The Trials of Our Yesterdays

I think of this topic,

“Trials of Our Yesterdays”

as a museum that will capture the abuse and oppression that many, many of us older Ex-2x2's went through as young people and as adult 2x2's in the "olden days" when the workers were king, we were their lowly servants, they said, "JUMP" and we said, "HOW HIGH!!"

The workers have lost their grip on the young up and coming 2x2's. All of the no-no's in our day are now or getting to be bye-bye's it would seem to me. The carefree attitude of the young 2x2’s speaks to the loss of worker control over their lives. So, with that backdrop, I feel we need a section on "VOT" that depicts "how it "REALLY" was in the "only way to heaven" and "how these experiences made us feel!"

So, come one, come all..............I would appreciate very much if you would write up an experience and share with us an event or something that stands out the most in your mind......an experience that you have never forgot and it hasn't even dulled in your mind from the passing of time....................either as an adult or a young child...........something the workers said, did or had someone do or say to you................maybe it was extremely painful and hurtful to you............or embarrassing......or they attacked your character through insults.......or you were intimidated, shunned, devalued, blamed, insulted, ridiculed, rejected, threatened, they got angry, told you that you would never amount to anything, scolded and humiliated in front of others, told you that you didn't profess good enough,............ lied about you....……divided your family…........treated your household possessions with disdain and the list goes on!!

You may E-mail your "experience" to me through VOT'S "Contact Us"!

Or, if you are a registered member, you may post your "experience" in the Comment Box at the end of this page.

Describe the experience and then speak to how this experience made you feel:

• The intensity of the discomfort so to speak.
• It can be long or short................
• There are "NO" rules.........
• There are "NO" unwritten rules, either <smile>.............
• Just write from your heart.............
• You can sign your name to what you write, use your initials or just say, "Name Withheld."

The Cherished Record Player

I feel fortunate to have got out, in my mid-teens.

I had to leave home to feel that I had the "room" to do that.

My mother, who was not B&R and had been hornswoggled into the group in her late teens, must have had  some doubts but I think she repressed them with all her might. Even  after John Hendy, the very worker who had molested me when I was little, took her out of the Wednesday night meeting rotation because he had discovered that my late father's cherished record player was still in the home--in her bedroom--with other items she stored there that didn't fit in the closet. They had quite a collection of records by the time he died, and there is no doubt both had enjoyed them very much—he was not  professing then, having left "the way" when I left home. (I did not know that until after I was married and living in another town.) That record player was still got out and set on the dining room table when my family came for a visit, even after Dad had died. There were lots of records that had been bought especially for the kids to enjoy.
Mother had Hendy and his companion staying in her home and went out briefly to shop one afternoon--probably getting some special goodies to serve to her honored guests. When she came back from shopping, she found her distinguished guests had departed.

Hendy had left a note saying there were to be no more meetings there until the phonograph had been discarded.

I do not know what she did with it—maybe it went to the dump. I know that when next we visited, we went to get it out, and it wasn't there, and we asked where it was, and she was evasive but said it was "gone."

Years later, I learned about the incident, and that my mother had wept for days, terribly wounded at having her home rejected as a meeting place and even a place workers would visit, and in anguish at the thought of discarding an item she associated with her darling, the man she had loved with all her heart and still mourned deeply.

What a cruel demand to make of this earnest, caring, devout woman!

When she lay near death, in and out of awareness, and I sat at her hospital bedside by the hour and even stayed all night, she would mutter about the truth or the Truth and so on, but I could not make much sense of it. But one day she sat bolt upright (which she had been unable to do) and looked around wildly, and saw me (I'm not sure she knew me) and cried out that she wanted to know about the truth! Wanted to know about the Truth!

And even as I tried to figure out what she meant and how to soothe her, she asked, with terrible desperation,

"Have I wasted my whole life?"

That incident has haunted me ever since.

Perhaps it is wrong of me, but I wish my sister had been there to hear. I don't know whether Mother ever spoke that way when Sis was there. Painful as it was to hear her anguished expression of doubt and regret, would it have loosened my sister's bonds, which keep her prisoner of a misplaced trust?

When people think of how hard it would be to tell someone who has devoted a lifetime to the 2X2, and whose boundaries are set by the 2X2 and lives shaped to it, and what an awful jolt it might be to realize much of what they have believed is hooey, there's another aspect to consider:

What if there are some latent doubts—so strongly repressed the 2X2 devotee is not quite aware of them or feels too guilty about to even acknowledge to him/herself?

What if those doubts burst forth upon the consciousness when the individual is terribly ill and possibly nearing death, too late to change anything?

What if at some point that individual even realizes that this was not the way to serve God, and that true harmony with God had been rejected in favor of something that did not please God?

Relationships with loved ones, maybe children, mates, siblings, etc., had been damaged because of having accepted the 2X2 as TRUTH, when it could not bear close examination? What horror one would feel, to face that thought, when it was too late to change anything!

I did not know about the beginnings; I did realize that many workers were ignorant, overbearing charlatans. I never mentioned it to my mother. And never since my childhood when I had protested about Hendy and been disbelieved and punished, had I tried to speak ill of the Way—I had only evaded its rules every way I could, learning deception and downright sneakiness in the process.

By Martha Knight - Written November, 18th, 2007

Measuring Girl’s Hems

In the mid 70's, I was 15 years old and at a young folks meeting held by worker Marion Thorburn & a young companion.  Inevitably, the question arose, 'how long should the hem of our dresses be?'
 
Marion told us our hems should be no more than 1" above our knees and then proceeded to have each girl present kneel in front of her.  She had a ruler in hand and measured each of our hems. Although she didn't berate any of us for having an unacceptable hem length, her actions certainly singled out the 'guilty' amongst us.  (I was one of the guilty and was humiliated.)
 
Later, when I shared this experience with my mom who sewed the majority of my clothes, mom said she would ensure my hems were the proper length and actually lowered the hems on many of my skirts/dresses.
 
The workers word was law in those days.

Name withheld

Misplaced Duty
 
Of the many regrets I have had in my long life, 84 years coming up next week, the one that haunts me most is that I put the workers, meeting in the home and convention duties, over taking on my mom's care in her latter days. I could have taken care of her for awhile making her entry into nursing home later than it was. I actually thought the aforementioned duties should come first!  I didn't honor my mom in the way Mark 7:10 mentions, instead I put my gift of care toward others over her.  I still weep over the thought. 
 
I might mention that my dad joined my mom in a nursing home in his 90's and lived until he was 96.

Dot Berry - December - 2007

Sadness of Heart

I wonder how often something like this occurs.  When my Mother was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, a senior Worker talked with us about how very important it was to have peace in the home.  It was clear he thought we should put her in a nursing home.   This opened up her bedroom and bath in addition to the extra bedroom the Workers had been using.  It is not easy to put a parent in a nursing facility, but it is doubly hard when you realize you could have delayed doing that by honoring them putting their welfare above religious duties.  I know the 2x2s hate the term religion, but it is a most rigid religion.
 
I didn't have the excuse that a B&R person would have of thinking they would go to hell if they left.  I just was so sanctimonious in thinking I was in a church that more closely fit the NT format. 
 
I cried a lot over seeing my Mother in a nursing home, but it took me many years before I woke up to the obvious control that had taken over our lives.  By the time we stopped going to meetings, my Mother was near death.  Even though my one daughter's family still went to meetings at that time, I told them I did not want any 2x2s at the funeral service.   How I wish I could have apologized to my Mother when she still would have understood.  There is still so much sadness in my heart as I remember.
 
Joan - December - 2007

“Cheap Woman - and a Clown”

Here is one instance that clearly stands out in my mind.

I was in my high school musical and we were doing "Camelot" in my senior year.  As with any type of drama a group puts on, there are rehearsals you have to attend.  I will never forget, we were practicing over and over and had to be there after school and all the kids were wearing pants and jeans because we had to do a lot of stage work and bending over, jumping up, etc., etc. 

Mom and Dad finally agreed that I could buy some jeans instead of the dress I had been wearing because pants were totally unacceptable.  I can still see the goofy things - the had a great big pink elephant on the leg of one of them - remember it was in the '70's!!!  I only bought them because they were cheap and, of course, I would never wear them again. 

One night I arrived home from practice, and there was my Dad's sister (a former worker herself!), Aunt Bernice, right by the back door when I came in.  Oh my gosh, she gave me the most awful look and proceeded to ask me what in the world I was wearing?!!  I told her they were jeans and that I was only wearing them because of the musical practice.  She proceeded to tell me how ashamed I should be of myself and that there was no excuse whatsoever for a professing girl to be wearing any type of pants ever.  Then, she noticed I had on some makeup - which one of my friends had put on me so when the stage lights hit us we did not look so ghost white!.  You would have thought I had stole something! 

She told me that I looked like a "cheap" woman and a "clown" and how could I do such a thing?  I don't think I ever wore the pants again and felt awful about being such a poor example of a professing young girl. 

To this day, I wear very little make-up and when I do put it on, I still hear the words stinging back at me about looking like a clown.  I find myself standing at the back door of our house still being admonished. 

Written by Esther (Beaber) Austin - December - 2007

MOMENT OF TRUTH
 
by Cherie (Berry) Kropp
 
In 1958, My parents, brother and I moved to Jackson, Mississippi.  I was 10 and my brother was 6. At that time, there was no convention in Mississippi. The friends went to Fosters, Alabama for convention.   However, the place my parents bought (a home plus 20 acres) was accepted as a suitable for building a convention. We moved to our country home in June 1958 and the first convention was held in October that same year.

When I was about 11 or 12, I was helping the late Miss Mable Linquist, one of the Mississippi sister workers.  She was getting a small tent ready for a few visiting brother workers. After we set up the same THREE beds in THREE different spots, and made them up THREE different times, Miss Mable decided she better make sure they were a comfortable height for praying.  So she dropped to her knees and put her elbows on the bed, clasp hands to her forehead in a prayer-like fashion.  Immediately, she declared, "Nope, this won't do. Won't do at all. All these beds will have to be raised."  Nothing would do, but we had to unmake the THREE beds AGAIN and lower them.  Trying to dissuade her, I said, "Oh, I don't think they're too tall!" She replied sharply, "Well, you're just a little girl. You don't know anything about conventions!"  Maybe not, but I was sure learning!  Her comment cut me to the quick and moved me to tears.  I ran off immediately to cry on my Mom's shoulder.  Later, Mable told mom that she had "used grace" in dealing with me.  She never apologized.  The elder of our meeting, Mr. Clarence, was also helping Mable move and remove the three beds.  I felt his sympathy, and he accurately predicted to my mother, "Be a long time before that little girl gets over that!"  Took about 25 years--that's all! 
 
In retrospect, I now see that Miss Mable really did me a HUGE favor.  >From that point on I recoiled and kept my distance from ALL workers. They drifted in and out of our home, but I never let any of them get close to me.  I didn't write letters to any of them, found them extremely boring, and was uneasy in their presence. I trusted only a couple of them. It was a no-win situation.  They had the power to criticize and find fault with me AND they would always be "right," because workers are always "right."  I grew up with an accurate picture of workers, and I never became a worker worshipper.

Before I reached my teenage years, I had concluded from personal observation that workers were only human; they were not on a higher plane than the friends, and were a far cry from being perfect or infallible. I had seen some express feelings, or act in ways that were, to my way of thinking, not particularly Godly. Workers and Saints alike were at times irritable, tactless, rude, thoughtless, bossy, jealous; got angry, offended and miffed; made mistakes, blunders, goofs and screwed up; were critical, scornful, judgmental, hurt other's feelings without apologizing; were afraid of other workers; and resented anyone challenging their word or authority.  Sometimes they gave good advice, and sometimes not so good.  In short, I learned they were no different from other human beings, something many friends do not realize today. 

Little did I realize how this viewpoint and insight would help me in later life.
 
Written by Cherie (Berry) Kropp - December - 2007

WHEN WORKERS RULED
 
When workers ruled, they had total, absolute power. Workers controlled every aspect of our lives.  This was true from the "beginning" until recently (as I understand). They decided what we could do and when we could do it. My parents had to get permission for me to learn a musical instrument, and which kind, and where I could play it. They had to approve all school and college plans, including which major I took and why.
 
The most painful experience happened when I was 18 during my first year of college. I befriended someone who had been divorced and the workers on both sides of my state joined forces to try to destroy me and bring me back into submission. They were completely in shock that their psychological abuse didn't work. I was stubborn--plus I moved clear across the country from Washington State to New Hampshire, to escape them.
 
What did the workers do? They sent out letters and patrols to wait for me behind pillars in the old dorm, and they would jump out of the darkness with messages that I was about to be killed, to die, to go to Hell, etc. They informed all the "saints" in the area around the college to ignore me on campus, at the grocery store, in classes, etc., and treat me as if I were invisible and they couldn't see me. (This has continued for more than 30 years--and is quite comical now in professional meetings to have close childhood friends whom I've run into all these years, still pretend that I'm not there and they don't recognize me.)
 
The most painful was when the Roach sisters (yes, that was their names!) with agreement of Mary Hasper told my folks to disown me and act as though I had died. They instructed my brother and sister to do the same. We had a small family (no family members on my father's side at all), so that virtually wiped out any close relatives.
 
I grieved over this situation and was in counseling for many, many years. My children were born without my parent's acknowledgment. They never received a gift or a birthday card from them. They grew up without grandparents because of the workers interference into our private lives.
 
Hopefully, this pattern of such control has stopped, or at least lessened. Parents need to take back control of their families and decisions affecting them.

Signed.............Rosalie L. Millar (Seattle, Washington)
January 3rd, 2008

The Wedding I Should Have Had

This morning after reading our cards we shared memories of our wedding day.  I share a compilation of events and customs of that day. At the end my story takes a twist.

First, in those days in the south it was best to keep weddings on the quiet side.  It was thought that the choice to get married was bypassing the best choice and that was going into the work.  In fact a worker told me not to mention to his older companion that I was getting married as he, the older worker, thought it almost a sin to do so.  Sin?  So how did
he arrive in this world, by the sin of marriage? 

Another worker quoted Paul in 1 Corinthians 7:28 to my mom.

Marriage was not a sin but there would be trouble in the flesh!  Nevertheless none of those things moved me to go into the work or the thought of trouble in the flesh!  My mother had told me that in choosing a husband to find one that was good to his mother and he would be good to me.  There was a 500 mile distance between my husband and his mom, that was a "fer piece in them days".:  One just didn't take off for Texas to see if a man was good to his mom.  See, I had met Raymond when he was in the service in AL., a neighboring state.  It all worked out though, because he brought her along with him the first time he came to seem me!  I'm not kidding!  Well, she was no problem at all, she and my mom clicked off from the get go. We were free to go out on our few dates.  AND yes, he was ever so good (attentive) to his mom.  I wasn't about to let him get away. This was March (special meeting time) and in July he came back for me.  Most of our dating was via letters.

Now you have the setting, on to the vows.

The workers didn't perform wedding ceremonies, one couldn't have a "false prophet" officiating either so ours was in the court house by the justice of peace.  He knew he was to do this vow thing, why in the thunder was he sitting there playing dominoes with a few of his codger cronies?

This was to be a quiet ceremony, witnessed by my 2 sisters and their husbands and my best friend.  I didn't invite anyone else, the fewer the better what with all the ta do about keeping marriage low key and NOW there were all these gawking geezers who sat in on our wedding with a front row view!

There was no real wedding dress (a grey suit pin striped suit with ruffled white blouse) no bouquet, AND NO RINGS!  Ah, no way should we be so worldly as to wear a ring, what ever it might mean in marriage, we should be different.  Bless my mom's heart she did have a wedding cake, not too elaborate, not tiered.  We had invited the rest of our small meeting folks over for the, the, the uh, supposedly reception.  There was none of that stuff. We did have some good wishes whispered in our ears, my little brother cried his heart out when we pulled away from our house in Ray's '35 Ford Coupe that he had paid $50 for before his stint in the army.  We had my cedar hope chest full of my belongings to start out housekeeping with.  It barely fit in the space behind the seats.

At that time most of these things really didn't bother me at all.  It was part of the package of life that I accepted and unwrapped without surprise.  This was our custom, keep unspotted from the world.  Now the twist is that today and every anniversary day I get angry at such hog wash and what I was denied simply because of rules and rule makers that
impose on themselves a denial of marriage and don't want anybody else tomarry either.

So, this morning I sat and ranted and raved a bit to my husband who heard me out but only remembered things like how much it rained that night as we drove toward Texas and running off the pavement as he simply could not see in the torrential rain and that it leaked around the windshield and soaked my feet. This rain rather scared me as there is a little poem, though I can't quote it, that says if it rains on the day of your wedding it meant that your married life would be full of tears!  WOW, (here comes that trouble in the flesh!)

If I had let myself, I would have cried this morning, yes, on our anniversary.  Anger can bind up one's tears, tears releases but I just seethed and then I settled a bit and we went about our day and in the evening we went out to eat at a new Chinese place advertised recently. Upon entering we only saw two small tables, and found it was mostly take
out. It was so hot in there that we came home with our celebration carry-out!  Shucks, all that was not worth me putting on my new casual duds!

I'm OK with it now, that is, I'm not angry.  I can't stay angry and be happy and I don't like headaches that result from anger sometimes.  It's strange too, I don't know who to be angry toward. I loved those workers and friends, they were/are deceived as I was. All this was passed down to them from generation to generation.  It's the system, that robbed me and many others of a normal life and the wedding I should have had.  No, I don't like the thought of the renewing of our vows, they've never been broken, and say,  I DID GET A WEDDING RING LATER!

Thanks to all of you who sent congrats today!

Still loving the man who was good to his mom and ME,

Dot Berry

7/2/2004

We were married in April 1969 and we had invited the head worker and his companion to our wedding. Of course, it was such a great honour for us that they accepted the invitation -  with the proviso that no more than 20 people were invited in total.  This included 2 other workers (sister in law and companion).  This became rather difficult with 16 invitations remaining as my husband has a large family. Another condition was that the wedding breakfast was to be a simple afternoon tea at my parents home. Although we are still happily married with 4 lovely sons, I still look back at my wedding day feeling rather disappointed for those restrictions to be place upon us for such a joyous occasion - it would have have been lovely to be allowed to invite close friends and relatives. Thankfully, in this day and age, weddings are whole lot different in the 2x2s.

Name Withheld

Posted on February 20, 2008