Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

When you grow up in the world I grew up in, feeling emotions, let alone negative emotions, was a tricky process. Concentrating solely on the positive was something that was deeply engrained into us from the beginning. Things like feeling discontent were considered sin and needed to be repentented of as such. That being the case, common was the ability to stop negative emotions in their tracks, forcing ourselves as Saints to think on "things from above." I strongly remember the scripture verse about "laying up treasure in heaven" as a way to say that dwelling on earthly problems was wrong and should be avoided. Sometimes, too, was the teachings that this also applied to mental health struggles such as anxiety and depression, suggesting that they in fact did not exsist and were a spiritual falling away. Of the many teachings in the Independent Fundamental Baptist world, the teaching of bitterness was one that I and other survivors of the movement have found, for

I still recall my smile stretching from ear to ear on my then freckled six year old face. I'm proud and honored, enjoying this rare emotion of feeling special. It's Sunday morning and towering next to me on my left is the man I would continue to look up to for fifteen years, my pastor. This was a honor, being chosen to sit in the front pew next to him until it was his time to take to the pulpit and the sermon laid upon his heart. The congregation is singing one of their favorites, Power in The Blood or Amazing Grace , maybe, and I'm struggling to find the page to the old hymn so my pastor steps in, hands me his song book and takes mine. Next to him waiting expectantly is my twin sister and he repeats the process, exchanging hymnals with a patient smile and low chuckle. We sing, join in with the familiar aspects of each service—offering, more congregational singing, greeting other worshipers, sitting quietly through any special music—and then, the preaching hour. My twin