Moving Forward

I did not grow up in church. In fact, if you would have told my classmates I’d end up in church, they’d probably burst into laughter. But I ended up at Together Church in little ol’ Yakima, WA, and I remember feeling like I could exhale for the first time. It was my safe place.

I served in that same church for 7 years and was hired on staff as Assistant to the Lead Pastor and his wife, who served as Executive Pastor, where I served for 1 year. My duties were never clearly explained to me, so I stepped in wherever I could. Laundry, school pick-up for their children, errands; I would do it all simply because I felt so honored that they would ask me to be their assistant.

I carried a lot of shame being a single mom learning to navigate dating and I sure did not feel anywhere qualified to work for a church.

To me, the staff members were like superheroes. It felt like what I had learned there, and the community of family I had found, saved my life.

During my time on staff, I worked a ton. I would often work late nights due to events in the evenings and I would be up extremely early to get a jump start on my duties. We held services on Saturdays and Sundays as well and I struggled to maintain friendships and balance a working mom agenda.

Our staff had a “whenever, wherever, however, I’m all in,” mentality which was often encouraged by our Senior pastor. While I didn’t have much experience in church staff, working there didn’t feel professional, it felt personal. We were all coming from messy histories and would work them out together. We often spent holidays and birthdays together and even had family photos scheduled. Our pastor referred to us as a family and communicated that environment in staff meetings and weekend messages.

I enjoyed that feeling of family. The pastors felt like my parents. They had been the first people I told I was pregnant to. They had counseled me through every mistake or success in my adulthood. They helped me buy a car and gave me advice on who to live with or where to live. I respected and trusted their advice over all others and that was often reinforced.

While I can confidently say that many times were happy, I can also confidently say that one event shattered the memory of those moments.

It’s hard to pinpoint where exactly dynamics changed or assume it was all disingenuous. Our pastor was very lovey; kissing our cheeks and always hugging us and complimenting us. It felt fatherly and, to be honest, I was grateful to have a father figure to protect me because I really longed for that.

My pastors included me in a lot of areas in their lives. My pastor would let me work in his office, he would ask my opinion on things as would his wife, they would encourage me, tell me when I looked pretty and correct me. When boys wanted to date me, they had to go through him. I hadn’t had that before. It created a space where I felt completely safe and trusted them — and only them.

I came from a pretty broken childhood and young adulthood, so I often felt uncomfortable with all the touchy-feely moments or compliments from him. I remember my pastors would reassure me that I didn’t know how to be loved. I remember my pastor would tell me “ I’m trying to teach you how to be loved.”

But at some point, the intent behind those actions did change. There was one instance where my pastor made inappropriate comments referring to having dreams about me. When he asked if I had dreams about him, I kept my head down and he seemed frustrated. I remember feeling so gross and confused. It’s not flattering when your hero looks at you sexually. That same conversation, I remember trying to change the subject multiple times, hoping to shift towards some sort of normalcy with no success. He continued toward me, hugging me and then attempting to grab me and pull me in, grabbing my backside sexually.

There wasn’t really a manual for how to politely turn your boss, pastor and father figure down but still maintain a relationship and keep your job. There just wasn’t. I remember just keeping my hands in an “X” across my chest and my head down, repeating the same thing over and over. He eventually stopped and I just wanted everything to go back to normal.

I didn’t tell many people. I felt ashamed and dirty and confused. It didn’t make sense how my pastor could see me as his daughter one day and a different way the next. I didn’t know if anyone would believe me. God was using him on platforms all around the world. His book was soon to be released, and it seemed to me that if God was using him to such big heights, that I must be the problem.

He texted me that afternoon apologizing for dishonoring me and I simply texted back “love you,” hoping to reassure him that we could just let it go. My lack of words upset him, and he continued the rest of the week, publicly in front of staff, calling me “2 words Mary” or only responding to my work-related questions in 2 words in order to punish me. It felt like a roller coaster, but I decided that “nothing happened,” and I could keep it to myself. I felt that I had protected him from doing something even more foolish, even though it really hurt me. I felt like I knew his character to be the opposite and, when he later cried and apologized, I chalked it up to a one-time poor moment. He said that he knew I would do anything for him and he took advantage of that.

I remember hearing in leadership teachings about the story of Noah in the bible, when he got drunk and one son covered and protected and one exposed and the one that covered was blessed. I felt like I could be the daughter that covers in a weak, out-of-character moment, no matter how much it hurt me.

He later told me that I had a “spirit of sexuality” on me and that I had caused the moment. He said, “I apologized to you for it because that’s who I am, but you need to own it. ‘my wife’ and I are here for you.” I didn’t really know any better, and so I believed him. I didn’t see it as him being manipulative or attempting to pass responsibility for his actions. I just thought that it made more sense.

I was so anxious every day. I felt as if I had gone from having to get my pastor off of me, to being in trouble for declining his advances, to dealing with his fit of sobbing apology to being scolded for it being my fault. All I wanted was my protective father figure back.

It did seem like he had returned for a brief time, although I can’t confidently say whether or not that is true. I had taken the compliments and counsel and parenting advice I had received even up until the day before April 29th as him and his wife pastoring me.

However, on April 29th, 2019, during a leadership event right before leaving for dinner, my pastor raped me in my office while most of our staff, teams and my family stood just outside the door.

He attempted to grab me before the event started, more aggressively than the previous time, and I felt like my feet were frozen still. No conversation led up to it. We were talking about what glasses I was going to buy for pete’s sake. What was happening didn’t make sense to me and my “please stop” whispers didn’t throw him off in the slightest. When he stopped, I remember feeling sick and knowing I had to quit. I felt heartbroken for the father relationship I had lost, I felt angry, and confused. I wondered if I truly had a spirit of sexuality on me and if I would ever get it off. During the event, he hugged me and apologized and asked if I was going to act weird around him. I told him I wouldn’t. My mom noticed something was wrong and called me immediately after the event. I told her I wasn’t okay, when someone walked by and said pastor was looking for me in my office, I quickly got off the phone.

I walked in expecting the crying fits of apologies that I had previously experienced following his advances. Instead he began to grab me again more aggressively and unstable than earlier that night. He turned me around. It felt too quick for my brain to catch what was happening. I felt stunned and frozen but tried my best to stop him by spinning around, waving my hands, and mustering my voice to say “Please don’t do this, you’ll regret it.” He turned me back around. I remember looking at my shoes and noticing a stain on the suede, then hearing the sound of his belt buckle and knowing it was over. He had raped me.

Afterwards he felt bad for “cheating on his wife.” I was in shock. I remember whispering “I quit,” which he said was stupid.

This nonconsensual and horribly traumatic event left me unable to function. I called my mom and she picked me up at a gas station.

I remember feeling so disoriented and like my skin was crawling. She assisted me the best a mom in that position could. I remember being scared. Too scared to go to the police or a hospital or to staff members. If the person I trusted the most could do that, how could I trust anyone else?

Our church didn’t exactly have an HR department. When it came to reporting, that went through the executive pastor, which happened to be his wife. I felt hopeless and like I had nowhere to turn.

My mom ended up taking me to a therapist’s house who called a trauma therapist to meet me the next day. We developed a plan for me to be able to quit without throwing the pastor’s life away publicly because I truly wanted his family to be okay. I would spend the remainder of the week at home and making sure that their son’s birthday would still go well, even though I was leaving. However, 4 days later my pastor confessed to “an affair.”

I didn’t have any energy to argue otherwise. I didn’t think it was my place to confess my pastor’s sins. I was in shock and unable to even take care of myself. I remember showering for as long as I could multiple times a day. I had to throw whatever energy I could muster into healing and taking care of my daughter.

I moved to Spokane, WA because it was hard to heal and defend myself at the same time, since my pastor had created and reinforced a bubble where he and his wife were parental figures that I relied on and solely trusted, then distorted that and abused it in the worst possible way. I was wounded in the safest place I knew by the safest person I knew. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to be okay.

I knew I needed a community and I wanted my daughter in church, but I didn’t ever think my relationship with God would be the same. I didn’t understand why He would put me in that position. That job felt like the greatest blessing.

Coming forward to my my new pastors happened over a period of time. I didn’t know if I would be believed or even given the time of day but I was relieved to be met with love every step of the way.

I hesitated to tell the truth because I understand the ramifications of these statements. However, it’s been two years too long.

Through intense therapy, great community and encouragement from my new pastors, I realized that man failed me big time, but God never did. It broke His heart too. I saw all the moments where He protected me, the people He brought me and the doors He opened for me. I wish I could list every single one.

Although this wounded me, and I will probably never forget it, I am determined to see God use it. I’m determined to raise my daughter to love the church, for what it’s meant to be. To know the difference between honoring God and being loyal to man, and to never carry shame that’s not hers to carry. I am just so determined to see God use it for good.

Moving forward, my eyes are fixed on building God’s Church and His people. I understand now the difference between honoring God and putting man above God. I know there are many other steps to take towards healing but my intent in writing this is not only to tell the truth but to let God use it for His glory and His good. Through this, I hope to see His will done in my life and in the lives of others around me well beyond this moment.

“And I am certain the God, who began the good work within you, will continue His work until it is finally finished on the day of Jesus Christ.” -Philippians 1:6