NO EMPATHY:

HOW I REALIZED HIGH ROCK CHURCH WAS PART OF A SYSTEM WHICH WILLFULLY NEGLECTED THOSE WITH REAL NEEDS

• Author: K.S. | Church Member
• Attended: High Rock Church, Bloomington, IN | 2014-2021
• This story was published April, 2022

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A NOTE ON MY IDENTITY:

I chose not to list my full name due to my profession and my work in the community. I work in a job where it is important to set up boundaries between personal and professional, meaning my personal life shouldn’t be known in certain professional circles. I am not ashamed by my experiences. If you figure out who I am, I HOPE you reach out and ask questions and talk.

If you are still at High Rock or a Network church, I HOPE you figure out who I am. If you are reading my story and have been through similar and see some of the same patterns, the biggest thing I hope is that you realize it is NOT all in your head. The stories on the Leaving the Network site and related sub-reddit aren’t just random, disconnected people telling so-called “exaggerated” stories about churches that aren’t yours. This is real, this happened, and my story is not nearly as intense as most. I didn’t experience any large abusive events, as many HAVE. Just years of small, disjointed moments, a multitude of micro-aggressions, eight years of distress and shame that I thought was all in my head. Which I have been realizing over the last several months is…STILL. NOT. OKAY. Especially in a church.

HOW I FOUND THE NETWORK

I will start by saying that my experiences at High Rock, the Network Church in Bloomington, Indiana, are just eight years in a story of Complex Trauma (or C-PTSD) that is now thirty-two years in the making, with the first twenty years of that story weaving trauma and religion together in twisted, perplexing ways that for years made me afraid to even set foot in a church again. Religious delusions, and as a result spiritual abuse, are just one component of my mother’s mental illness and my own upbringing.

When I first set foot in High Rock, my relationship with God was already deep and beautiful, although sometimes I still struggled to believe that He could possibly love me—I came carrying a lot of baggage. You’ll see some of this pop up in some of the High Rock memories I list, as a lot of old and new trauma blends together. I healed a lot in the eight years I was at High Rock, most definitely, but I know without a doubt that it was all thanks due to God and a lot of hard work of my own, including going to therapy and ultimately going no-contact with my abusive mother (despite the advice that I was continually given by church leadership, specifically during a meeting with Scott Joseph that I will describe later on).

I remember first going to services on Sunday and being amazed at how it seemed like everyone already knew everyone—over time I realized that much of this was love-bombing.

I started coming to High Rock in 2014, and many of my early memories are a blur. I was working 50-60 hours a week while going to graduate school in a completely new town, desperate to make friends and positive connections. I remember truly loving my small group, which my then-boyfriend, now-husband introduced me to; to this day I maintain genuine friendships with some of those people, the majority of which no longer go to Network churches. I think that first small group is what kept me looking for more, because I knew what my experiences HAD been like, because I knew genuine relationships and trust were possible—little did I know that my first group leader, who left the church fairly early on, was purposefully keeping us safe from some of the issues going on behind the scenes.

I remember first going to services on Sunday and being amazed at how it seemed like everyone already knew everyone—over time I realized that much of this was love-bombing. I remember always feeling so awkward, left standing by myself at the end of service, with no one ever showing any interest in meeting me (aside from a few short hello’s from small group members and short introductions from people my boyfriend wanted me to meet who often quickly left to meet other new people). I now recognize it is because I did not at all fit the mold—I am a tomboy, on the lower socio-economic end of the spectrum in cheap jeans and t-shirts, at the time had a punk hairstyle, and have several tattoos. Not to mention I was an outsider as romantic partner to someone (my then-boyfriend, now-husband) who had been going to the church for three years already (and, at the time, was oblivious to the fact that only intra-church relationships are encouraged for members).

I WAS ENCOURAGED TO BE VULNERABLE, BUT THERE WAS NO RECIPROCATION

One of the biggest things I remember from early on—and continually, for that matter, up until the point we left, is the refrain of someone telling me to share more about myself, the idea that if I wanted to get connected then I had to be vulnerable. I don’t really know what made me reach out to set up a meeting with Scott Joseph, the head pastor. I think at that point, in 2015, I was just so desperate to feel at home at High Rock, and this seemed like the next step.

This is when all of the red flags should have gone off, but I was at the point in my trauma recovery, having been just been diagnosed with C-PTSD the year before, and really starting to accept some of the hardest parts of my childhood that I had blacked out for a long time. Looking back now and replaying the moments in my head, I see how unprepared Scott was to talk to anyone about their trauma, how his lack of clinical and pastoral training not only left him unprepared but could have caused harm to those under his counsel. I remember sitting in his office and pouring out details of my life, what I call now “story-vomiting” my trauma for what felt like at least an hour, as he sat in front of me not saying a word. I don’t know whether he was in shock, fear, disgust or bored, who knows, probably all of the above. Someone trained in working with mental health and trauma would have known how to listen therapeutically; to step in and provide reassurance and guidance. I remember feeling this huge sense of awareness that I was making him uncomfortable, which just made things worse. Maybe it is not the way he meant it to happen, but that was the first of many experiences I have of being re-traumatized in an attempt to “share my story” in order to “connect”.

My meeting with Scott Joseph was the first of many moments where I felt the pressure to share and be vulnerable with no reciprocation, evidence of an unhealthy power dynamic rather than a healthy relationship.

That was the first of many experiences I have of being re-traumatized in an attempt to “share my story” in order to “connect”.

This was the first of many moments where I felt the pressure to share and be vulnerable with no reciprocation, evidence of an unhealthy power dynamic rather than a healthy relationship. I remember him thanking me for sharing and then asking if I wanted prayer. An empathetic response and prayer were what I wanted most in the moment. But what did he pray for? Emotional healing, comfort, connection, peace? No. He prayed for a fresh start in my relationship with my abusive mother, for a couple of minutes. Then he spent fifteen minutes praying for me to get connected in a new small group. I left that meeting very shook and confused, telling myself to shrug it off because Scott just hadn’t understood, and that wasn’t his fault. At that point in my life, I didn’t think I deserved to be understood. There was no follow-up meeting. There wasn’t even a check-in to make sure I was okay. The next time Scott and I talked anything more than a simple ‘hi’ was a couple of years later.  At the time I blamed myself for not reaching out to him, but now I realize that that was his job and duty as a pastor.

WHAT WE EXPERIENCED AS MEMBERS OF HIGH ROCK CHURCH

In 2017, a few years after I started going to High Rock, my husband and I became engaged, I finished graduate school, and we decided that we would be staying in Bloomington, Indiana after his graduation. I had decided to become a member. I was actually fairly excited to do the customary meeting with leadership, as Scott had barely even said hi to me since my initial meeting with him and I felt this could be a great way to get known and connected. Little did I know it was actually much more of an interview to prove I was worthy of becoming a member. Even though my soon-to-be husband had been a member for several years and I had been attending for a couple years already. It was a fairly quick and short interview, fortunately—with an overseer because I wasn’t able to arrange my work schedule to meet early enough before the pastors got off work. But I have a memory from that meeting that I shut down for years until recently.

One of the requirements for membership was that I either agree to be baptized soon at High Rock or that I identify when I had been baptized that would qualify under their conditions.

One of the requirements for membership was that I either agree to be baptized soon at High Rock or that I identify when I had been baptized that would qualify under their conditions.

It wasn’t just about baptism for me. Baptism is a trigger for me. Much of my mother’s abuse was religious-fueled. We changed churches multiple times a year (except for one we went to for almost three years), and many of the churches we went to, my mother craved the attention that going up for baptism would bring. Sometimes we didn’t stay long enough, but if we did, it was always either myself or my mother and I who would be baptized. I have been baptized many, many times. God saved me when I was seventeen, and I had been baptized several times since then—never by choice. I stated that I had been baptized already, but when asked when and where I hesitated. This, understandably, was confusing, but I was not prepared at that moment to explain, so I simply stated that I did not wish to be baptized again. They expressed that they didn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to be baptized as a network believer. I had been a Christian for over a decade at this point and had made peace with God that I did not need to be baptized AGAIN, because I am pretty sure that a gracious Father doesn’t want someone to go through re-traumatization just for the sake of a ritual that had been stripped of meaning by that point. The overseer almost denied me membership but agreed that I COULD become a member but that they would continually encourage me to get baptized to keep my membership. This stands in stark comparison to a friend of mine and my husband’s (also a Christian), who the church refused to baptize because he “doesn’t fit the mold”—but that is his story to tell, and not ours.

HIGH ROCK CHURH'S SELF-FOCUSED PRIORITIES ON MONEY

After graduate school, there was a period of a couple months where I was without work, as I spent my time moving apartments and applying for jobs in my field. During this time I spent a few weeks volunteering in the church office. I remember distinctly the training on answering phone calls, specifically on how to answer calls from community members and community service representatives. I was told to let callers know that we did not have financial resources to help, that all of our financial resources were directed towards our members who were in need of help. At the time, I accepted that because I assumed it was the truth. It hurt because I had dreams of being part of a church that could help the community, but I was told someday we would be there, and so I swallowed my emotions.

While volunteering in the office I was told to let callers know that High Rock Church did not have financial resources to help the community, that all of our financial resources were directed towards our members who were in need of help

But to my knowledge there was no portion of tithes and offerings set aside to help church members.

Over time I started to see that High Rock Church spent so much money on unnecessary things—on coffee team, I saw how we spent over a thousand dollars a year on coffee, much of which was often wasted—when there was no portion of tithes and offerings set aside to help church members. I remember asking Scott for help buying a bus pass for an attendee who wanted to escape an abusive household (because I was ten dollars short in my wallet), only to be told that wasn’t something the church did, it was up to members to cover that if they chose to. Granted, my husband and I have had friends within the church gift money to us in times of great need, and we have done the same to our friends at times. But those are the amazing people stuck within a broken system of greed and self-service.

Our last year of attendance, my husband and I were fundraising in order to adopt our child (which, if you don’t know, costs approximately $20,000). We were very careful and discreet about this, keeping fundraising activity to our social media as well as conversations with friends; we made a point to make sure people understood we didn’t want anyone to feel pressured or guilty about not giving. Most people knew we were adopting, but the majority of people in the church (as far as we knew) didn’t know we were fundraising.

During one Team High Rock, about two months into the fundraising process, it was mentioned how, specifically, “fundraising for adoption” was something church members “should not do” because it was in line with multi-level marketing and leads to unhealthy relationships within the church. When we asked Scott if we had done anything wrong, he stated that he “wasn’t talking about us,” even though we were the only couple known to be adopting in the church.

SCOTT JOSEPH'S SERMON OVERSHADOWED MY WEDDING CEREMONY

One of the most frustrating memories from High Rock is actually our wedding day (although it is also a great memory in many ways), February 3, 2018. Before our wedding, my husband and I met with Scott to discuss the wedding ceremony and what he would talk about. Since I was very young, my mother had always told me I should never have children. My mother had always engrained in me that I shouldn’t have birth children because of my chronic health conditions and her certainty (which she said was from God) that I would die in childbirth, and that I shouldn’t have children at all because, in her opinion, I was not emotionally stable enough to be a parent. Being a parent is something that took a lot of thinking, healing, and therapy to really realize I wanted and, even more, to realize I would be good at. It was something we explicitly did NOT want mentioned in our wedding service because my mother would be at the wedding, and it was bound to lead to conflict and meaningless pain for everyone.

While delivering our wedding sermon, Scott Joseph spoke first about our loyalty to the church and us being good members, while the rest was about God blessing us with children, the church supporting us as future parents, and everything we had explicitly asked him to not focus on.

We realize that Scott either did not listen, did not care, thought he knew better, or all of the above.

We made a point to try to explain this to Scott and offered other things for him to talk about. We thought that he heard us. And yet, the first part of the wedding sermon was about our loyalty to the church and us being good members, while the rest was about God blessing us with children, the church supporting us as future parents, and everything we had asked him to not focus on. We understood that that is natural territory for a wedding ceremony, and at the time we shrugged it off as him having a lot on his mind, but now we realize that it was either him not listening, not caring, thinking he knew better, or all of the above. Ultimately, this sermon and the fight that it led to with my mother were one of the major catalysts that led to ending my relationship with my mother in order to move towards adoption. I guess in a strange way God worked through it, but I still cringe when my friends from out of town joke about the “baby-sermon” at our wedding.

HIGH ROCK CHURCH DID NOT PROPERLY SUPPORT INDIVIDUALS WITH MENTAL HEALTH NEEDS OR DISABILITIES

Over the years, one of the things we realized High Rock always struggled with was properly helping and supporting individuals with mental health needs and/or disabilities. Until seeing the Leaving the Network site and other stories, we thought it was just due to lack of experience and ignorance; now we know it is willful disregard. My husband and I both have mental illnesses, and we have always been open about it. We both work as therapists with individuals with disabilities and mental illnesses.

We thought High Rock Church didn't support individuals with mental health needs and/or disabilities because of lack of experience and ignorance; now we know it was willful disregard.

After having several friends come to us, discussing unhealthy experiences at High Rock, particularly due to people reacting to them and responding to them in unhelpful and even harmful ways, my husband and I reached out to Scott in 2019 about providing support and training to the church related to mental health awareness and informed response to those in need. We met up for lunch and discussed the relationship between mental health and Christianity as well as Christ-like responses to individuals with mental health needs. As a result of this meeting, which Scott agreed we should do, we put together a mental health training and a list of resources: about diagnoses, resources, how to refer people to seek professional support, how to listen well, and more. My husband and I spent several weeks, several hours a week, even while working 70 to 80 hours a week, compiling this training; we were very excited about the way God might grow the church and use this knowledge to improve the church’s response to individuals within the church and who may join in the future. Then we were told, seemingly randomly, that would be handing over all of this to Scott, who would be training the group leaders and simply handing out our resource list to them. To this day, we don’t know if anything happened with the training. As far as disability training, that is something we had been asking to be able to do for years, which was never met with any interest, although we were always told maybe someday. While for years we thought we could be a positive force for growth and learning, I think now we were just a squeaky wheel that needed to be appeased on occasion.

For years we thought we could be a positive force for growth and learning because of our professional knowledge in the mental health field. I think now we were just a squeaky wheel that needed to be appeased on occasion.

NO EMPATHY FOR THOSE MOST AFFECTED BY COVID AND RACISM

2020 was a difficult year in many ways for everyone. I think, had it been less difficult for us in other ways, maybe we would have seen how much our life at High Rock was falling apart. But we were overwhelmed to the point where our response to everything was to not question it but to just shrug and keep on trucking. We were both working almost 80 hour weeks in the mental health field, daily risking contracting Covid. I am type 1 diabetic, so my life was daily at risk, as I stood at 10% chance of dying should I have contracted Covid prior to getting vaccinated. Our company (we both work for the same company) was endlessly short staffed, and our stress level was at maximum. Meanwhile, people at church hung out continually in-person outside of group and complained about virtual-only options, even though Bloomington was still calling for people to limit in-person contact and travel to essential personal only during this time.

In 2020 church leaders frequently reminded us how important it was to return to church, how we needed to not let fear control our lives. We worried every day about bringing Covid to one of our medically-fragile clients, many of whom get hospitalized after common illnesses, let alone Covid.

We worried every day about bringing Covid to one of our medically-fragile clients, many of whom get hospitalized after common illnesses, let alone Covid. We were frequently reminded how important it was to return to church, how we needed to not let fear control our lives.

One Sunday in Fall 2020, we finally felt so guilty for not going to church that we came back; Scott thanked us for coming, and without hesitation I told him I had made peace with my 10% chance of dying, and he thanked me for coming again. We went over a year without seeing my husband’s family (all whom are medically fragile), helped clients grieve family members and friends who died from Covid. While others at High Rock seemed to go on with their lives, we did nothing but work and come home, other than go to church. Boredom due to working from home was the biggest topic of church conversation, and little conversation was devoted to us and the other church members in health care and service fields who were diving head-first into the Covid crisis. And every time I went to church I felt guilty for “being anxious” about the real-life risk of Covid; and then on Monday, I felt guilty for risking my clients’ lives the previous day at church.

2020 was the year that showed me the thing High Rock was missing at its foundation: empathy.

2020 was the year that showed me the thing High Rock was missing at its foundation: empathy. Not saying the people are without empathy. But the system is, as is the leadership that guides it. The lack of empathy did not extend only to Covid and people’s experiences with Covid, but also to the other pandemic that has been taking place in America since its very beginnings: racism.

2020 was a year where America really opened its eyes to racial injustice and violence that had been going on beneath the mainstream radar. And yet neither my husband nor myself (who are an interracial couple) remember ANY conversation about any of this, no one checking in to see if we felt safe, physically or emotionally, no word from the pulpit about how to love each other in a world filled with violence and hate. The only thing we remember is condemnation of social justice as a “distraction” and a “false gospel” when focused on too much.

Neither my husband nor myself (who are an interracial couple) remember ANY conversation about any of this, no one checking in to see if we felt safe, physically or emotionally, no word from the pulpit about how to love each other in a world filled with violence and hate.

My husband and I felt ashamed about sharing Black Lives Matter information on our social media for fear we would be criticized for being too much into social justice. Meanwhile, we also anxiously planned a drive down to Texas to see my sister.  The couple people we told in the church thought we were overreacting when we decided not to because we decided it wasn’t safe to drive cross-country, particularly across the Southern U.S. as an interracial couple, at this point. When we were denied our application to be foster parents for what we suspect was racist reasons (there is only one non-white foster couple in the whole county where we live), we were met more with incredulity than indignation—“surely, that can’t be the reason,” rather than “that is so wrong”. But in order to accept and address the racism of the world, one has to be willing to accept and address the racism close-by and inside as well.

We did hear racism talked about as a sin, but there was no investigation into what racism actually looks like—it is not just hate killings, racial slurs, and burning crosses, but is also microaggressions, tokenism, stereotyping, and all the other actions that a so-called “multi-ethnic” church can ignore as long as they have a certain number of black bodies in the seats every Sunday, I suppose. Oh, wait, that is the definition of tokenism.

MOMENTS OF MISSED CONNECTIONS

Looking back and thinking over all these snippets of memories and all these themes that come up, one of the most heartbreaking things to me is the lack of acknowledgment of the lack of depth. For years I thought things were all in my head, that I was the one who couldn’t make friends, that I was the one who couldn’t connect (even though I have lots of good friends at work, and have friends from before I moved here that I’ve been close to for over a decade as well). People would always ask me why I struggled to make friends, why I couldn’t connect; women would always pray for me to get better at socializing, to become more friendly, to become more outgoing, even to find interests in common with the other women in the group. I never wanted to change, or needed to change, but they would always pray for me to change.

Near the end of our time at High Rock, my husband and I would often talk about how isolated we felt. It felt overly frustrating and problematic because I knew that neither of us struggled to make friends in other areas of our lives.

During small group one time, my husband began to talk with our small group leader about my struggling with feeling so isolated, thinking that it would lead to the three of us meeting as well as some support. I was unable to come due to a sudden schedule conflict with work; my husband and I work through everything together and so I trusted him to advocate for both of us. My husband discussed our struggles, particularly reflecting about my struggle with anxiety around groups of women due to trauma and difficulties connecting with women in the church, as we were continually being pushed to only socialize with like-gender, which neither of us agreed with. For example, the church had started having several same-gender hangouts, which I was not allowed to bring my husband too, even though he is what I call my “coping person,” who is able to be there if I start to go into a panic attack or flashback mode. (I never go to group social events without him or one of the few other “coping people,” people who I am very close to and comfortable with.) My husband mentioned the severity of this difficulty with feelings of isolation and disconnection, reflecting that it had let to some discussions about possibly leaving the church.

Our small group leader’s answer, which I understand as well-intended but coming from a young man not trained in pastoral care, was that “the more vulnerable I was, the more I would connect.” At this point, I was sharing moments of trauma almost every group, crying almost every group, and having nightmares the night after and emotional flashbacks the day after because of feeling pressured and unsafe sharing my story. Our group leader agreed to follow up with me and check in with me as well as, although he never did other than encourage me to return to serving on a serving team, which I wasn’t doing due to working 80 hours a week and driving someone to church on Sunday mornings, which I felt was much more important than making the coffee.

It finally clicked that it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the problem.

Despite all of this, and all my training as a therapist, I knew this was unhealthy but I thought it was just still me being in the messy process of healing—it still never really clicked that I wasn’t the one with the issue. But there is one moment where it really clicked in my head—I mean finally clicked. It clicked that it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the problem.

I remember sitting in small group, right before it started. All the guys were on one side, and all the other girls were on the other, and I sat awkwardly people-watching. The small group leader’s wife was hugging the other women, two of which had just joined the group a couple months back. “You all are my best friends!” she said. And she fully meant it. Fully believed it. And I was so sad for them. Those aren’t friends—those are random strangers who just happened to know all the deepest traumas in your life because we awkwardly share them in small group.

Friends are people that were there for me after an incident with my mother, who hug me and remind me that no matter what my mother says, they love me and God loves me. Friends are people who zoom call during Covid and do random door-dash drop offs of homemade goodies and notes and don’t forget about me just because I can’t hang out with them in person. Friends are people that don’t pray for God to change me to be more into their interests, but love me for who I am and share their interests with me and let me share my interests with them, and we can just hang out and talk about the randomness of life together without having to have some sort of ultimate goal in mind. Friends actually ask me why we are adopting and my feelings about it and are so excited for my excitement about the chance to give a kid a great life they wouldn’t have otherwise—they don’t just pray for me to be able to have a birth child, even if I ask them not to. Friends don’t ignore me because we have nothing in common on the surface, or tell me maybe I’d be happier with myself if I learned how to dress and act more feminine; friends dig deeper and love me as I am and are real with one another. Friends listen and believe me, not just tell me that everyone has fights with their parents, or that, since my mother is a Christian, I need to work towards forgiving her, not realizing you can forgive while still distancing to protect yourself. Friends, when they hear me pouring out all the time because I’m being told to share more and more and more in order to connect, tell me it is okay to set boundaries, that I don’t have to pour out all my trauma until I’m safe and I’m ready, and when they don’t understand they ask questions or ask how they can help; they look at me and treat me like a person, not just an inspiration.

WHY WE LEFT THE NETWORK

Ultimately, it was our son that convinced us to leave. He isn’t even with us yet, but he has already changed our lives. We are adopting a child with a disability and history of trauma, and so we tried one more time to offer to provide disability training, identifying what our goals were for our son and what needs and strengths he will have upon his arrival in Bloomington. We were told there was no reason to do anything before he gets here, that they have a plan in place to give him a 1:1 aide that would work with him, and that the church had everything under control to provide accommodations in the children’s program. We mentioned several times how a 1:1 aide is not the answer, as we wanted to support him the first few weeks until he is comfortable without us there, and after that we wanted him to be in an inclusive environment, where he will not be separated from his peers—mostly because we didn’t want him to experience the isolation we were feeling already. Behaviorally, in a developmentally appropriate environment, he more than likely would not need a 1:1 aide, especially with both parents on-call. Except, as it was pointed out, for the fact that perhaps he would be a distraction to the other children. Because, of course, the structure of the church is more important than the human beings in the church. I guess it begins early, with the church putting the comfort of the other children as more important than the inclusion of our son. Even though studies have shown that inclusion is beneficial to all children. Once again, showing the love of God in a practical way was not worth the effort.

When we shared with church leaders that we wanted our adopted son to be in an inclusive environment, where he will not be separated from his peers, they pointed out that he would perhaps be a distraction to the other children because of his disability.

The company we work for is part of a system of care for individuals with disabilities; one of the supports we provide is a department called Spiritual Support, where a pastor helps individuals with disabilities connect to churches in the community to help them find a church home. When we found out that High Rock was one of only 4 churches in the county who had not responded to the Spiritual Support Coordinator’s attempts to communicate, we began to fully understand what the future for our son would look like there. For a couple months, we had been providing support for a friend of ours with a disability to come to church; I can tell you it was not a pleasant experience for him, even watching his experience was painful, but that is his story to tell. Seeing our friend’s struggle and knowing that was our son’s future if we stayed at High Rock made the pain even worse—we were setting him up for an existence of isolation and not of inclusion, no matter what best efforts and energy we poured out. We knew there was no future for our family there.

You can’t pour out everything into a system that doesn’t care about you at all.

In talking with our small group leader about our decision to finally leave the church, they were well-meaning but also upset with us, stating that our reasoning wasn’t fair, asking why we couldn’t at least try harder and give it time.  We wanted to tell him it wasn’t a matter of time or effort, as we had given those both for years, but you can’t pour out everything into a system that doesn’t care about you at all. When we called and talked with Scott about this, it was a very short phone call, during which Scott identified that he was also used car shopping. Basically, after we reminded Scott that we were adopting, he stated that he understood our decision and that it was the right decision—no thoughts toward working towards inclusion, no questions of how he could help, no empathy. Not that we should have been surprised after all these years.

LIFE SINCE LEAVING THE NETWORK

While writing this I have been unsure how to end talking about the Network, because it does feel so sudden. My husband just reminded me how important it is to note that there is life after the Network and that you can thrive. High Rock, and the other Network churches, are not what churches are supposed to be like. They are not what the Big C church, the family of God, is like.

We have been attending another church in town for five months now. In these five months, our hearts have been healing and our minds have been filled. We have been poured into in ways that we had forgotten we needed.

We have met other families with children with disabilities at our new church and who are part of the Big C church.

Our friend, who we drive to church, has made even more friends than us and is constantly introducing us to people. He is on the greeting team—something High Rock never allowed—and is attending the next membership meeting to become a member.

We have made friends who have talked to us about mental health, adoption, infertility, trauma, God, disability, parenting, racism, Covid—that haven’t strayed from talking about the deep topics while also respecting our boundaries.

We have made friends who have talked to us about mental health, adoption, infertility, trauma, God, disability, parenting, racism, Covid—that haven’t strayed from talking about the deep topics while also respecting our boundaries.

We have heard God’s word taught accurately.

We have sat through a church members’ meeting where line by line of the budget was addressed. We sat on the edge of our seats because we were so shocked by the experience. People probably thought we had had way too much caffeine that morning.

One of the pastors approached US (not the other way around) about doing a disability training for the children’s ministry and the youth care workers, which we are planning for late Spring/early summer. Another approached US about running a disability training for the staff of the non-profit community center he and his wife lead.

We have participated in food drives, donation drives for church members and non-members alike. We talk weekly about being like Christ in our community.

We go through the week now actually looking forward to Sunday, and we wake up Sunday morning actually excited to go, learn, worship, and connect, and we go home feeling filled.