Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

For as long as I can remember music has always been a big part of my life. From the very beginning, I was surrounded by it and as a little girl I remember the first time I played a piano. Barely able to peek pass the keys, I fell in love with that instrument. Even picking up a guitar was fun if for only myself and not the ears of those around me. Whether it were a piano or guitar, mandolins, violins, banjos or even occasionally dulcimers—pretty much any instrument, string or otherwise, that could produce a decent tune—I was surrounded by them. Growing up IFB did restrict the genres, however, to hymns, gospel and fortunately, in my case, classical was included. Still to this day, I like that last one and it can crack a sentimental smile out of this girl. By my early teens, I started to get my hands on old rock-n-roll and Doo Wop, and often recorded Elvis and the Beach Boys onto cassette tapes from the radio, commercials and all. By eighteen, I really found myself in dangerous territo...

Spring is starting to show up all around me it seems. Every time I turn around, I'm finding myself outside, soaking up the much warmer sunshine, spying flowers of blue, purple, and yellow dotting the lush green grass. The birds are merrily chirping before the sun rises, greeting a brand new day. And, with springtime comes a special time for this blog... ONE WHOLE YEAR   of posts, poems, and stories! I have to confess, I originally decided upon starting this endeavor, to only commit to three months. Then, three turned into six, and six into an entire year. Although I would have loved to have shared even more posts, I'm incredibly proud of how many I did write, edit and post for all of you, my readers, to read. Your feedback has been incredible! It has moved me, it has encouraged me and your words have inspired me.  I don't know how far I will continue to take this blog. I admit, I have thought much about that question and still don't have a solid answer. I gu...

My conversion process isn't something I look back on with sentimental nostalgia, in fact, I really don't like that memory. At seven years old, I found myself terrified, going face to face with an angry God and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I didn't accept Him as my personal Savior, I'd burn eternally in a literal hell. This being the case, I confessed all the sins of just a child, most importantly the sin of being born a sinner, and became a Christian. I repented fully, accepted the gift of salvation and shortly later was baptized. I did all of this, believing wholeheartedly and entirely convinced in the teachings I learned from babyhood. I knew I was a wretched sinner, deserved hell, but the remedy to my condition was Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. At just seven years old, the problem was solved. The first time I was called to share the good news of my conversion was that very night it was made known. In front of the entire congregation, I was cal...

Living in the world of fundamentalism as a female was a different kind of complicated. There were unique aspects that solely applied to the women and girls within it, and because of that, there are certain negative takeaways that many of us have, even years after leaving our particular Christian Fundamentalism movements. There are some things that we, as women who have lived in that world, only fully understand. From what formers have shared, I believe this is true for males as well and, in my opinion, stems directly from the enforced restrictions and roles all members, regardless of their gender, were made to adhere to. There was always segregation of one form or another under the guise of separation and doing things "decently and in order," as we so often were told.  I think of it as this: There's the large box of Christian Fundamentalism; my particular group, Independent Fundamental Baptists, fits perfectly in it. Then follows the authority roles of pastors, with...

I talk about many of the troubling teachings I took away from Christian Fundamentalism throughout this blog. Well, the teaching of respect was a big one. Often, I've referenced that members and followers answered to their authority figures—the heads of their churches, homes and families. Being disrespectful was not only something that was to be avoided, it was an actual sin. This complicated things for a number of reasons and are places that I still find myself struggling to navigate through. So many areas of my life were impacted by this group rule. Very easily, it could be hijacked and used as a dangerous and manipulative weapon by those with sadistic intents. So deeply was this teaching engrained that it was second nature, so members—men, women and namely, children—were often mistreated by the demand to always be respectful. It started with the conditioning in the home. From childhood, I knew that honoring my parents was vital in order to live a long life. At a young ag...

I had an unlikely ability to arise in the final years leading up to my exit from my past fundamentalist community and that was the ability to actively begin omitting. This was unusual due to the fact that that meant I had something to keep back. Thoughts uniquely mine began to develop, take root and form an argument that would build deep in my gut and reappear to debate while I was alone or at night, unable to go to sleep. Thoughts like wondering why I wasn't enthusiastic about serving in my church, feelings of disillusion with leaders and the cause, and the ever growing isolation that seemed to swallow me up whole while in the midst of a congregation. I began to have doubts and with them came the gnawing feeling to understand why.  You're not to understand why. You're to do or die.  That was a mantra I heard often growing up, demanding that asking why is proof of rebellion. Those final years I didn't fight to hold the doubts at bay anymore; I couldn't ignore...

The ability to claim normalcy probably disappeared the day I came into this world screaming my baby lungs out. I was number ten of an ever-growing family, with older siblings years my senior. It's a safe bet "normal" continued to elude me with my childhood mainly isolated as a homeschooled kid. There were rare encounters with other children my age with the few times I wandered to my small town's park to play with a handful of kids who were either getting their education at home, similar to me, or a few others who played hookie from the public school some miles away. The majority of interaction was due to my connections to my fundamentalist community though. Church was the center of my life; everything revolved around it. You can pretty much kiss "normal" goodbye when something that controlling is what your life mostly consists of. Making things more difficult was the fact I knew how odd I appeared to others. I lost count of how many times I was asked b...