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The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth

By Olivia Hobbs

By Olivia RaePublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 9 min read
2

“Are you familiar with the biblical story of Rahab and the two spies?” he asked.

My mother, bewildered, answered, “Yes."

“Do you remember what Rahab was?” he prodded.

“A prostitute?” she responded, still unsure where the conversation was going.

“Exactly,” he asserted.

“In this situation, your daughter can relate to Rahab.”

I don’t know what happened next, but I can imagine how my mother’s stomach lurched at hearing our elder refer to her 13-year-old daughter as a prostitute.

We did not describe our services using words like ‘church’ or ‘sermon’. Instead, our ‘church’ was the Kingdom Hall, and we attended meetings twice a week. A group of Elders directs the Congregation, and the men within this group form a judicial committee. They are the overseers of all congregation matters, including reports of sin and conflict between members. I learned that serious sins threatened the Congregation’s moral cleanness. The elders must investigate these offenses and receive proof of repentance from the individual.

There are two possible outcomes of an investigation of wrongdoing, reproof or disfellowshipping. A disfellowshipped individual is determined to be unrepentant or may show no sign of straying from their ‘sinful’ course. It is announced to the Congregation that this person is no longer a Jehovah’s Witness. This disclosure notifies members of their requirement to shun the disfellowshipped person.

In contrast, a remorseful individual would likely receive a reproof. The elders may choose whether or not to make the Congregation aware of this. An announcement of an individual’s reproof does not prevent members from associating with this person.

“Can I have a hug?”

I grew to learn what this meant from him, though I didn’t understand. I had a feeling it was wrong, but I didn’t dwell on it; I only knew that I had to keep it a secret to protect my family. It was my burden to bear. He was my Dad, after all. Even though I didn’t understand why this became an aspect of our relationship, I still loved him. I don’t remember how it started, just that it was suddenly a constant in my life. It’s like when you’re in a dream and don’t remember how or when you got there. There is no beginning, no end, only the present moment. My father would set a certain number of minutes each time, sometimes four, sometimes twenty, and everywhere in between. I numbed myself; I would lie on the floor staring at the clock, watching and listening to the tic marking every second that passed. I refused to let myself see or feel what he was doing, and this worked for me. This routine became a part of my everyday life, occurring almost every day for about five years. It got to the point where anytime I asked him for anything; it came as a condition. I could go to my friends’ house in return for a six-minute ‘hug.’ I could watch TV or play on the computer if I gave him a nine-minute ‘hug.’

From a young age, I was taught not to form friendships with my peers. I should be polite to everyone I encounter but not develop close relationships with any of them. I was seldom allowed to see my classmates outside of school and attending school functions was off the table. My only friends were those in my Congregation, which sometimes was a limited number. Since I am no longer a member, the few childhood friends and close relationships I formed are gone.

There was a spot my Dad used to stop on our way home from meetings when my mom wasn’t feeling well. He would pull to the side of the road near a mountain in the middle of the desert. We only went if we were coming from a Thursday night meeting, which ended around nine. Sometimes we would stay in the car; he would put the seats back as far as they could go. Other times we went outside. I stared at the sky and drowned myself in the clarity of the moon and stars. I still feel the cold and unforgiving crooks of the car jutting into my back while I pressed myself against the hood, hoping to sink into it and disappear.

Meekness. Be meek, teachable, and unaffected by whatever ridicule you face. The organization told me that there would be persecution; I was different from the rest of the world and would never be accepted. I believed that the world hated me, and this knowledge crushed my spirit. Being raised this way, I always had a submissive personality. I did not know how to interact with other children; I doubted everything about myself down to each word that left my mouth. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I sensed something inside me making me an outsider.

I remember sitting at the meeting one evening with my Dad; it was a night my mom wasn’t feeling well. He wanted to stop at the spot on our way home and was trying to convince me to concede. His relentless badgering continued throughout the meeting. At one point, he nudged me and motioned to something he had written on a scrap of paper. He flattened the note against his bible as I read it,

“You’re irresistible.”

The black ink and his cursive transformed innocent letters into something heinous.

There are no words I can use to convey the revulsion I felt at that moment. I diverted my gaze forward and kept it there as if I had turned to stone. I didn’t hear a word out of the elder’s mouth that night. The weight of my mental anguish bore upon me as I allowed myself to reflect on what was happening to me.

When I was thirteen years old, my mom found a note in my backpack, and in the letter, I had alluded to someone hurting me. She had no idea what this meant and brought it up to my Dad before she confronted me. In his mind, I could only be talking about one thing. I would never have told, but he thought he was caught and confessed to being inappropriate with me. My mom kicked him out of the house that night and did what any member would do in this situation; she called our elders. This is what we are trained to do in times of crisis. The elders met with my father alone and did not allow my mother to be present. They came to my home to speak to my mother and me together.

I remember sitting with two of our elders in my living room, though I can only recall pieces of the conversation.

“When you picture paradise, do you see your entire family there with you? Or do you hope certain family members will be excluded?”

I didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened. I was so used to silence, and the conversation seemed to center around my feelings towards my Dad. I didn’t talk about the actual abuse with them, though I doubt I would have been capable of that.

“All of them.”

He beamed, pleased that I had chosen the right answer.

“Great, Olivia! That just shows the forgiving person Jehovah knows you are.”

The elder who spoke to me had a brief conversation with my mom before he left, which I was unaware of at the time. My father was reproved, and no one in the Congregation was aware of what had happened. My mother divorced him, despite pressure from the elders to work it out. Our Congregation believed that she was the one who had done something wrong, while my father was the victim. At the time, I wanted more than anything for them to stay together. This is what I was the most devastated about.

We were taught to go to the elders with our problems, but these are just average men. They are not capable of handling this type of situation, and what happened to me was bigger than the Congregation. The elders are not accountable to anyone, and they chose to take the side of the man who molested me. At the time, I did not realize this was happening.

For a long time after it came out, I refused to admit that the abuse had any impact on me. I kept my abuse a secret for so many years, and that is where I wanted to keep it. I thought that if I buried it deep enough inside me, it would stay there.

I am angry now for the little girl shamed into silence and submission. No one taught her to stand up for herself. When I was younger, I didn’t realize how disturbing what was happening to me was. It was my normal, and I loved and trusted my father. I did not want to lose his love, even though I hated what he was doing. I remember feeling guilty for dreading it so much. I felt sad for him in a way, and I didn’t want to upset him or do anything to hurt him. There was this face I remember him making any time I was hesitant or tried to tell him no. I’ll never be able to forget the way he captured such intense gloom and suffering in a facial expression. Looking back, I can see how evil it was for him to manipulate my relationship with him. I am outraged at the way my Congregation handled the situation.

Those people were everything to me and a massive part of the reason I kept my secret for so long. Child abuse and pedophilia are scary words; people don’t like to talk or hear about it. Shame keeps victims from speaking up and getting the help they desperately need. The way the elders in my Congregation reacted reinforced this shame. I didn’t know any better; I didn’t question how they handled the situation. I focused on the love I still had for my father, not on the anger towards what he did. I do not doubt that he manipulated the story when speaking to the elders, but this is no excuse for their reaction. It takes an ignorant human being to blame a child for their abuse. Children have no concept of sexuality. I was not physically fighting my father, but this doesn’t make the abuse any less traumatic.

I was raised in a culture of meekness, of silence, where you must quietly persevere through every tribulation. I learned that meekness was the ultimate display of strength. The manipulative tactics my father used to get what he wanted are not my doing.

I no longer attend meetings or speak to any of the people I used to call my ‘brothers and sisters.’ This separation did not happen overnight, but there is a moment that my mom refers to as ‘the beginning of the end.’ When one of our elders, a person we trusted and had faith in over anyone else, referred to a victim of child abuse as a “prostitute.”

humanity
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About the Creator

Olivia Rae

𝓦𝑒𝑙𝑙-𝓦𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟,𝓖𝑜-𝓖𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟🌱@oliviaraehobbs

𝓐𝑑𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒@WitnesstheAbuse 25K+ ᴏɴ Tɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ

𝓛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑎

#Sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴏʀ ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄʟɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴏғ

ᴀʙᴜsᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴀ ᴄᴜʟᴛ & ᴀ ᴘᴇᴅᴏᴘʜɪʟᴇ.

https://linktr.ee/OliviaRaeHobbs

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