Today, I’ll let Mr. Pearl speak for himself…
“If you or your children have been hit (other than the children being spanked) so as to leave discernable marks two hours later, and you genuinely fear that he will repeat his battering, you can take legal steps without divorcing your husband. In a moment when he is not angry, calmly inform him that the next time he physically assaults you or the kids, you are going to call the law and have him arrested. You must first resolve in your heart that you are willing to prosecute him and see him go to jail. I visit prisons every week. It is a great place to mull over the consequences of one’s deeds. And I have never met a prisoner that turned down a visit from anyone. Think about it, lady; it is a great time for writing love letters and sharing a three-minute romantic phone call once a week. Guys who get out of prison run straight home to their ladies and treat them wonderfully—for a while anyway.
If your abusing husband fully understands that you have the power of the law behind you, he will learn to keep his hands in his pockets. I am not suggesting you do this to be vindictive or to get even with him. It must be done in humility and love. If your husbands knows that you are the weaker vessel, desperately seeking your survival and that of the kids, and that you are not trying to punish him, but that you are going to stand by and continue to love him, that you are going to wait for him to get out of prison and then try to start over again, it may move his heart to fear if not to repentance. You say, he cannot help himself. Does he help himself when his peers—other men his own size—make him angry? Does he fly out of control and start hitting his boss or his employees? No? Then he has self-control when he must. The law can make it a must, which will allow you to continue with him and demonstrate your womanhood and win him to yourself and then to your God.
But if your husband has sexually molested the children, you should approach him with it. If he is truly repentant (not just exposed) and is willing to seek counseling, you may feel comfortable giving him an opportunity to prove himself, as long as you know the children are safe. If there is any thought that they are not safe, or if he is not repentant and willing to seek help, then go to the law and have him arrested. Stick by him, but testify against him in court. Have him do about 10 to 20 years, and by the time he gets out, you will have raised the kids, and you can be waiting for him with open arms of forgiveness and restitution. Will this glorify God? Forever. You ask, “What if he doesn’t repent even then?” Then you will be rewarded in heaven equal to the martyrs, and God will have something to rub in the Devil’s face. God hates divorce—always, forever, regardless, without exception.”
Emphasis mine. Spelling errors his.
Seriously, I rarely swear, but what the hell is this? I do mean hell…this abominable teaching comes straight from one of the lower circles of hell. The article this is pulled from is “Abusive Husband” by Debi Pearl, with a footnote by Michael himself. It’s verbatim, and is the totality of his advice to a woman who is being abused. It was originally published in September of 1999 and can be found on their website still. I won’t link to it, because I don’t believe in linking to anything that promotes abuse.
And when, WHEN, will the law finally make self-control, the cessation of violence toward children, a must?
(Next post? Mr. Pearl compares my Bible study to masturbation.)
This made me cry today…
and not in a good way. I don’t know how many people have been following the story of Kevin and Elizabeth Schatz, who are accused of murdering their 7 year old daughter Lydia, torturing their 11 year old, and more charges pending.
Oh yes…they murdered the 7 year old because she couldn’t pronounce the word “pulled”. That’s right – this self-professed Christian, homeschooling, adoptive parent family BEAT A GIRL TO DEATH.
That’s horrific.
Want to know what’s worse?
They did it to her in the name of Jesus and Micheal Pearl. Just in case any of my readers are confused, let me explain. You may not know who Mr. Pearl is – I’ll get to that – but I’m pretty sure you don’t know who their Jesus is either. Because that Jesus isn’t the same Jesus I serve, the one who clearly stated “Let the children come to me, and forbid them not” and “the kingdom of Heaven is of such as these” and “what you did unto the least of these my brethren, you did to me” and “unless you become as a little child, you shall in no wise enter the kingdom”.
This other Jesus? He’s not the one who was bruised for our iniquities, wounded for our transgressions, the one who bore the punishment for our peace. Nope, this one demands that the most childish of mistakes be punished with 1/4 inch plumbing line, bruising, slapping, tripping children into the lake, encouraging them to burn their hands on stoves, offering them their most favorite toy and then hitting them for reaching for it, pulling the hair of a nursing infant, placing them outdoors in cold weather and hosing them down full force with cold water for potty accidents, and other sadistic rituals. Of course, this is to be done while the parent smiles and explains that “Jesus” wants this. If you do it just right, you get the satisfaction of watching your 4 year old daughter “train” her dolls, of watching older children “train” siblings…that just gives you warm fuzzies all over. You can write a letter to Jesus’ henchman, Michael Pearl, and it may even get included in his website or child abuse manuals biblical parenting guides. If you’re REALLY successful…you wind up suffocating your adopted 4 year old son (RIP, Sean Paddock) or killing your adopted 7 year old daughter (Read about it here). Then we all get to read about it and watch it on the news.
Now, this spokeperson for Psycho-Psuedo-Jesus? Michael Pearl? I really, really, really don’t get why this ….person…. is so accepted in otherwise Christian circles. Especially homeschooling Christian circles. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s because he’s so very insidious and skilled at playing on fear. After all, many of us Christians who homeschool want to raise healthy, happy, productive members of society who love Jesus more than anything. Pearl offers a manual for how to do so, wrapped up in personal anecdotes and alternative medication suggestions and newsy, brag-ish, old man of the mountain style. I’ve read all of his books. I grew up in a home that um…well…let’s just say that my no-corporal-punishment stance as an adult and parent isn’t well accepted by my family of origin 
– and I found myself nodding at some of the rhetoric he used, and applauding his stance on other things (yes, I believe babies deserve mama’s milk…I believe that children have a right to be loved…I even like his ideas about chilling out about boy’s classroom education and letting them get some real-world experience.) But what those kernels of truth are embedded in…it’s like one of my friends so eloquently described it. Sure, I could dig through my cat’s litter box looking for Tootsie Rolls…but I’d have to paw through a lot of excrement to do so. And I sure wouldn’t want to eat the candy once I found it!
And since this guy is repping for a different master, of course, his ‘Christian’ theology is interesting, to say the least. I had to check and make sure it wasn’t April 1 when I read his diatribe on how God reveres the KJV Bible above Jesus. (I mean, I AGREED with him…I’m quite sure God does revere any version of the Bible above Psycho-Psuedo-Jesus. But I’m also pretty sure that wasn’t Mr. Pearl’s point.) Let’s just say there’s plenty of heretical points this guy makes in his theology. He even goes so far as to teach that he is above sin, and lives without ever sinning. Of course, rational humans also shudder at his exhortations to women…such as the one where he instructs a woman to welcome back the husband who molested their kids, because God hates divorce. (Yeah, maybe it’s just me. But I’m fairly certain that God hates child abuse a heckuva lot more than He does a woman fleeing to safety.)
I know that God can bring good out of the ashes of any sort of evil. I’m praying that the good that arises out of the torture and murder of this child is that people will finally realize the devastation and wrongness and anti-Christness of the Pearl’s “ministry”. And I’m hoping that maybe, this will be the case that forces them to stand trial along with the parents who espoused their “training” methods all the way to the point of murder.
Happy (U.S.) Thanksgiving! or, a Story of My World
Yes, I’ve lived in Canada for 12 years so far. Yes, we celebrate Thanksgiving in October, and each year so far I’ve managed to remember just in time and go buy a turkey and do dinner and muster up a thankful attitude.
It still feels foreign to me, perhaps because all of the other major holidays coincide, and this one sticks out. So I find myself each November, sitting here on U.S. Thanksgiving Day feeling….what? Not un-thankful, certainly, because I love my life here. But just a little bit…disoriented.
So today, I’m going to follow a lifelong tradition, and have my annual Thanksgiving celebration. No, I’m not talking about cooking for 3 days, eating way too much turkey, and having heartburn for a week. 
I’m talking about taking a few minutes to list what I’m thankful for.
Let’s see…what’s the rundown? If I were at one of the (plentiful!) church services of my youth, the expected list would be “I thank Jesus for my family, a roof over my head, a job, and most of all salvation amen” and then I’d plop down and look around me as everyone else rattled off variations on the same list. (Those of you who know what I mean, can I get an “Amen”? hmmm…old habits die hard!)
Today, I want to thank God for – are you ready for this? – a book. Specifically, SOS at Midnight, by Walker Tompkins, K6ATX. When I was 11 years old, a doctor friend of my father’s gave an entire series of books by this author to him, to pass on to my brother. I’m an avid reader, as are all of my siblings and many in my extended family, and so fresh books were devoured as soon as they came through the door. These were different, though – these were about ham radio and science and kids and even though they weren’t exactly classic literature, they intrigued me. My friend’s dad was a ham and when I accosted him at church and went on and on about my desire to get my license, he just smiled and told me about a class that would be starting soon. (Thanks, Mr. Boyd!)
I took the classes, made some friends, and most importantly, got my license. My Novice License, to be exact, and followed it shortly with an upgrade to Technician class so that I could get to 2 meters, the holy grail for me. See, phone privileges were limited in my circle, but radio? Since everyone could hear it, radio was ok. I get a giggle now looking back at how patient these people were with a bunch of kids taking over their repeaters, but I only recall one or two people getting grumpy about it. Most of them were friendly and welcoming and did nothing whatsoever to squash my enthusiasm. So I became KB5IZZ, a call sign I still hold. It let me know that my brain *could* do math and science, and moreover, that I had an affinity for it that went far beyond my serious dislike of Abeka math It’s a whole new world when you *want* to learn something, and I was highly motivated.
Enter the move to the Great White North, about a year after I was licensed. 13 years old, homeschooled, moving to rural Maine – I was sure life was over. And in a lot of ways, my life as I knew it had ceased to exist. For the very first time I was outside the circle I grew up in, and as sheltered as my existence still was, I was meeting new friends from all walks of life.
Thanks to my trusty handie-talkie, I soon met all the local hams. None of them, of course, were my age – but I did meet the granddaughter of a pair of hams that’s still a fantastic friend today (hey, Sharon! yes, you should get licensed sometime 
) I also met people who were beginning to combine computers with radio…oooh….a whole new world! I mean, we had SSTV (slow scan TV) but people were starting to make computers talk to each other! Wow! Enter the little Tandy 1000EX with the disc that showed an illustration of two computers with a line in between them – you could, one day, write something on your computer and send it to another and somebody could READ it?
So a few years passed in a little geeky blur of radio and computers – yes, I had friends then too, who were all remarkably tolerant of my utter geekiness and loved me anyway (Hey, Bren <3). Then I met some people from Canada on 2 meters (hey, Steph! Tell your parents I said thanks, again!) and we met each other in real life, too. They knew this guy, they were sure I should meet this guy, they insisted I should meet this guy, finally I agreed to meet this guy….
And so I met The Husband. Man meets geek, they fall in love….fast forward to ‘97, and we got married. As hard as it may be to fathom, for the first 3 years of our marriage, we couldn’t afford a computer and I seldom got on the air – marriage and work and just life in general got in the way. We got a computer in 2000, and I began entering the world of the internet to do research on a bunch of things. Yes, I remember a world pre-google, as shocking as that is. A world when you had to get very, very specific with key words and even then got 20 results.
A few more years….July of 2003 – I was *finally* pregnant for The Boy, and on bedrest. That’s when I seriously began thanking God for the internet – you just try laying on your left side for almost 17 weeks with nothing else to do! So I started poking around online, finding friends, and trying not to go out of my mind with boredom.
Once I had our son, I began going through all the mommy-boards out there, looking for advice and friendship during those endless hours of nursing-at-keyboard. I found a wonderful online home, Gentle Christian Mothers, and began to make friends. The moms there were so encouraging as I started to slowly try to freelance with my photography skills, doing what I could to contribute to our income now that I was a stay-at-home mom. Eventually, I needed a website, couldn’t afford one, and decided to try to make my own. Of course, those early efforts were pathetic!! – but they introduced me to a whole new world. Not too long after that point, I cold-called one of the administrators at GCM (hey, Crystal!) and said something along the lines of “hey! I’ve enjoyed playing Scrabble with you online. By the way, um, your website? I’m learning how to do them and I don’t know too much about it but I’d love to try to make yours better what do you think?” and she said “sure!” Um, really? Turns out, she had been praying for the right person to come along, God told her he would send someone who shared her vision, and I called her just in time. (I think that she surely must have, when she saw my rudimentary skills, began to doubt what she’d heard! But she was always encouraging 
) I knew I was in over my head, and so I called another GCM admin (Hey, Amamda!!) and asked for help. She oh-so-patiently put up with my incoherent phone calls at odd times, and pointed me in the right direction without ever getting annoyed – or at least she hid it well! One of the best things she did? “Hey, you should check out this thing called Wordpress, I think it may do what you need better than an HTML site” – so I joined Wordpress when it was at 1.5.
Wordpress was so awesome! I started learning more, and more, and there was such a supportive community behind it. I slowly moved into opening my own business and began doing sites for people. After a brief flirtation with Mimbo, I found Revolution by Brian Gardner. He patiently put up with my initial email inquiries, and I ended up buying into his developer’s pack. Over time, I became a moderator/approved designer on his forums, and my business began expanding. I’m now working full time for StudioPress, Brian’s new business, and making an actual living being a stay-at-home mom.
So…to sum up this incredibly long post: I’m thankful for the book that led to me getting my license that led to me making life-long friends that led to me meeting my husband that led to me having my child that led to me making more friends that led to me getting into computers that led to me having the best job I’ve ever had that’s led to me being able to help with putting a roof over our heads…and, of course, I’m thankful for the hand of God that’s held my life so securely from the very beginning.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends
O Holy Night…
This has to be one of my absolute favorite Christmas hymns – the lyrics give me chills (good ones!) no matter what time of year I hear it.
I grew up in a household that not only didn’t celebrate Christmas, we actively UNcelebrated it While we were encouraged never to tell someone’s child that Santa wasn’t real, we had all the lines down pat from a very early age. “No, *we* don’t celebrate Christmas.” “No thank you, please don’t purchase a gift.” “No, Santa doesn’t come to our house.” “No, we didn’t get anything for Christmas.” “No, we’re not sad about it.”
In all fairness, my parents did a huge Thanksgiving celebration, and our birthdays were always as lavish and extravagant as they could make them. When I was a teenager, we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with our church, prepping and then delivering meals to the local Meals on Wheels recipients (did you know that major holidays, people who get MoW are left a TV dinner the day before? 
That’s not right!)
But I was always schooled in the “Christmas is a pagan tradition” school of theology, the one that looked at all of the secular and pagan roots of the traditional celebrations, and declared that God is nowhere in them. My husband grew up with just as much anti-Christmas as I did, with the added layer of the Christmas tree that dried out and fell over when he was 7, and it being declared that it was a sign and portent from above – no more Christmas for him, either.
As an adult, with an ever-deepening appreciation for the Jewish roots of my faith, I’ve encountered those just as adamantly anti-Christmas as any people I grew up with. I do get the reasoning, I respect those whose convictions are different than my own, and I certainly believe there’s wide latitude for all of us to choose.
For my little family, though…we started out very, very tentatively when The Boy was 2. I picked up a few strings of lights, and hung them in our bedroom. I woke up around 2 am one morning, with The Boy babbling next to me. I listened, and he was looking at the lights and saying “wook at de wights! Fanks, Jedus, for da pwetty wights!” With that music ringing in my mama-ears, we decided that the next year, we would embrace Christmas.
This season is our 4th actively, deliberately, consciously choosing to celebrate the birth of our Saviour. Now – we celebrate it at other times of the year, as well – I happen to believe that He was born during the Feast of Tabernacles, God dwelling with mankind. But just as pagan origins haven’t deterred me from wearing my wedding band, or wearing white at my wedding, or using the names of the days of the week, or using currency with pagan symbols on it – neither has the knowledge that some of the traditions we are honoring are very, very ancient stopped me from using them to celebrate the Light of the world.
This year, we’ll be putting up a tree. We’re wrapping gifts and placing them under the tree, as well as giving some away to those less fortunate. We’re singing carols and listening to music and observing Advent. We’re using every tradition, every kitschy hallmark moment to teach The Boy about the child who was fully God and fully man, the One who came and sacrificed everything for us.
Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
And every time I hear the lyrics above, I’ll tear up as I think of the ways God has taught me to love, the chains He has broken, and the oppression that has ceased….
O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O’er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
ah, the joys of ‘relaxed’ schooling!
I’m never quite sure how to describe what we do. It’s not so much that we don’t keep school hours – it’s more like school hours never stop. We’re always teaching, always instructing, always showing The Boy new things. We let his current interests and obsessions lead the educational slant (Titanic? Ok, we’ll learn about hypothermia and hubris, about iceburgs and immigrants, about tragedy and time). But we’re forever teaching, teaching, teaching.
Sometimes, The Husband questions to make sure we’re doing all we should. His is a logical mind, one that wants to see quantifiable results. So I picked up a few first and second grade workbooks for The Boy, who is not-quite-six. They sat down together to go through them, and The Boy at once began to resist doing them. No fun, don’t want to, want to go play, this is boring.
Hmmm. Frankly, it’s not HIS need to do them, it’s DADDY’S need to see them done. So, capitalism to the rescue: “Hey, The Boy! I’ll pay you 25 cents for each sheet you do, and you can use it to buy whatever you want.”
REALLY?! How many do I need to do to earn the Lego I want?
“I don’t know, you go figure it out.”
So, he sat down and whipped through enough pages in the textbook to more than satisfy Daddy that he’s learned – and yeah, now he gets to go buy his Lego. And now we know that when our 5 year old says the second grade text book is boring, that’s because it IS. He already knows the material!
This is where I make a post
to check out the new, improved text editor on the site. It will let me set the font and preserves
line
breaks
now.
w00t!
Rebecca Diamond