Since around Tuesday of last week, I have been reading about the Church of Wells. Much of what I've read and seen has been directly from the Church of Wells own website - members' and leaders' testimonies and rebuttals, some of the doctrines and leaders' blogs.
I have so many thoughts that go through my mind...just about human groups in general. It's a fascinating subject, at least for me.
Part of me wants to compose a comparison between the tactics of the Church of Wells and tactics of The Way. But that sounds draining to me. Plus, there are plenty of essays, articles, etc., on the web that outline coercive tactics in human groups.
One thing (among many other things) that has struck me in reading some of the Church of Wells' testimonies, is that many of the followers were already Christians before joining up with or, in the case of the founders, initiating the Church of Wells. In fact, some of the testimonies I've read state that the encounters within their former Christian groups/churches acted as catalysts or confirmations to join up with (or initiate) the Church of Wells.
I can imagine that the same would be true of others who have joined fringe groups. I know that was the case for me; I was already a Christian when I hooked up with The Way.
I recall my own fervent zeal from over 36 years ago. The hours upon hours, days upon days, months upon months, I spent in prayer and tears and anguish, longing to know God's will for my life. My desire had been to learn Greek and Hebrew so I could know what the Word said; the many various interpretations confused me, not to mention what I perceived as hypocritical lifestyles and behaviors. So I applied and got accepted at a college with a biblical leaning located in a community with non-denominational, spirit-filled home churches. At the time, I thought I'd go into Christian counseling as my major. During my first semester of college, I was introduced to The Way.
My fellow Christian friends at Bible college warned me The Way was a cult. These same friends interrogated me regarding the devilish doctrines of The Way; The Way was of Satan who poses as an angel of light. The Way taught "another Jesus," not the true Jesus. These same friends blamed me for my college dorm roommate's mental illness challenges; it was my going to Way fellowships that caused her to get possessed of demons. Their warnings and interrogations and accusations simply drove me deeper into Way fellowships where Way believers welcomed me with open arms.
At 18 years old I quit college to study and serve with The Way. I thought I had found the living Book of Acts; the love of God was real, tangible, life giving.
Immediately upon quitting college, I moved into a Way Home to live with like-minded believers. Some five months later I volunteered for Word Over North Carolina, a two-month summer outreach program. On the heels of Summer Outreach, I volunteered as a Word Over the World (WOW) Ambassador which was a one-year commitment. At the end of my WOW year, I entered the in-residence Way Corps leadership training program - a lifetime commitment which involved four years of training with at least two of those years on Way properties.
The Way Corps training was the modern-day "School of the Prophets." I would get to live with leaders and be trained like Timothy was with Paul; iron sharpeneth iron. I would be immersed in the Word 24/7, away from the world. I would learn to believe God bigger. I would learn to better operate the nine "manifestations." I would learn how to do things right, from setting at table to shooting a rifle. I would learn how to lead God's people.
We, the Way Corps, were the Levites of our day and time. We were elite, God's crack troops. As Wierwille would say, something along the lines of, "As goes the Corps, so goes the world." We, the Way Corps, were spiritually responsible for the believers of whom we were charged oversight; we were responsible to know the spiritual atmosphere of the cities to which we were assigned.
The Way Ministry was the "true Household of God," the "functioning Body of Christ." Every other person on earth was either an "unbelieving believer," [unsaved] natural man, or born of the seed of the serpent. Way believers alone were "the remnant." As believers, we were responsible for keeping the integrity and accuracy of God's Word alive for the next generation. The "whore houses" (churches) on the corners couldn't do it; they were steeped in spiritual adultery and idolatry; they taught the false Jesus where the adversary posed as an angel of light.
It took time, but eventually the crack troops of The Way cracked and the cards of the house lay scattered. Lives and families were deeply harmed. Former followers coming forward, lawsuits, and the internet spawned its unraveling. Eventually the exposure of the dishonesty and arrogance of top leaders brought down The Way from its high and mighty stance on which it had set itself. The Way, though crippled, managed to hang on and is still around today but is now much smaller when compared to its previous size and influence.
The current Way isn't as abusive as it once was; it had to clean up its act if it was going to maintain incoming financial donations. At least, that is my opinion. Top leadership of The Way has never (to my knowledge) been accountable to Way followers for their actions. I'm not holding my breath that they will ever step up to the plate
Some would say The Way in its former days wasn't as bad as this Church of Wells. I'm not sure. In some respects it's probably worse and in others not as bad. As an online acquaintance once stated to me, "Comparing abuses is like comparing Dante's levels of hell."
Human groups are intriguing. Actually, all sorts of animal groups and herds are intriguing. But, I don't think non-human animals use manipulation to control their herds; I imagine herds are directed due to instinct. I think manipulation and coercion are probably unique to us two-legged human creatures.
***
Dr. Laurie Roth provides a phone number and email for Church of Wells followers considering an exit from CoW. The contact information is: churchofwellsexitplan@hushmail.com and 206-984-6859.
***
Links to my blog posts regarding Church of Wells:
Church of Wells: I see no good end ....
More thoughts regarding the Church of Wells...and The Way...and us humans...and...
Church of Wells ...when the doubts arise...
***
March 17, 2014
March 15, 2014
Sacred
This past Tuesday I took a hike.
For a few minutes, I stood on the trail facing southwest.
Breeze was blowing.
Eyes were closed.
Sun warmed my cheeks and eyelids.
Sacred.
And then a song came through my Bluetooth earpiece.
It was my first time ever hearing this song.
Yes, sacred.
Ben Taylor, son of James Taylor and Carly Simon, wrote Nothing I Can Do for his mom.
Nothing I Can Do by Ben Taylor
First morning ever to have seen the sun
Must have run the other way
Until she found that it was only getting earlier that way
When she spun one-hundred eighty degrees
And beheld the sweet light rising through the trees
She fell to her knees and she began to smile, because
She had been in darkness for a long long while,
She said...
There is nothing that I can do but belong to you
Heaven and Earth and I find myself
Singing this song for you
As luck would have it, it just so happens that there's
Nothing I'd Rather do
And the first lesson ever to have learned its way
Must've been surprised
All I can say is I'm just glad that I survived,
And the first river to have met the sea,
I believe he must've sighed, said
All this rambling I'm glad to finally find, that
After all I haven't just been wasting my time.
There is nothing that I can do but belong to you
Heaven and Earth and I find myself
Singing this song for you
As luck would have it, it just so happens that there's
Nothing I'd Rather do.
Just so long as your flying around high
Whatever you find out in the sky
Don't forget to fall down sometimes
I'm easy to find, look around you
It's a good thing that I finally found you.
There is nothing that I can do but belong to you
Heaven and Earth and I find myself
Singing this song for you
As luck would have it, it just so happens that there's
Nothing I'd Rather do.
For a few minutes, I stood on the trail facing southwest.
Breeze was blowing.
Eyes were closed.
Sun warmed my cheeks and eyelids.
Sacred.
And then a song came through my Bluetooth earpiece.
It was my first time ever hearing this song.
Yes, sacred.
Ben Taylor, son of James Taylor and Carly Simon, wrote Nothing I Can Do for his mom.
Nothing I Can Do by Ben Taylor
First morning ever to have seen the sun
Must have run the other way
Until she found that it was only getting earlier that way
When she spun one-hundred eighty degrees
And beheld the sweet light rising through the trees
She fell to her knees and she began to smile, because
She had been in darkness for a long long while,
She said...
There is nothing that I can do but belong to you
Heaven and Earth and I find myself
Singing this song for you
As luck would have it, it just so happens that there's
Nothing I'd Rather do
And the first lesson ever to have learned its way
Must've been surprised
All I can say is I'm just glad that I survived,
And the first river to have met the sea,
I believe he must've sighed, said
All this rambling I'm glad to finally find, that
After all I haven't just been wasting my time.
There is nothing that I can do but belong to you
Heaven and Earth and I find myself
Singing this song for you
As luck would have it, it just so happens that there's
Nothing I'd Rather do.
Just so long as your flying around high
Whatever you find out in the sky
Don't forget to fall down sometimes
I'm easy to find, look around you
It's a good thing that I finally found you.
There is nothing that I can do but belong to you
Heaven and Earth and I find myself
Singing this song for you
As luck would have it, it just so happens that there's
Nothing I'd Rather do.
March 13, 2014
Church of Wells: I see no good end ....
... to this small group in Texas. I hope I'm wrong and that the group will eventually dissolve. Time will tell.
The group has a website here: The Church of Wells.
Here is a link to access the bios of the founders: About Us
Apparently the Church of Wells had its beginnings as Ye Must Be Born Again Ministries and started in Arlington, Texas, in 2010 before moving to Wells, Texas, in 2012.
To me, the above video and the bios of the young founders are almost more telling of, and are at the very least corroborative with, the cult-like allegations from various news reports.
Exclusiveness and elitism, emotional conversion, literalism, obedience to elders, and the perception of persecution - all justified by scripture - are only a few of the telltale indications of "my-no-good-end" statement.
The group has been in the news due to at least a couple events linked below.
A former member of the group, Patrick Jones, who (at 23 years old) quit school and his job and cut ties with his family to join the group, shares his experience in a two part interview series linked below. Jones was a part of the group for one year while the group was based in Arlington, Texas. Good on Patrick for leaving the group and for speaking up.
EXCLUSIVE PART I: Interview with former Church of Wells member
EXCLUSIVE PART II: Interview with former Church of Wells member
From the Part 1 Interview:
...Jones says he felt trapped, he felt like he was being held "spiritually captive" and there was no way out.
"I felt like, if I leave, I felt like where am I going to go? You know that was my first question. At this time, I had preached very harshly to my mom and basically told her and just condemned her and told her she was going to go to hell because some of the elders told me that I needed to cut all ties and that I need to stop talking to friends and family and cut everything loose, and so I did because they felt like I was holding on to some stuff and Houston, and so I did. I called her and preached to her and I said unless you repent, I can't have a fellowship with you, basically I couldn't talk to her."
He said he felt like he had no family to turn to besides his "spiritual" family in the church, so Jones stayed. ...
***
Dr. Laurie Roth provides a phone number and email for Church of Wells followers considering an exit from CoW. The contact information is: churchofwellsexitplan@hushmail.com and 206-984-6859.
***
Links to my blog posts regarding Church of Wells:
Church of Wells: I see no good end ....
More thoughts regarding the Church of Wells...and The Way...and us humans...and...
Church of Wells ...when the doubts arise...
***
This following link directs to a discussion forum regarding the Church of Wells: Church of Wells/YMBBA Ministries. As of 3/16/14, the board is not accepting new registrations, but threads can be read by the public.
***
The following was posted on 3/13/14.
Religious group staking its claim in Texas town of Wells
The Al Jazeera America video is no longer available. According to their website: Select video clips are available on Al Jazeera America’s website for a limited time. If you are unable to locate a specific video clip by using the search bar, they are currently not available.
***
The following was posted on 3/17/14.
Family fears their daughter is lost to controversial Church of Wells
The Al Jazeera America video is no longer available. According to their website: Select video clips are available on Al Jazeera America’s website for a limited time. If you are unable to locate a specific video clip by using the search bar, they are currently not available.
***
The group has a website here: The Church of Wells.
Here is a link to access the bios of the founders: About Us
Apparently the Church of Wells had its beginnings as Ye Must Be Born Again Ministries and started in Arlington, Texas, in 2010 before moving to Wells, Texas, in 2012.
To me, the above video and the bios of the young founders are almost more telling of, and are at the very least corroborative with, the cult-like allegations from various news reports.
Exclusiveness and elitism, emotional conversion, literalism, obedience to elders, and the perception of persecution - all justified by scripture - are only a few of the telltale indications of "my-no-good-end" statement.
The group has been in the news due to at least a couple events linked below.
- A three-day old infant, of parents who are members of the group, died in May 2012; the parents, along with the leaders of the group, had chosen to pray over the infant instead of seeking medical care. 911 was called fifteen hours after the infant died.
- Parents of Catherine Grove became concerned after their 26-year old daughter went missing. Catherine contacted her parents about a week after her disappearance. At that time, according to her parents, "[Catherine] said I'm in Wells, Texas and I'm with a group of people that are taking good care of me and that I can't listen to you mom and dad anymore that I have to keep my hands over my ears and I can only listen to my elders." Here is one link, among many, regarding the story: CNN...'The Church of Wells' controversy. Here is another link which gives more background about Catherine Grove, about the Church of Wells, and about the town of Wells: Searching for Souls in Wells, Texas
A former member of the group, Patrick Jones, who (at 23 years old) quit school and his job and cut ties with his family to join the group, shares his experience in a two part interview series linked below. Jones was a part of the group for one year while the group was based in Arlington, Texas. Good on Patrick for leaving the group and for speaking up.
EXCLUSIVE PART I: Interview with former Church of Wells member
EXCLUSIVE PART II: Interview with former Church of Wells member
From the Part 1 Interview:
...Jones says he felt trapped, he felt like he was being held "spiritually captive" and there was no way out.
"I felt like, if I leave, I felt like where am I going to go? You know that was my first question. At this time, I had preached very harshly to my mom and basically told her and just condemned her and told her she was going to go to hell because some of the elders told me that I needed to cut all ties and that I need to stop talking to friends and family and cut everything loose, and so I did because they felt like I was holding on to some stuff and Houston, and so I did. I called her and preached to her and I said unless you repent, I can't have a fellowship with you, basically I couldn't talk to her."
He said he felt like he had no family to turn to besides his "spiritual" family in the church, so Jones stayed. ...
***
Dr. Laurie Roth provides a phone number and email for Church of Wells followers considering an exit from CoW. The contact information is: churchofwellsexitplan@hushmail.com and 206-984-6859.
***
Links to my blog posts regarding Church of Wells:
Church of Wells: I see no good end ....
More thoughts regarding the Church of Wells...and The Way...and us humans...and...
Church of Wells ...when the doubts arise...
***
This following link directs to a discussion forum regarding the Church of Wells: Church of Wells/YMBBA Ministries. As of 3/16/14, the board is not accepting new registrations, but threads can be read by the public.
***
The following was posted on 3/13/14.
Religious group staking its claim in Texas town of Wells
The Al Jazeera America video is no longer available. According to their website: Select video clips are available on Al Jazeera America’s website for a limited time. If you are unable to locate a specific video clip by using the search bar, they are currently not available.
***
The following was posted on 3/17/14.
Family fears their daughter is lost to controversial Church of Wells
The Al Jazeera America video is no longer available. According to their website: Select video clips are available on Al Jazeera America’s website for a limited time. If you are unable to locate a specific video clip by using the search bar, they are currently not available.
***
March 9, 2014
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
Within a few minutes we exited the interstate. I turned right toward the truck stop. I was also looking for a hotel within walking distance. I had decided to purchase a hotel room for the wearied traveler. He was beyond grateful.
After finding the truck stop, we pulled into the parking lot of a nearby Quality Inn. I parked the Explorer, and we entered the lobby. The lady at the check-in desk greeted us with a pleasant smile, "Do you have reservations?"
"No," I responded. "Do you honor Triple A memberships?"
"Or veterans?" chimed in the traveler.
"We honor both," she answered. "Same discount at 10%"
The traveler pulled out his empty wallet and showed the clerk his veteran identification. There was a wallet size photo of him in his Navy sailor uniform from over 30 years ago. He must be proud of that four years he spent in the Navy.
I paid cash for the room. "Do you happen to have any ibuprofen or something for a headache?" I asked the clerk.
She didn't.
We exited the lobby and hopped back in the Explorer. I drove around the side of the hotel closer to where the room was located. I checked my first aid kits for any pain medicine. Nothing.
I handed one of the first aid kits to the traveler. "Here, you can have this. I have another one. This one was free from Target. It has no ibuprofen, but it has band aids and antibiotic ointment." Earlier he had shared with me about a cut on his leg which he'd been treating with peroxide. The ointment could help heal it and keep any infection away.
I carried his tote bag while he carried his sleeping roll and pulled the suitcase on wheels to the hotel door.
"Here's some cash so you can get some food and ibuprofen." I handed him the last of the cash bills from my hip pack.
"You don't have to do that," he responded.
"I know." I said. "I want to though. I used to give money to a church; now I do stuff like this." I struggled saying the word "church;" I don't consider The Way a "church." But I didn't want to use the word "cult."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Daniel," he replied.
"I'm Carol, Daniel. Good luck," I said as I shook his hand.
"Thank you. Thank you. God bless you," he replied.
I half-way smiled and nodded. I climbed back into my 1999 gray Ford Explorer.
On my twenty-five minute drive home from Mocksville to Winston I thought of my recent wrestling with apathy, something I'd labeled a "slow death." I thought of my recent struggles with loss and grief and guarding my heart from becoming jaded and crusty. I thought of a prayer I'd written the night before in my journal.
I thought about Geri whom I had talked with earlier in the afternoon at the dentist office; her boyfriend had been going through treatment for stage 4 cancer. I thought about Daniel, the hitch hiking veteran.
I felt a mixture of somberness and sorrow, humbleness and gratitude, pensiveness and redemption.
Earlier in the day before I had left on my excursions, I had gathered my recent payments from clients. I had recorded the check payments on a bank account deposit slip. I had looked at the cash payments consisting of five $20 bills and thought, I usually only carry $40 to $60 cash on me. I should probably put a few of these 20s upstairs with our hidden cash-stash. But I don't feel like walking upstairs. Boy Carol, that's really lame; it's just upstairs. Bleh. You'll eventually spend the money; just put it in your hip pack. Little did I know that by that evening, my zippered pocket that held my cash would be empty.
Tears trickled down my cheeks.
Maybe I wasn't so very apathetic after all.
Maybe my heart was still tender.
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
****
After finding the truck stop, we pulled into the parking lot of a nearby Quality Inn. I parked the Explorer, and we entered the lobby. The lady at the check-in desk greeted us with a pleasant smile, "Do you have reservations?"
"No," I responded. "Do you honor Triple A memberships?"
"Or veterans?" chimed in the traveler.
"We honor both," she answered. "Same discount at 10%"
The traveler pulled out his empty wallet and showed the clerk his veteran identification. There was a wallet size photo of him in his Navy sailor uniform from over 30 years ago. He must be proud of that four years he spent in the Navy.
I paid cash for the room. "Do you happen to have any ibuprofen or something for a headache?" I asked the clerk.
She didn't.
We exited the lobby and hopped back in the Explorer. I drove around the side of the hotel closer to where the room was located. I checked my first aid kits for any pain medicine. Nothing.
I handed one of the first aid kits to the traveler. "Here, you can have this. I have another one. This one was free from Target. It has no ibuprofen, but it has band aids and antibiotic ointment." Earlier he had shared with me about a cut on his leg which he'd been treating with peroxide. The ointment could help heal it and keep any infection away.
I carried his tote bag while he carried his sleeping roll and pulled the suitcase on wheels to the hotel door.
"Here's some cash so you can get some food and ibuprofen." I handed him the last of the cash bills from my hip pack.
"You don't have to do that," he responded.
"I know." I said. "I want to though. I used to give money to a church; now I do stuff like this." I struggled saying the word "church;" I don't consider The Way a "church." But I didn't want to use the word "cult."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Daniel," he replied.
"I'm Carol, Daniel. Good luck," I said as I shook his hand.
"Thank you. Thank you. God bless you," he replied.
I half-way smiled and nodded. I climbed back into my 1999 gray Ford Explorer.
On my twenty-five minute drive home from Mocksville to Winston I thought of my recent wrestling with apathy, something I'd labeled a "slow death." I thought of my recent struggles with loss and grief and guarding my heart from becoming jaded and crusty. I thought of a prayer I'd written the night before in my journal.
I thought about Geri whom I had talked with earlier in the afternoon at the dentist office; her boyfriend had been going through treatment for stage 4 cancer. I thought about Daniel, the hitch hiking veteran.
I felt a mixture of somberness and sorrow, humbleness and gratitude, pensiveness and redemption.
Earlier in the day before I had left on my excursions, I had gathered my recent payments from clients. I had recorded the check payments on a bank account deposit slip. I had looked at the cash payments consisting of five $20 bills and thought, I usually only carry $40 to $60 cash on me. I should probably put a few of these 20s upstairs with our hidden cash-stash. But I don't feel like walking upstairs. Boy Carol, that's really lame; it's just upstairs. Bleh. You'll eventually spend the money; just put it in your hip pack. Little did I know that by that evening, my zippered pocket that held my cash would be empty.
Tears trickled down my cheeks.
Maybe I wasn't so very apathetic after all.
Maybe my heart was still tender.
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
It was going on 6:15 PM as the hitch hiking veteran and I rode west on I-40 toward Mocksville - I in the driver seat and he in the passenger seat. I had turned the heat up to help my passenger warm his chilled bones.
We hadn't gotten far on the interstate when I had a moment of panic, like when a person thinks they left the stove on.
"Do you see a black hip pack in the back seat?" I asked my passenger. "I don't recall putting it in the car. I hope I didn't leave it at Kentucky Fried Chicken."
My black leather hip pack carried my money and credit cards and identification.
"I see a green one," he answered.
"That's not it; that's my hiking hip pack. I better pull off at the next exit and make sure I have it."
Relieved to find it in the back seat under my coat, I drove us back onto the interstate heading west to the Mocksville truck stop.
"I've done some hiking on the Appalachian Trail," my passenger said after we were back on the road. Earlier when we loaded his gear into the back of my Explorer, he had asked about my trekking poles which lay in the back of the Explorer along with blankets and a day pack.
"Where abouts?" I asked.
"Northern Virginia, between Charlottesville and DC. I used to spend time there as a boy."
I recalled earlier when he shared that he was from Culpepper, Virginia.
"Where does you sister live?" I asked.
"She lives in Culpepper," he responded.
"What branch of service did you serve in?"
"The Navy," he answered. "I signed up right after graduating high school in 1976."
That was one year before I graduated from high school. He wasn't as old as I thought he was. I guess I'm getting up in years
"Where did you serve?" I continued my inquiry.
"I went to basic at Great Lakes and then spent time in Norfolk. I was only in for four years; I didn't serve in any wars."
"Would you happen to have any ibuprofen or aspirin?" he asked.
"I don't," I answered. "I'm allergic to them. I'm sure the truck stop will have some."
Then I recalled I had a couple first aid kits in the back seat.
"I do have a couple first aid kits in the car; maybe there is some one of them. I'll check when we stop."
I saw a billboard advertising Truck Stop America ahead.
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
****
We hadn't gotten far on the interstate when I had a moment of panic, like when a person thinks they left the stove on.
"Do you see a black hip pack in the back seat?" I asked my passenger. "I don't recall putting it in the car. I hope I didn't leave it at Kentucky Fried Chicken."
My black leather hip pack carried my money and credit cards and identification.
"I see a green one," he answered.
"That's not it; that's my hiking hip pack. I better pull off at the next exit and make sure I have it."
Relieved to find it in the back seat under my coat, I drove us back onto the interstate heading west to the Mocksville truck stop.
"I've done some hiking on the Appalachian Trail," my passenger said after we were back on the road. Earlier when we loaded his gear into the back of my Explorer, he had asked about my trekking poles which lay in the back of the Explorer along with blankets and a day pack.
"Where abouts?" I asked.
"Northern Virginia, between Charlottesville and DC. I used to spend time there as a boy."
I recalled earlier when he shared that he was from Culpepper, Virginia.
"Where does you sister live?" I asked.
"She lives in Culpepper," he responded.
"What branch of service did you serve in?"
"The Navy," he answered. "I signed up right after graduating high school in 1976."
That was one year before I graduated from high school. He wasn't as old as I thought he was. I guess I'm getting up in years
"Where did you serve?" I continued my inquiry.
"I went to basic at Great Lakes and then spent time in Norfolk. I was only in for four years; I didn't serve in any wars."
"Would you happen to have any ibuprofen or aspirin?" he asked.
"I don't," I answered. "I'm allergic to them. I'm sure the truck stop will have some."
Then I recalled I had a couple first aid kits in the back seat.
"I do have a couple first aid kits in the car; maybe there is some one of them. I'll check when we stop."
I saw a billboard advertising Truck Stop America ahead.
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
****
March 7, 2014
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
"Are you traveling on foot?" I asked in a friendly tone. I didn't want to use the word "homeless."
The man was clean cut, his clothes neat and well arranged. He had on blue jeans, a button up long sleeve shirt with what looked like some sort of a Native American pin where the top buttons of the shirt came together. He wore brown leather work boots. He had a gray mustache. Tufts of gray hair bordered the edge of his warm hat. He looked to be in his sixties and was missing at least one lower tooth.
"I'm on my way to the VA hospital near Asheville, in Oteen," he responded.
"Where are you coming from?" I asked.
"Virginia. I've been to the VA in Richmond in the past, but I don't like that hospital. Oteen has taken better care of me, so I want to get to Oteen."
I was familiar with both VA Hospitals from when Dad was alive.
I asked the man if he was hungry. He gladly accepted my box of morsels, but was more interested in getting warm.
"Do you think you could buy me a cup of coffee? I'm chilled to the bone."
"Sure," I responded. "What size?"
"Small or medium is fine."
I went to the counter and asked if they sold coffee, but they didn't.
"Do you sell any hot beverage?" I asked.
"No; I'm sorry," the cashier replied.
I walked back to the booth, no coffee in hand.
The veteran shared some of his story. I asked some questions, but not too many.
He was from Culpepper, Virginia. He had stayed in a homeless shelter in Virginia recently, but it had a limit of only two weeks. He was apparently hitch hiking his way to Oteen; he had suffered an aneurysm in the past and was concerned about his health again. Yesterday a man had given him a ride from Mebane and had put him up at the Holiday Inn last night here in Clemmons. A lady had washed the couple changes of clothes he had with him. The veteran had been trying to get a ride all day at the I-40 westbound ramp just down the road with no luck. He needed a place out of the cold tonight. He wanted to know if there were any places nearby open 24 hours where he might stay warm.
He seemed genuine. Right or wrong, I believed his story. I mentioned the homeless shelter in downtown Winston as a 24-hour place. He didn't want that; his goal was Oteen. I thought about the bus station; it was open 24 hours. I didn't mention it because the bus station probably wasn't a place to linger all night long. At that moment, it didn't cross my mind to buy him a bus ticket to Oteen.
I thought how I'd like to take him home and give him a warm place to stay. Hubby and I would be heading west Friday night and going right past Oteen, which was over two hours away. But last time I took in a homeless person, it didn't work out too well. A friend had said to me, "Carol, most people take in stray animals. You take in stray people."
The veteran's sister was supposed to wire him some money on Thursday; he had a dollar and some change left in cash. He thought he'd be in Oteen by Thursday, but here it was Wednesday evening and he still hadn't made it. His larger suitcase on wheels had been stolen. He had parked it for a moment outside a truck stop while he went in to get some coffee and go to the bathroom. He came out, and it was gone. Most of his clothes and his medical records had been in the stolen suitcase. He didn't share in a complaining manner, but rather with a disappointment that people would steal and yet with gratitude for the all the good in life.
"The man who put me up last night mentioned a truck stop in a place called Mocksville?"
"I think there is a Truck Stop America there. Mocksville is only about a ten-minute drive from here." I responded.
I pondered what I could do to help the man. I really didn't want to miss my writing workshop which started in less than two hours. But I was willing to miss it if needed. Ice was supposed to hit the Piedmont area on Thursday night; he needed to get west before it hit.
"I can take you to Oteen tonight, if you'd like. Or I can take you down to the truck stop, if you prefer."
"Well, if I get to Oteen late tonight, it wouldn't do any good. They can't see me until the day time hours."
"But it'd put you right there for in the morning."
He thought for a moment, "I think I'd rather try the truck stop. I feel sure I can get a ride from there to Oteen tomorrow." He seemed tired, like he just wanted to rest somewhere and get warm and start traveling again on Thursday.
We loaded his items in the back of my 1999 Ford Explorer and headed west on I-40 for the ten-minute drive to locate the truck stop.
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
****
The man was clean cut, his clothes neat and well arranged. He had on blue jeans, a button up long sleeve shirt with what looked like some sort of a Native American pin where the top buttons of the shirt came together. He wore brown leather work boots. He had a gray mustache. Tufts of gray hair bordered the edge of his warm hat. He looked to be in his sixties and was missing at least one lower tooth.
"I'm on my way to the VA hospital near Asheville, in Oteen," he responded.
"Where are you coming from?" I asked.
"Virginia. I've been to the VA in Richmond in the past, but I don't like that hospital. Oteen has taken better care of me, so I want to get to Oteen."
I was familiar with both VA Hospitals from when Dad was alive.
I asked the man if he was hungry. He gladly accepted my box of morsels, but was more interested in getting warm.
"Do you think you could buy me a cup of coffee? I'm chilled to the bone."
"Sure," I responded. "What size?"
"Small or medium is fine."
I went to the counter and asked if they sold coffee, but they didn't.
"Do you sell any hot beverage?" I asked.
"No; I'm sorry," the cashier replied.
I walked back to the booth, no coffee in hand.
The veteran shared some of his story. I asked some questions, but not too many.
He was from Culpepper, Virginia. He had stayed in a homeless shelter in Virginia recently, but it had a limit of only two weeks. He was apparently hitch hiking his way to Oteen; he had suffered an aneurysm in the past and was concerned about his health again. Yesterday a man had given him a ride from Mebane and had put him up at the Holiday Inn last night here in Clemmons. A lady had washed the couple changes of clothes he had with him. The veteran had been trying to get a ride all day at the I-40 westbound ramp just down the road with no luck. He needed a place out of the cold tonight. He wanted to know if there were any places nearby open 24 hours where he might stay warm.
He seemed genuine. Right or wrong, I believed his story. I mentioned the homeless shelter in downtown Winston as a 24-hour place. He didn't want that; his goal was Oteen. I thought about the bus station; it was open 24 hours. I didn't mention it because the bus station probably wasn't a place to linger all night long. At that moment, it didn't cross my mind to buy him a bus ticket to Oteen.
I thought how I'd like to take him home and give him a warm place to stay. Hubby and I would be heading west Friday night and going right past Oteen, which was over two hours away. But last time I took in a homeless person, it didn't work out too well. A friend had said to me, "Carol, most people take in stray animals. You take in stray people."
The veteran's sister was supposed to wire him some money on Thursday; he had a dollar and some change left in cash. He thought he'd be in Oteen by Thursday, but here it was Wednesday evening and he still hadn't made it. His larger suitcase on wheels had been stolen. He had parked it for a moment outside a truck stop while he went in to get some coffee and go to the bathroom. He came out, and it was gone. Most of his clothes and his medical records had been in the stolen suitcase. He didn't share in a complaining manner, but rather with a disappointment that people would steal and yet with gratitude for the all the good in life.
"The man who put me up last night mentioned a truck stop in a place called Mocksville?"
"I think there is a Truck Stop America there. Mocksville is only about a ten-minute drive from here." I responded.
I pondered what I could do to help the man. I really didn't want to miss my writing workshop which started in less than two hours. But I was willing to miss it if needed. Ice was supposed to hit the Piedmont area on Thursday night; he needed to get west before it hit.
"I can take you to Oteen tonight, if you'd like. Or I can take you down to the truck stop, if you prefer."
"Well, if I get to Oteen late tonight, it wouldn't do any good. They can't see me until the day time hours."
"But it'd put you right there for in the morning."
He thought for a moment, "I think I'd rather try the truck stop. I feel sure I can get a ride from there to Oteen tomorrow." He seemed tired, like he just wanted to rest somewhere and get warm and start traveling again on Thursday.
We loaded his items in the back of my 1999 Ford Explorer and headed west on I-40 for the ten-minute drive to locate the truck stop.
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
I sat in my 1999 gray Ford Explorer in the parking space at Kentucky Fried Chicken. I stared at the large windows of the small restaurant, at the signs advertising the current specials.
Why would I even eat here and support a place like KFC? The chickens are probably treated poorly; why would I even eat here? Plus I'm not really that hungry. But I'd like a piece of crispy chicken; it's been awhile since I've eaten crispy chicken. I could get some slaw and a piece of corn on the cob with the chicken. If I can't eat it all, I can take the left overs home. But if I go home instead of eating out I can save some money. I'll be spending money Friday at a restaurant when my sister comes through town.
It was 5:00 PM. Cars in their commute home at the end of the American work day whizzed in a steady stream along the busy five-lane road behind me. I sat in my Explorer contemplating whether or not to enter the KFC. As I sat, awaiting my decision, I perused information on my iPhone...Facebook, blog stats, email. Nothing of importance. I reread a blog piece entitled Ramblings of an apathetic mind that I had written earlier in the day.
I ordered a two piece meal - a crispy chicken breast and a grilled wing with corn on the cob and slaw. I got water to drink.
"Is that for here or to go?" the young counter waitress asked with a smile.
"I'd like it to go. But could I also get a plate? I'll eat some here and take some home."
She arranged my food on the disposable plate which sat on the brown tray. She gave me a box for any leftovers and handed me an empty cup for water.
I chose a small two-seater table in the middle of the restaurant; I was the only customer. I sat in the chair facing the large windows. I could see the parking lot and my Explorer and the busy five-lane road with whizzing cars. Country music played through the restaurant speakers.
I chose to eat my crispy chicken breast first. I stared out the window as the country twang entered my ears.
I wonder if he is homeless? Maybe; maybe not. He may have chosen walking as his mode of travel.
I thought about the financial deposits I'd made in my and Hubby's bank accounts earlier that day. Our middle class savings are meager compared to the wealthy and a fortune compared to the poor.
I didn't pay much attention when the traveler came in the side door to my left. He chose a booth over my left shoulder a couple aisles away in the corner next to the solid brick wall.
I continued eating my crispy coated chicken breast. I hadn't yet touched the corn or slaw or grilled wing. I looked at the three untouched items thinking about how much I like corn on the cob. I'd take the untouched food home...unless this man was homeless, in which case I'd give the food to him.
I glanced over at the corner booth. The man had taken off his coat and was looking for something in his tote bag. I wondered if he would retrieve a wallet. He kept his warm hat on. He still looked so chilled.
I finished eating my chicken breast and carefully packed the three untouched food items in the to-go box; the slaw in its separate to-go container, the corn on the cob wrapped in aluminum foil, and the grilled chicken breast which I placed in the kitchen parchment paper in the box. I included a black plastic spork with some napkins. With the box in hand, I walked over to the booth.
****
On my way home from the dentist... (part one)
On my way home from the dentist... (part two)
On my way home from the dentist... (part three)
On my way home from the dentist... (part four)
****
March 5, 2014
Ramblings of an apathetic mind....
I don't even know if I will click publish on this blog piece.
If I do, like other pieces, it will be unedited at first.
Will I tweak it? I don't want to...it just needs to pour off my pen, so to speak.
I have been journaling regularly. My journal is not for public eyes.
This piece will be a public journal-type piece.
I'm tired and wearied.
I find my apathy toward life almost appalling.
I just googled again "methotrexate and fatigue."
It could be that my lack of energy and my apathy is at least in part due to methotrexate. I take 12.5 mg one time per week. I don't yet know how much the methotrexate is helping the peripheral neuropathy and inflammation in my nerve roots. I do know that the spinal steroid injections have definitely helped.
I'm currently coming off prednisone which I've been on since July, 2011. I'm down to 2.5 mg and so far, so good. I'll go to 1 mg in a week or so and then go to 0 mg before my next spinal injections in April.
Once I'm off the prednisone for a month or so, and once I hit the six-month mark on the methotrexate (which will be July, 2014), then I should be able to maybe experiment with the methotrexate to see how much it is doing weighed with the steroid spinal injections.
In the meantime, I guess I'll just be fatigued and apathetic.
At least I cried this morning which means I felt something.
Not to spread my pity party germs, but wanting to at least get my thoughts out there...and hopefully not come across as complaining...and I'm not looking for advice...this is more like an observation of circumstances....
Hubby and I became empty-nesters this past year.
Hubby and I will be married 30 years come September, 2014. I don't write much publicly about our marriage and I won't do that now other than to say...our 30-year challenges are not that much different from other long-term marriage relationship challenges, at least from what I've read.
I've lived without normal limb function now since May, 2011. There have been up times, when I was on higher doses of prednisone. Now, the pain is minimal, but the weakness and muscular degeneration remain. I can't perform my toning exercises yet and I don't know if I ever will be able to; they still cause too much shooting pain in my biceps. But I could at least walk or do some yoga or something; but my apathy and fatigue seem to win out most often.
I can go a couple or more days now without speaking to people, other than to Hubby; and even that chat is minimal. Thing is, I don't really want to do anything about cultivating relationships so I'm not complaining...just an observation.
I have no great mission in my life. I've given up my dream of thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail, which in the past gave me motivation.
The stomach-churning Knapp crap effected me deeply and effected the way I once wore my heart on my sleeve, effected my innate trust of others. Maybe that's not a bad thing; I learned about evil in an up close encounter. Some may say "evil" is an exaggeration; I would disagree.
I seem to believe in a theistic creator less and less, though I still go back and forth. The bible story has become more and more a fairy tale...which puts me farther and farther outside the camp from some of my friends who are still believers. I can handle that...except for one individual who has meant a lot to me in my past. I feel that person is forever gone as far as a relationship goes. Another loss than I am currently struggling with not to mention the loss of the belief system. I recently read some Psalms, they didn't resonate. I recently read from Ecclesiastes; it did resonate.
My parents are both dead. Mom died in 2009, Dad in 1996. I've never visited their gravesites. Maybe I should. I have little contact with my siblings, but we have never really been close anyway.
Repeating myself...I've been on oral prednisone since July, 2011, and have been through lab-rat roulette the last couple years. At least now I've gotten reasonable relief, though I'm on a different drug with different side effects. At least I get good sleep now.
I've still not cleaned up my house...old Way stuff, boxes and boxes from Mom's place still packed up to go through, the kids stuff still strewn about in their rooms, accumulations. We need a new roof on the house.
I scold myself for being so apathetic about life, for not being more thankful, more motivated. I have food and water and shelter and clothes and modern conveniences. My family is in good health. Life is good, especially compared to most of the world which is war-torn and poverty-stricken. I feel like a real jerk for thinking my problems are real problems. Well, they aren't really problems; they are simply circumstances.
Time now to go out into the world, face to face - run some errands, walk some dachshunds, and visit the dentist.
If I do, like other pieces, it will be unedited at first.
Will I tweak it? I don't want to...it just needs to pour off my pen, so to speak.
I have been journaling regularly. My journal is not for public eyes.
This piece will be a public journal-type piece.
I'm tired and wearied.
I find my apathy toward life almost appalling.
I just googled again "methotrexate and fatigue."
It could be that my lack of energy and my apathy is at least in part due to methotrexate. I take 12.5 mg one time per week. I don't yet know how much the methotrexate is helping the peripheral neuropathy and inflammation in my nerve roots. I do know that the spinal steroid injections have definitely helped.
I'm currently coming off prednisone which I've been on since July, 2011. I'm down to 2.5 mg and so far, so good. I'll go to 1 mg in a week or so and then go to 0 mg before my next spinal injections in April.
Once I'm off the prednisone for a month or so, and once I hit the six-month mark on the methotrexate (which will be July, 2014), then I should be able to maybe experiment with the methotrexate to see how much it is doing weighed with the steroid spinal injections.
In the meantime, I guess I'll just be fatigued and apathetic.
At least I cried this morning which means I felt something.
Not to spread my pity party germs, but wanting to at least get my thoughts out there...and hopefully not come across as complaining...and I'm not looking for advice...this is more like an observation of circumstances....
Time now to go out into the world, face to face - run some errands, walk some dachshunds, and visit the dentist.
March 3, 2014
New Microwave - Chrome and Black
Hubby was driving as we pulled into the driveway after our outing to Costco. Our microwave had bitten the dust within the last couple days. Our Costco "rewards" checks had come in the mail some five days earlier. We were able to purchase the new microwave with the invisible free money. A microwave is one item I purchase brand new and not second hand.
On our Costco run I also purchased a very large bottle of Tums and a bag of dark-chocolate cherries, blueberries, and cranberries.
As I walked from the car through the garage toward the house door, I carried my two small Costco purchases. My right hand held the large bottle of Tums. My left hand grasped the top of the chocolate-covered-berries bag as my left arm hung by my side gently swinging with my gait.
"I wouldn't have been able to do this less than two months ago," I said to Hubby as he walked with me through the garage to unlock the house door before going back to the car to haul in the microwave.
"I know," he responded. We paused for a silent moment looking at each other. "It really is a big deal that you can use your hands."
"I need to remind myself of that," I said. "I may not have much energy, but at least my body can function somewhat normally now. I need to remember that."
I paused.
"And that I can breathe; that's a big deal too," referring to previous decades in my life when I had suffered with severe asthma.
Last night as I typed into my private, online, personal journal an oft-repeated subject came off my keyboard onto the screen - my current lack of enthusiasm for life, this low energy, this apathy which I seem unable to shake. Then, I allowed myself to state it...that maybe I am still grieving loss and losses. But shouldn't I be done by now?
I feel alone in my grief.
And I am.
I have no one to share it with.
It is a subject that is mine and mine alone, for now.
Let it die Carol, let it die.
And if you can't let it die?
Grieve, grieve, grieve...
until the grieving is done.
But I don't cry...this grief...I don't cry.
I just exist...in a state of apathy.
As my manner is I typed "grief and apathy" into my search bar on my computer screen.
I found a website which deals not just with death, but with loss. Sometimes my grief doesn't seem "justified" because a loved one hasn't recently physically died which would be a "justifiable" cause for my grief. Yet, I would certainly understand if someone else were grieving due to the losses I can identify that I grieve. And then I scold myself for minimizing my own grief.
I like the new microwave. I like that it is easy to use; I don't need repeated lessons to figure it out. It is chrome and black which matches other items in our kitchen - the black sink, the black refrigerator, the chrome-and-black food dehydrator, the chrome-and-black old coffee percolator. Our kitchen chromes and blacks sit among colors of creams and grays and wood-grains and purples and greens and burgundies.
This morning I looked through my bookshelf for the book Good Grief and couldn't find it. I wonder if it has taken residence down the loan black hole?
On our Costco run I also purchased a very large bottle of Tums and a bag of dark-chocolate cherries, blueberries, and cranberries.
As I walked from the car through the garage toward the house door, I carried my two small Costco purchases. My right hand held the large bottle of Tums. My left hand grasped the top of the chocolate-covered-berries bag as my left arm hung by my side gently swinging with my gait.
"I wouldn't have been able to do this less than two months ago," I said to Hubby as he walked with me through the garage to unlock the house door before going back to the car to haul in the microwave.
"I know," he responded. We paused for a silent moment looking at each other. "It really is a big deal that you can use your hands."
"I need to remind myself of that," I said. "I may not have much energy, but at least my body can function somewhat normally now. I need to remember that."
I paused.
"And that I can breathe; that's a big deal too," referring to previous decades in my life when I had suffered with severe asthma.
Last night as I typed into my private, online, personal journal an oft-repeated subject came off my keyboard onto the screen - my current lack of enthusiasm for life, this low energy, this apathy which I seem unable to shake. Then, I allowed myself to state it...that maybe I am still grieving loss and losses. But shouldn't I be done by now?
I feel alone in my grief.
And I am.
I have no one to share it with.
It is a subject that is mine and mine alone, for now.
Let it die Carol, let it die.
And if you can't let it die?
Grieve, grieve, grieve...
until the grieving is done.
But I don't cry...this grief...I don't cry.
I just exist...in a state of apathy.
As my manner is I typed "grief and apathy" into my search bar on my computer screen.
I found a website which deals not just with death, but with loss. Sometimes my grief doesn't seem "justified" because a loved one hasn't recently physically died which would be a "justifiable" cause for my grief. Yet, I would certainly understand if someone else were grieving due to the losses I can identify that I grieve. And then I scold myself for minimizing my own grief.
I like the new microwave. I like that it is easy to use; I don't need repeated lessons to figure it out. It is chrome and black which matches other items in our kitchen - the black sink, the black refrigerator, the chrome-and-black food dehydrator, the chrome-and-black old coffee percolator. Our kitchen chromes and blacks sit among colors of creams and grays and wood-grains and purples and greens and burgundies.
This morning I looked through my bookshelf for the book Good Grief and couldn't find it. I wonder if it has taken residence down the loan black hole?
A loan and alone
Alone and a loan
Grief and apathy
Apathy and grief
Chrome and black
Black and chrome
March 1, 2014
Victor Barnard and River Road Fellowship
(UPDATE: October 11, 2016: Barnard pleads guilty to sexual assault and will serve 30 years.)
____
March 1, 2014
This morning, I opened a Facebook private message from a good friend. The message had been sent a couple days ago. It contained a link to a news story about a man, Victor Barnard, who was once associated with The Way International and is a Way Corps 14 graduate.
Barnard started his own small Way splinter group, River Road Fellowship, apparently sometime in the 1990s. I was familiar with the splinter group from reading about it after I had left The Way. (link: River Road Fellowship in Finlayson, Minnesota) I do not know Victor Barnard.
I expected that perhaps the news-story video would show another Way splinter group leader teaching odd doctrines and taking advantage of followers. I did not expect to view what I did - a man, Victor Barnard, who selected a group of young women whom he kept isolated in a David Koresh or Warren Jeffs type environment to serve God and to serve the man of God, Victor Barnard. Parents of at least two of these women had given permission for their then-young-teenage daughters to become part of Victor Barnard's "Maidens."
According to the video clip, sometime in the past 10-plus years, Barnard had selected 10 teenage girls/young ladies that Barnard called "the Maidens." The youngest girls were 12 and 13 years old at the time they were chosen. The sexual abuse began within a year or so of becoming one of Barnard's "maidens." I gather from the video clip that these girls were selected because they were the "first born" in their families and thus, according to Barnard, were sacrifices for God. These girls left their parents (who were loyal Barnard followers and agreed to the girls being given in service to God under Barnard) and their homes to live with Barnard as part of "the Maidens."
Kudos upon kudos to the two young women, now apparently in their early 20s, who have come forward publicly in the video news clip after going to police two years ago. One young woman had her calendars, with notes, and other items she had saved in a box that she brought forward as evidence to the police.
Perhaps the act of these two young women coming forward will empower other Barnard victims to also speak out.
The video below was published 2/26/14. I wish there was a transcript to go with the video, but I can't find one.
I hope an investigation is pursued; these women deserve at least that much. According to the news link, "A detective in Spokane, Wash., told the Fox 9 Investigators his last lead on Barnard came a few months ago and did not check out. Barnard's exact whereabouts remain unknown."
INVESTIGATORS: Maidens of River Road
___
Links to posts on toss & ripple about Barnard:
3/01/14: Victor Barnard and River Road Fellowship
4/19/14: More thoughts regarding Victor Barnard...and influence...and The Way...and...
8/18/2014: Victor Barnard: "Preaching Lies" to air on "The Hunt," Sunday, August 24, 2014
2/28/15: Victor Barnard is apprehended in Brazil...
6/11/17: Docudrama: "Deliver Us From Evil"
___
Updates: Below are links to news stories up through Barnard's arrest on 2/27/15. To access news links after the arrest, click here: Victor Barnard is apprehended in Brazil....
March 6, 2014: Pine County attorney reviews case against alleged cult leader
April 11, 2014: Legal complaint and warrant outlines charges. The "Statement of Probable Cause," beginning on page 23, outlines a summary.
April 24, 2014: VICTOR BARNARD: Ex-follower says cult leader defended molester
April 26, 2014:Former River Road Fellowship follower, Kehla Backman, shares part of her story, published by Gawker: The More You Commit, the More the Leader Loves You
April 27, 2014: More insight and history (not previously published) regarding the evolution of Victor Barnard's rule over his congregation, by the Minneapolis StarTribune:
Caught in a cult's dark embrace
April 27, 2014: From Fox9 News, a timeline of significant life events in Victor Barnard's past:
VICTOR BARNARD: Timeline of a cult leader
April 27, 2014:Betrayed followers say sect leader Barnard’s abuse surfaced gradually
May 17, 2014: An article written by journalist, Karl Kahler, a previous Way follower and fellow Way Corps 14 graduate with Barnard: Victor Barnard called the girls brides of Christ - and 'he was Christ'
August 13, 2014: WANTED: Cult leader Victor Barnard possibly spotted in Washington
August 14, 2014: Minneapolis StarTribune shares a few more details about the sighting: Minnesota cult fugitive spotted in Washington state
____
March 1, 2014
This morning, I opened a Facebook private message from a good friend. The message had been sent a couple days ago. It contained a link to a news story about a man, Victor Barnard, who was once associated with The Way International and is a Way Corps 14 graduate.
Barnard started his own small Way splinter group, River Road Fellowship, apparently sometime in the 1990s. I was familiar with the splinter group from reading about it after I had left The Way. (link: River Road Fellowship in Finlayson, Minnesota) I do not know Victor Barnard.
I expected that perhaps the news-story video would show another Way splinter group leader teaching odd doctrines and taking advantage of followers. I did not expect to view what I did - a man, Victor Barnard, who selected a group of young women whom he kept isolated in a David Koresh or Warren Jeffs type environment to serve God and to serve the man of God, Victor Barnard. Parents of at least two of these women had given permission for their then-young-teenage daughters to become part of Victor Barnard's "Maidens."
According to the video clip, sometime in the past 10-plus years, Barnard had selected 10 teenage girls/young ladies that Barnard called "the Maidens." The youngest girls were 12 and 13 years old at the time they were chosen. The sexual abuse began within a year or so of becoming one of Barnard's "maidens." I gather from the video clip that these girls were selected because they were the "first born" in their families and thus, according to Barnard, were sacrifices for God. These girls left their parents (who were loyal Barnard followers and agreed to the girls being given in service to God under Barnard) and their homes to live with Barnard as part of "the Maidens."
Kudos upon kudos to the two young women, now apparently in their early 20s, who have come forward publicly in the video news clip after going to police two years ago. One young woman had her calendars, with notes, and other items she had saved in a box that she brought forward as evidence to the police.
Perhaps the act of these two young women coming forward will empower other Barnard victims to also speak out.
The video below was published 2/26/14. I wish there was a transcript to go with the video, but I can't find one.
I hope an investigation is pursued; these women deserve at least that much. According to the news link, "A detective in Spokane, Wash., told the Fox 9 Investigators his last lead on Barnard came a few months ago and did not check out. Barnard's exact whereabouts remain unknown."
INVESTIGATORS: Maidens of River Road
___
Links to posts on toss & ripple about Barnard:
3/01/14: Victor Barnard and River Road Fellowship
4/19/14: More thoughts regarding Victor Barnard...and influence...and The Way...and...
8/18/2014: Victor Barnard: "Preaching Lies" to air on "The Hunt," Sunday, August 24, 2014
2/28/15: Victor Barnard is apprehended in Brazil...
6/11/17: Docudrama: "Deliver Us From Evil"
___
Updates: Below are links to news stories up through Barnard's arrest on 2/27/15. To access news links after the arrest, click here: Victor Barnard is apprehended in Brazil....
March 6, 2014: Pine County attorney reviews case against alleged cult leader
April 11, 2014: Legal complaint and warrant outlines charges. The "Statement of Probable Cause," beginning on page 23, outlines a summary.
April 16, 2014: Media reports are now circulating. Following are four links to videos/articles that fill in more detail.
April 17, 2014: Victor Barnard: The history of a cult leader (includes a snapshot of The Way International)
April 18, 2014: From the Minneapolis Star-Tribune: "Friends recall the rise and fall Victor Barnard: From charismatic kid to wanted fugitive, friends recall how a kid from Minneapolis fell in with The Way and lost his way."
April 18, 2014: "Where is Victor Barnard?" Update regarding the search.
April 18, 2014: "Where is Victor Barnard?" Update regarding the search.
April 24, 2014: VICTOR BARNARD: Ex-follower says cult leader defended molester
April 26, 2014:Former River Road Fellowship follower, Kehla Backman, shares part of her story, published by Gawker: The More You Commit, the More the Leader Loves You
April 27, 2014: More insight and history (not previously published) regarding the evolution of Victor Barnard's rule over his congregation, by the Minneapolis StarTribune:
Caught in a cult's dark embrace
April 27, 2014: From Fox9 News, a timeline of significant life events in Victor Barnard's past:
VICTOR BARNARD: Timeline of a cult leader
April 27, 2014:Betrayed followers say sect leader Barnard’s abuse surfaced gradually
May 17, 2014: An article written by journalist, Karl Kahler, a previous Way follower and fellow Way Corps 14 graduate with Barnard: Victor Barnard called the girls brides of Christ - and 'he was Christ'
August 13, 2014: WANTED: Cult leader Victor Barnard possibly spotted in Washington
August 14, 2014: Minneapolis StarTribune shares a few more details about the sighting: Minnesota cult fugitive spotted in Washington state
February 28, 2015: Globo: Leader of sect, American wanted for sex crimes is stuck in RN
February 28, 2015: KMSP: Cult leader Victor Barnard captured in Brazil
February 28, 2015: Minneapolis StarTribune: Fugitive Minnesota cult leader Victor Barnard arrested in Brazil
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