Hospital Ups and Downs

Over spring break Pip went down with strep throat.  Because of his probable mitochondrial disease he had extreme feeding intolerance and became dehydrated, hypoglycemic, and had wacky electrolytes.  He earned himself three full days in the hospital.

That episode really threw us for a loop.  After all, this was strep throat.  It's miserable, but it's a common childhood illness that's very treatable.  I asked both the doctor and nurses how often they get kids in the hospital with it.  I kept hearing "almost never."  When Pip is healthy we can almost forget he has anything going on.  Almost.  The feeding tube and leg braces make it a bit hard, but you get the idea.  He does really well.  This brought all sorts of fears racing through my Mommy mind.  Most of all, it made the fact that there is, in fact, something going on with his little body very real.

A few weeks after that we loaded up the car and trekked to Seattle to see Pip's mito specialist and have a repeat MRI and muscle biopsy done.  I asked if what we experienced with strep throat is something that may simply be an issue for Pip with "typical" childhood illnesses, and he said that yes, it might be.  Not what we wanted to hear, but something we need to be prepared for. 

We had a day to spend at the Pacific Science Center before our appointments and tests, which was so much fun!

We had a full day of appointments and learned that Seattle Children's has an anesthesiologist who specializes in mitochondrial diseases.  Pip's been under a few times, and he's never woken up so well.

Resting between appointments

Riding around between appointments at Seattle Childrens

Waiting to be called back for his MRI and muscle biopsy

In good news, Pip's MRI appears to be normal this time around!  If you'll recall, last year his brain MRI showed white matter damage of unkown molecular origin.  Basically, they were checking to see whether what was going on was degenerative.  But his brain actually myelinated!  We're so, so thankful!  Apparently this can happen with mitochondrial diseases.  His MRS also showed a tiny lactate spike.  We're still waiting to hear what, exactly, that means.  We have to wait another few weeks to hear about the muscle biopsy.

So, much uncertainty yet, but also much to be thankful for.

When the Waves Keep Coming

The waves keep rolling over me in crashing torrents.  I shake, I cry, I feel panic wash through me in ways that are new and frightening.  This life, this unexpected life that we've been given has given us opportunities to trust God in ways we never imagined--because we've hit places in which only God can reach us like never before, too.

Last week I was out with the boys, and we had an event that proved to be my emotional undoing.  We were, once again, at the local thrift store to search out free books between school and therapy.  The boys rushed to the toy and book section.  This is also always feeding time for Pip.  After assuring him that he would get to look at books, too, in just a minute, I lifted his shirt to connect his tube to his pump.  However, upon lifting his shirt, what I saw instead of his button, was simply a puckered hole in his abdomen where his button should have been.  Feelings of panic filled me so quickly that instinct took over.

These two pictures show what I should have seen upon lifting Pip's shirt--both without (above), and with (below) the dressing.

You see, it typically takes less than an hour for a G tube stoma to close enough to require going back into surgery to replace it.  We've had the tube fall out once before.  That time, when it was noticed we happened to be at the hospital.  It took the GI many, many minutes of sweat and uncertainty to get his tube back in.  Pip screamed and screamed in pain while I held his writhing little body down and cried and whispered what comfort I could in his ear.  When the tube finally went back in the doctor let out a huge sigh and said "wow.  That was close."  It isn't something you forget.

So, when I lifted Pip's shirt, and rather than seeing his button, I saw this, I panicked.

It had been two hours since I'd last fed him, and I had no idea when in those last two hours it had come out.  For all I knew, it was already too late.  So there, in the middle of the thrift store, I said "Oh God, no.  Boys!  We have to go to the hospital. Now!"

And even though they were in front of a display of toys and books they're allowed to play with, the boys moved--fast.

Once we got to the car I realized that I had two emergency kits--one in the diaper bag and one in the car.  I emptied both, saying "please, God, help!" all the while.  During this time one of the boys asked me why I was saying that.  I said something to the effect of "this is what praying sounds like when you really, really need God to help you!"

I found the Foley catheter, the one that the doctor tells you he hopes you'll never need, some lubricant, tore both open, lubed it up, kept crying (literally) to God, and it went in!  His stoma was open!

At that point what was in his stomach started pouring out the foley catheter all over the seat of the van and my clothes.  I found a diaper that was in the emergency kit and wrapped it around the end of the catheter to at least soak up the flow.  Then I picked up my phone, called Ryan at work, and cried.   He said he would leave work and meet me at home.  

The aftermath of having replaced Pip's tube on the living room floor.

Once home I was able to replace his button with a new one, and physically, all was well.

Emotionally, however, is a whole different story, and one I'm still sorting out.  Things have been stacking up for awhile.  I've been trying to get developmental disability services set up for both Abel and Pip.  This is the sort of process that makes you realize that getting support services is more theory than reality in many, many ways.  The red tape, bureaucracy, classes to be taken, and stacks and stacks of paperwork to complete are unreal.  And I broke after this incident.  I became a jittery, crying, shaking, illogical mess.

What is hardest for me to process is the fact that my faith is not gone.  It is very much here, and it is real.  God is here, and HE is real.  However, I always imagined, reading others' stories, that knowing His presence would feel somehow--I don't know, empowering, maybe?  But I am broken.  I'm so far beyond a place in which I can handle this.  The same week in which this happened, Mercy was home from school one day with her Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, and in our bed all night with it another.  And Abel is clever and witty and hilarious, but autism is also exhausting.  And these things don't rest.  Mercy can't just stop feeling like throwing up, and Abel can't control his neurological function any more than Pip can make his white matter regenerate.

We live in a fallen world.  And I am fallen, and falling.

There's beauty in the fact that our children get to see moments in which we are literally, literally, crying out to God, and then they see him answer.  That is not lost on us.  But just because beauty rises from ashes doesn't mean that the ashes aren't there with the accompanying burns and scars, or that when the waves come we don't inhale some water, enough water to cause some damage, before the storm subsides and the sunset paints glorious color on the horizon.

This Special Needs Mom's Daily Schedule

I've toyed with the idea of sharing what a day looks like at our house, and decided to just go for it.  This was Monday, and while this particular Monday had an extra appointment thrown in at the end, that isn't atypical.  There are the regular, recurring appointments, and then the frequent specialist visits we deal with.

5:30am: Ryan wakes up.  On Monday mornings he works from home from in the mornings because Pip goes to a therapeutic preschool program, where he gets PT, OT, and Speech/Feeding in a three hour drop off program.

6:30am: I wake up, forego a shower, and prep everything for the day as quickly as I can. This means packing lunches for 3 kids, making sure we have water, formula, diapers, extra tube supplies in case of an emergency, etc. ready for the day.  I also pack Pip's little backpack, which he takes with him, with a bottle, applesauce, and extra outfit, water, and anything else they want with him that week.  

7:30am: The kids all wake up.  Mercy (7) dresses herself, Gilead (6) needs several reminders, but gets it done in the end.  Abel (4), who is on the spectrum, needs maximal direction and still can't fasten pants or get his compression shirt on himself.  Once Pip is up we disconnect him from his feeding pump and tubes, change him, change the dressing at his tube site, and administer his meds.  Now that he's awake and I have access to his pump I prep it for his morning therapists.  This involves opening a new feeding back, loading it into his little backpack, priming formula through his pump, and making sure all of the settings are correct.  The process takes about 10 minutes.  In the meantime, Ryan puts Pip's car seat in his commuter car.

8:00am:  I leave to take Pip to his therapeutic preschool program.  Ryan is left to feed the other three, comb their hair, etc. and get them to school by 9:15.  This is not as easy as it sounds when you have a child on the spectrum who requires full guidance to get these things done.

9:15am: Ryan and I meet in the school parking lot to switch cars.  I go home for an hour and a half and madly do as many dishes and as much laundry as I can in an hour and a half.

Pip plays at the table during a feeding while I do dishes on a morning he doesn't have therapeutic preschool.

11:20am:  I pick Pip up from therapy/preschool and get updates from his speech/feeding, occupational, and physical therapists.  Then we head to Abel's preschool to pick him up at 12:00pm.  Next we get Gilead at 12:15pm.  The boys eat a packed lunch in the car on the way to therapy.

1:00pm:  Gilead and Abel have therapies until 2:30pm.

3:30pm: Mercy has a GI appointment to keep up on her trouble with neurogenic dysmotility, which we're told is likely a result of a mitochondrial disease.  I mention that she's also had several bouts of the "stomach flu" recently that have increased in intensity, but nobody else has caught.  An hour later we leave with a diagnosis of Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome and three new prescriptions.

5:30pm:  We get home.  I haven't been on top of things enough to have a month's worth of freezer meals or whatever stashed away in a long time, so I frantically try to think of what to feed my starving family.  I start in on a from-scratch stir fry.  It's both economically difficult and nutritionally difficult to eat pre-fab meals when you have food allergies in the house.  In the midst of preparing dinner Pip is due for a feed, so he needs a bottle, and then it needs to be poured into his pump and he needs to be set up with that.

6:30pm:  Ryan works on getting the kids ready for bed.  I work on yet more paperwork until I start reading to them at 8pm.  Most of the time Ryan does the reading while I switch to laundry or dishes and have a bit of "alone time."  By now, since it's the end of the day and everybody's tired, we're usually into meltdown time, too.  Those of you with children on the spectrum know that the meltdowns we're talking about aren't typical preschool meltdowns.  By the time the kids are in bed, we're sucked dry.

8:30pm:  The kids are in bed.  I do more paperwork.  Ryan works on dishes.  At 9pm we call it quits so that we can actually see one another a little bit before we go to bed.  Tomorrow we'll wake up and have a very similar day.  And we'll start it with dishes in the sink, laundry on the couch, and stuff on the table, because we quit at 9pm the night before, if all goes smoothly.  

This week our Saturday morning will consist of taking Mercy in to have fasting labs drawn to check for metabolic problems.  Seattle wants them before seeing her, and GI here wants them before starting her on preventative meds for cyclic vomiting syndrome.

The first week of every month we get our medical supply shipment.  Roughly a dozen boxes filled with formula, syringes, feeding bags, venting bags, extensions, etc.  It takes approximately 3 hours to properly put it all away.  Sometimes 4 by the time we break down the boxes.

This week alone we will have had GI, PT, OT, Speech, Feeding, and Developmental Disability appointments. Plus lots of phone calls.  I often get phone calls during other phone calls.  And I have three stacks of paperwork pending.

I lived life before special needs, and it was different.  Even when we were "busy," the pace was much, much slower.  As the parent of children with developmental and medical needs, there's a constant tension between meeting their needs and maximizing their potential and not going completely crazy.  I don't think I'm there yet...

On Looking Good

I sit down with yet another stack of paperwork, and a tear slips down my cheek.  I've already been to three appointments with my children today, one of which brought yet another diagnosis, and I just don't feel like I can do it anymore.

But we don't look like we're falling apart.  In fact, I hear at every turn that we look so good.  And I am thankful.  I shudder to think how overwhelming this would all be if Pip weren't at a baseline.   However, I'm apparently good at unintentionally looking more together than I actually am, which makes answering questions like "how are you?" feel like a huge dilemma.

When I'm asked how I am, there are two options before me.  I can go with "fine," like the majority of good Americans, and people can take from that what they will, or I can answer honestly with "tired," "overwhelmed," "scared," or whatever is most appropriate at the time.  Then I get to watch the listener wrestle with the obvious contradiction between how I look and what I just said. 

Life as a special needs mom is a unique kind of exhausting.  I read once that it isn't as easy as we make it look, and that sounds so....conceited.  However, I really believe it's true.  There's a lot that happens behind the scenes that nobody sees.  And quite frankly, when we aren't looking "good," we're so far beyond good we aren't out--unless we're at the hospital or some such.

We've adapted to tired, and overwhelmed, and just plain so exhausted we can't see past our tears.  I try to remember that all of the best intentions are being laid forth when I'm told I look "good."  That it doesn't invalidate anything that I'm feeling.  But I wonder if I'm this exhausted and feel like I'm accomplishing nothing, when will I ever do anything that matters?  I see other special needs moms being support brokers for other special needs families.  They're working a job.  Or getting another degree.  Or volunteering for church ministries.

I'm not doing any of that.  I'm surviving.  On minute, one hour, one day at a time.  From where I sit, this doesn't feel good.  It feels like failure.

A Long Diagnostic Road

As many families of children with complex medical issues can tell you, the road to diagnosis and treatment is often long and exhausting.  It's looking like ours will be no different.

We just returned from our second trip to see a neurologist who specializes in mitochondrial disorders at Seattle Children's Hospital.  The first trip the appointment was for Pip, and I flew with him.  This appointment was for Gilead, since he constantly complains of muscle pain and fatigue and disautonomic issues.  

This time we went as a family, which was quite the adventure.  Lots and lots of car time over four days with four young children.  The doctor is highly suspicious that Gilead and Pip both have a nuclear form of mitochondrial disease, meaning that they inherited a faulty gene from both Ryan and I.  Apparently there's a one in four chance of your children getting it if both parents carry a faulty gene.  However, given Abel's autism and Mercy's neurogenic dysmotility, motor delays, and motor ticks, we may have "won the jackpot" and have passed the genes on to all four of them.

Because Pip is the most involved, given his severe GI issues, his motor delays, the *leukoencephalopathy on his brain, and other quirks, the next step is to repeat the MRI of his brain and perform a muscle biopsy on him.  A repeat MRI will show us whether the leukoencephalopathy is progressing, and a muscle biopsy will hopefully show us whether there are damaged mitochondria and help identify DNA.  There are three drugs in the pipeline for mitochondrial diseases, but they're targeting them to specific DNA, which is why it's important to try to nail those down.

The MRI and muscle biopsy will be done in Seattle, which means another tip.  A longer one.  We'll meet with the anesthesia and surgery team on one day, and then he'll have the MRI and surgery the next.  Then we need to remain in the area for at least one day following the biopsy just to be sure there aren't any complications.  Mito kids are more prone to those.  I'm not sure how we're going to manage this.  Taking all of the kids would be hard, but I want Ryan with me.  However, childcare may be downright impossible if he did come.  We're just breathing and trying to trust God one day at a time.

Some of you may recall that since someone hit me on the interstate last year I've had a phobia of interstates since.  After successfully completing the trip to Seattle I was finally relaxing.  Then, about halfway home, we were hit on the interstate.  Again.  You can't make this stuff up.  It was incredibly ironic.  We were passing a vehicle that had spun into the median (a big, grassy one), and police were already there.  Traffic was slowing.  A lot.  Then the car in front of us suddenly pulled over.  We managed to stop on time, but the guy behind us didn't, and rear ended us.  

As it turns out, the car in front of us that pulled over was the news crew, pulling over to get footage of the accident--and in doing so caused another one.  Thankfully, we'd slowed enough everyone was okay.  We now need to replace all of our children's carseats and go through the hassle of a claim, but we're thankful God had his hand on us.

So, now we need to figure out when will be best to return to Seattle for more extensive testing, and this mommy needs to rest in God and not panic about logistics and potentials. 


*Leukencephalopathy means that Pip has white matter damage to his brain, that appears to be a leukodystrophy-like disease of an unknown molecular origin.

Leaving the CREC, Part 3

We said we'd explore why we thought the CREC had so many issues with abuse.  However, we've come to realize that we just aren't qualified to really, fully analyze that.  We do believe we have some pretty solid ideas, but we also aren't prepared for the kind of backlash that posting those could potentially bring.  Especially in light of the fact that there are many, many people in the CREC who we truly love.

Therefore, at this point, we are happy to be listening ears for those who need someone to talk to regarding their CREC experiences.  We know the pain is real.  We've experienced it.  We're also thankful to be in a place of hope and healing now.  We're thankful that God has delivered us into a church community that is full of grace and compassion and gospel love.  We'd love nothing more than the ability to extend that love to others who need it.

So here we stand.  We've been broken by our experiences, and forever changed.  We aren't fully healed yet.  Some things send me into almost PTSD type states.  However, slowly but surely we are being shown that Christ's love doesn't look the way we thought it did.  It is glorious, and we are made new in that revelation.

Leaving the CREC Part 2--The Job

Several years elapsed between that engagement and the series of events that transpired and opened our eyes to what was actually going on in the CREC.  We had now been married just over four years and had been through a period of extended unemployment.  Our third child was also born, and spent most of the first two weeks of his life in a NICU unit.  During that NICU stay, Ryan was offered a job at a small accounting firm on the other side of the state in which one of the partners was a deacon at the local CREC church.  One of the senior level staff members attended there as well.  To even further tie us in, I had known the pastor my entire life—literally since birth.  He was also the pastor who had married us.  Therefore, there was no question of where we would be attending church.  We were already part of the CREC, and we held great love and respect for the leader of this church in particular.

Everything started well at the new job.  At the end of the first three months, Ryan was even given a raise.  However, right after that, the partner from the church left the firm and the other church member took his place as partner. And that’s when things went south.

It was only a couple months after Ryan had started the position that the new partner – a prominent member of the church – came into Ryan’s windowless basement office and asked him a question. The firm had a very wealthy tax client in Spokane, and the partner needed a staff accountant to accompany her on a week-long trip to prepare this client’s taxes. Did Ryan want to go, or did he want the partner to ask one of the other staff accountants? Having just moved, and since I was freshly off a c-section, Ryan said that he would go if needed, but if it made no difference, he would rather one of the other staff accounts go because they had no families. This was the wrong answer. We later learned the question was a test of Ryan’s loyalty to firm, of his willingness to place work above family, and he had failed. It was the beginning of the end.

Soon after, as tax season went into full swing, Ryan began to run into ethical dilemmas while doing tax returns. He notices that tax breaks were being given to individuals who hadn’t really earned them. He had to work on projects that gave valuable tax incentivess to people who didn’t qualify for them.  And then, Ryan discovered the quirk in the internal messaging system. The messaging system was a primitive instant messaging system that the partners used to communicate with the staff accounts and each other when they were too busy to leave their offices. And all messages were archived. And that archive was accessible to everyone in case someone needed to reference old message while working on a project. And while searching this archive for a project, Ryan stumbled across something shocking: even though these messages were archived where everyone could see them, the partners used this system to talk about the performance of their staff. He learned that other staff accountants were about to be fired, and that Ryan himself was close to the chopping block. But most disturbing of all, she complained about me wanting Ryan home more during tax season.

Since this partner was a member of the church in good standing, Ryan felt it was time to go to the pastor. He explained his ethical dilemmas, as well as the poor treatment of fellow employees he witnessed on a daily basis. The pastor listened, and talked to the previous partner, who was still a deacon in the church. But the deacon believed the ethical issues were “gray areas.” And the problems of backroom gossip and poor treatment of employees were simply not addressed.

A few months later, in the middle of October, Ryan received another visit from the new partner. This time, she told him he would be let go at the end of the year, and that he needed to start looking for work elsewhere. This deal changed several times, ranging from one week, to “as much time as you need” and back again. The stress was unbearable, and one Sunday morning I cracked. The wife of the deacon who used to be a partner asked me how I was doing, and I lost it.  It was a mix between sobbing and yelling about how apparently cheating on taxes was a “gray” area, that lying about Ryan’s work ethic was just fine, and the pastor, who I thought cared, obviously didn’t.

Soon we, the partner, and her husband were called into a meeting with the pastor and the other two elders of the church.   I was so shaken up I was using my inhaler repeatedly.  The meeting mostly consisted of the pastor wanting everyone to exchange apologies and call it good.  Ryan repeated that he was thankful for the job multiple times.  However, it was mentioned several times that I was unsupportive of Ryan’s career, which floored me.  Ryan’s boss’s response was “well, this comes from your facebook page, Amber ‘well this sucks.’”  When I denied having said any such thing the pastor wouldn’t hear me out, and Ryan’s boss insisted that I had.  I was asked to apologize, which I did, and that ended it.  I was rather in shock over it.

When we got home I combed through my facebook page for at least two hours, looking for that incriminating post.  This must have been it, because it was the closest thing there was—“Nearly 50 degrees today! I got to enjoy a long walk with my husband. During tax season, an unexpected day off feels like a vacation. We can't get over how wonderful it is to rest and enjoy one another's company!”

Ryan continued meeting regularly with the pastor over the last few weeks of his employment with the firm. He continued to bring up ethical issues and the malicious gossip continuing to be archived in the company’s message system. And several of those messages continued to be about me. When Ryan told the pastor about this, the pastor told Ryan to stop talking to me about work. There was another member of the church who had had similar experiences working for the firm, and she valiantly came to our defense, but she too was told to stop talking, to “stop encouraging them (meaning us) in their sin.”

Thanksgiving came and went, and we tried one more time to talk to the pastor. He came to our house, and we pleaded with him to tell us why we were being thrown under the bus, why the new partner was being so ardently defended, and the answer we received from him was this: “I don’t have to explain my ministry to you.”

That was the end. We started attending another local church, only to find out that the CREC pastor had contacted the pastor of this new church out of “professional courtesy” to explain our situation. We had nowhere left to go.  And it was at that point that Ryan drafted the following letter which we sent to the elders of our former church (names have been removed):

Dear Elders of [the church],

We want you to know, first and foremost, that the decisions we've made and actions we've taken over the past few months have not been knee-jerk reactions. We have been working slowly and carefully through many issues regarding my former employment with [the firm] and our membership with [the church]. Alas, the two became inextricably tied.

The chief problem, as I see it, is that you and I have different ideas as to the nature of the crux of the matter.

Per my many conversations with [the pastor], here is what I think you believe to be the central problem. As you stated in your letter to us dated February 10, 2013, "the forgiveness extended from both parties was intended to lay a foundation for dealing with future issues." Therefore, since there has been no progress toward restoration, the forgiveness on our part must not have been genuine, or if it was at the time, it is no longer present. We have become bitter, in your view, and have refused to make amends, either with the [new partner] or with you, until there is some kind of justice dispensed, namely [the new partner] being required by the church to either secure my position with the firm or face a disciplinary action.

Here is what we believe to be the crux of the matter: Since the elders do not wish to acknowledge the long and ongoing mistreatment of employees at [the firm], particularly by [the new partner], and since they do not believe such treatment has been ongoing since our mid October meeting with the [the new partner] despite the evidence I have tried time and again to present, continuing to attend [the church] would be to unnecessarily subject ourselves to abuse. To put it simply, the elders believe no wrongdoing is taking place, and we are tired of being slapped in the face by the elders and by [the new partner]. We have turned the other cheek to no end, and we will continue to do so, but if staying away from [the church] will take us out of striking range, who can blame us?

However, as much grief as we have received from [the new partner], we have received more from [the pastor]. As he put it during one of the last times I spoke with him face-to-face, "I believe that you believe these things are happening." It was then I knew that nothing I could ever say in the matter would make a difference. I was, in his eyes, a "bitter" soul, and a man who is bitter is to be pitied, but not trusted.

"Bitterness" is a broad and powerful term. When someone is labeled as "bitter," every word spoken and action performed by that person is scrutinized and doubted. No real evidence is required to condemn a "bitter" person because no matter how much truth may fall from his lips, all that need be said is, "I wouldn't listen to him; he's a very bitter person." It is a stigma that is almost impossible to shake once applied, and it becomes a powerful weapon in the hands of those who have dealings with the person in question. It became such a weapon in the hands of [the new partner], a weapon handed to her in an email from [the pastor].

Throughout our dealings with [the pastor] regarding our current troubles, he always refrained from discussing his work or communications with [the new partner]. [The pastor] has always believed that we must deal with our own sins and leave [the new partner] to him. In general, that is a wise course of action. However, the reverse has not held true. While [the pastor] refused to discuss [the new partner’s] character with me, he did not offer me the same courtesy. Not only did [the pastor] describe me as "bitter" in an email to [the new partner], but he also discussed our reasons for leaving the church, the nature of his meetings with me, and which church we were currently attending.

Because the elders of the church refused to believe [the new partner] had done anything wrong, they failed to recognize the danger of giving her such personal information about myself and my family. I had warned [the pastor] many times of the malicious gossip spread throughout the firm by [the new partner], and it was no surprise to find information about our status with the church in the hands of others in the firm. I have attached a publicly archived memo from [the new partner to [another partner] in which she discusses an email from [the pastor] regarding our separation from [the church]. The message was filled with several exaggerations, false assumptions, and untruths, as is usually the case, and I won't bother to enumerate them.

Not long after our meeting with the [new partner] and the elders in mid October, [the new partner] resumed her malicious conversations with [another partner], all the while presenting a smiling face to me. Toward the end of my employment with the firm I was told I was being let go because the firm had over-hired, and I was given a positive letter of recommendation, yet her messages to [the other partner] told another story entirely. In fact, when the Employment Department called [the new partner] in particular to verify my status, she told them I had been fired (as opposed to being laid off), but could give no reasons as to why. Fortunately, the Employment Department determined I had been discharged without cause, and I am now receiving unemployment payments.

All of this to say that [the new partner] has been saying one thing and doing another since our troubles began. Most grievous has been her treatment of Amber. In our meeting with the [new partner] in mid October, [she] vehemently denied badmouthing Amber behind her back, and yet, in the attached memo you'll find yet another example of [the new partner] spreading gossip about my wife that is completely untrue. This is by far the worst thing [the new partner] has done to us, far worse than taking away my job. But the greatest wound we have received in this regard came not from [the new parter], but from the elders, when they assumed [the new partner’s] words were true despite the evidence speaking to the contrary, despite [the new partner’s] reputation in the community, and despite the lifelong relationship [the pastor] has had with Amber.

With the elders considering us guilty of bitterness, with the congregation knowing only of Amber's "outburst" and not the reasons behind it, and with [the new partner] keeping close track of our church attendance for her own ends, the Sabbath ceased to be a day of rest for us.

Those are the reasons we have left the church. Even the [other] church is no longer a haven for us as [the CREC pastor] has been in regular contact with [the new pastor]. Since the elders refuse to recognize [the new partner’s] duplicity, and because of the powerful stigma of bitterness that has been attached to us, we have no more desire to pursue the matter. We wish simply to be left alone. As for what to tell the members of [the CREC church], I don't believe it matters. So long as the elders refuse to hold [the new partner] accountable for her actions, thereby restoring our good names, it is impossible for anyone to know or accept the truth. So long as the elders' impressions of us continue to be based upon assumptions and not upon facts (we have never before "left" a church as [the CREC pastor] believed, and I had no "part-time accounting work" as of the writing of your letter), reconciliation simply is not possible, however much we wish for it.

We do not sit in our house stewing in our own bitterness. In fact, we don't think much about these issues anymore unless pressed to do so. We search for work, we enjoy our children, and we live our lives. You probably won't believe it, but we truly did forgive [the new partner] that night in October, and we still do.

We forgive you as well.

In Christ,

Ryan Myers, on behalf of the Myers family

We never received a response to the above letter. Two months later, we were in Boise, with Ryan starting a new job, a job that invalidated everything that the partners of the firm thought of him, a place where his abilities and work ethic quickly elevated him to management. 

Prior to our experiences, we had always heard stirrings.  Stories of people who had been somehow abused by church members, church leadership, or both.  However, the stories were always tidily explained away, and the term “bitter” was generally attached to the victim in the story.   They weren’t willing to forgive.  Weren’t submissive to church leadership.  Weren’t willing to reconcile.  It wasn’t until we were on the receiving end of those accusations that we realized that we needed to revisit what we knew about those other cases.  That the church we had committed ourselves to for the past several years was throwing people to the wolves.  And that we needed to rethink the theological tenets we thought we firmly believed that had gotten us to this place.

We’ll try to explore those tenets some more in part three.