because he was there.
The second 'incredible group' I mentioned before was my young adults group out in Edmonton. They were amazing. They were that cohesive accepting group I had been craving and searching for. I still love them all so much and miss them more than I can say. I remember when I found out my mom had passed. I drove to the church, and they met me at the door. They just hugged me. They never said that 'God has a plan' or that 'This was God's will'. They just let me be broken.
That's another thing! Why do Christians feel the need to fix everything, or justify it saying it was God's will?! That is bullshit. There is no way it was God's will for my mother to be taken away from our family. For my siblings to have to grow up without her. For all those future potential foster kids to not have a chance to be blessed by her.
After mom's death, I was completely apathetic towards God. I didn't care if there was one. I didn't care what people believed. He had no impact on me. I didn't feel anger, hurt, betrayal. I felt nothing towards Him, and the concept of Him. It literally was like somebody took an ice cream scoop and scooped out all of my feelings regarding God. I think it was about a year after the accident that one of my Christian Horizons friends tricked me into going to church. I agreed, but wasn't happy about it. I sat there, angry and annoyed at being there. I also sat there with tears in my eyes. This was the beginning of my road to healing.
Several months later (because I am a truly stubborn creature), I realized that I was talking to God. In times of pain and sorrow, or in the quiet moments, I would realize that I was praying and in my stubbornness I would remind myself that I didn't do that anymore, and that I was mad at God. It did make me realize that in praying, I was acknowledging there was a God again, so that was one more step.
One day, a few of my girlfriends and I had taken Eli to church. They had run to the bathroom, so Eli and I were sitting in the pew, waiting for the service to begin. This is when I heard a few elderly women talking in not-so-hushed voices. They were watching us and talking about what a 'shame' it was that so many young girls were being so 'deceitful' and 'sinful' and that 'poor child' having a 'teen mother' was just so sad and horrendous and on and on and on. I stayed quiet for as long as I could, and when I couldn't take it anymore I turned around in my seat, and said 'I'd like to tell you a story. It's about a good Christian mother of four who dedicated her life to raising children. Her family decides to try to adopt the foster baby they are looking after, and when it gets approved she goes to tell her husband. On the way home, she gets hit by a truck and dies. *I pointed at Eli* That, is the baby. *Pointed at myself* I, am her eldest daughter. Now I get to help raise my siblings. Try not to judge before you know facts.' and turned back around. I was rattled, and given that they stood up and relocated to the other side of the church, I'm thinking so were they. All I could think was what if I had been some poor young girl, in this scary situation, and I came to a church hoping for some light, hope and support, and this is what I was confronted with?! Sad.
Goodness, I've been talking about this for hours it seems, and I haven't even gotten into Africa! Maybe I had better leave that for another time.
There's a theme here. Do you see it? I hate being belittled, and pushed down. Whether it was in elementary school, in youth group, at Fair Havens, in every harsh experience, it was the Christian community, the one that preached goodness and love, and had trusted to not hurt me that let me down. I couldn't care less about anyone else that hurt me because I didn't expect more from them. I expected more from the community that preached and taught love.
Now, I will admit openly that I am not perfect. I have judged. I have judged hard. Although, not the unbelievers. I judged my fellow Christians. When you preach something, and turn around and do the opposite, you are a hypocrite. I hate hypocrites. I recently stopped volunteering with one of the local youth groups because I felt like in doing so, I was being hypocritical. I am not in anyway absolving myself from guilt. I have done things, said things, thought things that I shouldn't have, and have regretted. I have handled situations poorly. Believe me, you cannot judge me more than I already judge myself.
The point of all of this is to show that I have seen people judged for so many things. I've seen people be ostracized from their community because they chose to stand up for themselves, whether it was in choosing divorce in a difficult marriage, choosing to keep the baby after a young misguided mistake, coming out as a homosexual, or the decision to take pills that could change your life, the list goes on and on. So for those of you who don't like Christians, let me tell you. I've had my fair share of negative experiences. I have been judged. I have felt the disdain. I have been on the receiving end of all of it. I understand where you are coming from.
However in spite of all that, I learned there is redemption.
**P.S. from the Scribbler: I may have ranted about Fair Havens in this post, however if you are a camper I need to say that it is the perfect place to go for the summer. It is brilliant. I still have a great love for the place itself. The leadership is forever changing, and I am extremely hopeful for the future. I'm not trying to stir the pot, or turn anyone against the place that helped make me who I am today. Again, it's simply an explanation, and purging of all my thoughts/ feelings**
