MK forum

How did the mission/your parents shut you down when you tried to talk about anything negative, MKs?

Did they just let your words fall to the ground and then change the subject?

Did they bring out their arsenal of scripture to show you why you were actually the problem instead of your abuser? (Forgive, obey, don't speak evil, etc.)

Or were you so disheartened by the fact that they SENT you to boarding school, already fully weighed down with all the scriptural reasons this was God's will for your life/family? Did the scripture prep for making boarding school seem like a positive and unavoidable situation also make it impossible for you to ever tell how you really felt about what it was really like?

Or did your abusers threats silence you? Did they threaten further abuse against you or a sibling if you talked?

Or was it their automatic esteem as adults and missionaries compared to your lowly status as a child that kept you compliant, i.e., did you instinctively know (or at least be convinced in your heart that) no one would believe you? If it was your word against uncles, did you already have good reason to believe he would win in the court of the mission/your family's support?

I wish I knew how they did it. The air was thick with it, whatever it was.

Certainly, I believe scripture was used to make us behave, and the idea of being a sacrifice for the gospel as a beautiful worthy thing was laid on me.
Perhaps the heaviness of all was that I ought not to disturb the tribal work, for that would prevent natives from "getting saved" and thus go straight to hell on my account. I didn't want that responsibility, so I behaved as my 'duty' in the whole missionary bit.

Inside me though, resentment grew. Quietly, quietly it grew.

For me, personally - it was just a normal reality. I believed our job as kids was to respect all adults without question. Any questioning by newcomer kids was quickly squelched and they were labelled as rebellious troublemakers. When i was treated unfairly or mistreated, I just internalized it under the assumption that adults are always right and I am an extremely unworthy person.
I guess I basically viewed myself as an extension, representation, and property of my parents - never as an individual with addressable needs, issues, or questions.
Saying anything would just embarrass my parents, make me a target as a troublemaker, and ruin all my efforts to put on a submissive, obedient, sanctimonious face. I was my own whitewashed tomb - raised by and among more polished whitewashed tombs.
It was the only world I had ever known. When babies are born with special needs & need extensive IV's, surgeries, wires, and tubes - some nurses try to help parents cope by saying "pain is all they've ever known, they don't know life isn't supposed to be painful b/c they have nothing to compare it to." I think that very aptly describes my experience. The warped, dysfunctional childhood I lived was all I'd ever known. I didn't ever believe or think things could be different b/c I had nothing to compare it to.

Boy, your feelings are not important. Only what I say God says is what counts. You cannot go by what you feel. That is true. What we feel is not necessarilly what God is telling us, but our feelings are important to us and to God. He is very concerned about what we feel. The great thing is the boundlessness of His grace and His love to us.

We had no voice, as children. It was, "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about.". We weren't ever allowed to miss church. If we misbehaved--we got the glaring of a lifetime, and the threat of punishment when we got home. If Dad wasn't happy, then Mom would be nervous and maybe cry, and we'd all try to make it better. I don't ever remember saying, "I don't want to go to Brazil", "I don't like it here". We made it clear that we didn't like our field director, as he had no patience, no love for us. He didn't ever want to hear us say anything, we were treated like his work force. But we had to attend a field prayer meeting every week which went on for hours, and weren't allowed to speak. It would have been validating if a parent said, "please treat my children more kindly." But they were intimidated too, as he was the boss, as they told us over and over.

In the space of one year, my two older brothers went to college, and two of us went to Via. Mom cried for an entire week. They brought the parrot into the dining room, to have company at meal times. Finally they bought a smaller house because it echoed too much. When we came home for the first time, we didn't know where we lived. We were scared to say anything bad about Via, and wouldn't be allowed to go back. The thought of going to an even smaller MK school was too depressing.

I don't think Mom ever got over us all leaving so fast. Dad did become much nicer to her because she was able to give him more attention with us gone.

This thread is heartbreaking. It should be required reading for all parents who are considering becoming missionaries, and for all missionaries who have been given the gift of children.

While we stand in judgement of the idolaters in the Old Testament times who threw their babies on the white-hot lap of their god to die, is it possible for a parent to idolize tribal missions so much that we turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the needs of our own children, and they feel that they were sacrificed for "the work", which was of more value to their parents than they themselves were?

How does a child ever recover from that?

AllBetter - it isn't funny, but it is - Truly our dads were cut from the same cloth!! I heard that phrase all the time!! "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" Geez

They didn't need to bring up Scripture with us, we already knew what they would say if we dared to disobey. We listened to Dad preach every sermon. In addition we had family devotions after supper. And he frequently got into theological debates for hours with other missionaries, just for the fun of it. We were so starved for entertainment that we read all of the adult books in the house too, from Dobson to commentaries. I started helping mom teach Sunday school at age 11, and was teaching on my own at age 13. When we went to Via, I was appalled that the Via kids didn't go to a Brazilian church, and I taught at Uncle Teds church. Then we started doing Bible studies with the local Brazilians using the miraculous Chronological system. It was fun trying to out spiritualize each other. What sucked was going to Bible college and knowing everything, having already read the books on the syllabuses on the field. So we were being prepared that whole time for being missionaries ourselves. But they didn't prepare us for the things that happened after Bible school : collectively we have dealt with demanding boyfriends, spouses that turned from God, rape, divorce, step-children, financial failure, isolation, and raising children with grandparents that are nowhere to be found, employment in hostile environments, floods, fires, children with disabilities, and a deep longing for community.

XYZ--was your dad in the army? Mine was in 6 years of the Reserves.

Allbetter, he was not in the army - unless you count the army of the United Saints of New Tribes.

XYZ----- clever.. United Saints of NTM

Can't help myself. The key phrases were all the same. "stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about" "If you mess up, I'll have to quit the ministry and we'll have to go home." As the only girl in the family,,,that was always directed at me. I think they should have been watching my brothers more closely...not me. "Every rule is there for a reason and is to be kept". And I kept them. "Always respect the adults". "No questions asked". That right there probably did the most harm. The ones that strayed at all were thrown out of school so we blindly followed and abuse was put in place and easily carried out. With the phrase, "Kids are to be seen and not heard". Abusers knew they were safe.

As for Bible School, So easy. I already know almost ever verse by heart and the papers were easy. The shock was seeing the real world on Daytona Beach. But my dad did prepare us for some of it, warning us of things that we would see and hear.