So many people ask us why we stayed in Louisiana so long. To be honest, sometimes I ask myself. One of the most honest reasons is because of all the people we loved. Some of the best examples I can give of the conflicting behaviors we experienced occurred after our car wreck. As most of you know, my oldest son was critically injured. He was six at the time, and his injuries were severe. There were two arteries completely severed in his back, his abdominal wall of muscles was cut in half, he had eight perforations in his bowels, and a part of his small intestine was cut in half and separated. He had been in this condition for an hour and a half before surgery. Looking back, and realizing that he should have bled out and/or been septic, it makes it clear to me why the surgeon looked so grim and told us that we would be lucky if he made it through surgery. Well, he miraculously made it through. And, I cannot even begin to tell you how amazing my church family treated us. Three of the pastors were first responders on the scene. One took my baby home, one prayed with Sydney and held her hand, while the other one did the same for Jace. There was always someone in the waiting room praying. My son’s room looked like a flower shop, balloon factory, and toy store all rolled into one. There were three hot meals delivered to my girls at home for weeks. These people loved us, and loved us hard. But, here comes the tricky part. On my son’s first full day of ICU, Mike Ross had to leave us to go and play for a service. The pastor had insisted he be there. On the second day of his ICU stay, my precious babysitter, who my girls adored, called us very upset. She said she had to leave, but that she would find a replacement. When we asked her why, she told us that the senior pastor had called and needed her to babysit so he could take his wife out on a date. She told him that she was with the Ross’ girls while we were at the hospital. He told her that she was his babysitter and to find someone else for us. I actually had to leave the hospital. A few nights later, I had to leave the hospital to go and get the nursery ready. And, just so it is clear, this was not a walk in the park. My son was in bad shape. Mike, my family, and I were spending sleepless nights in the pediatric ICU. There was even one night that I went Aurora Greenway on the nurses in the middle of the night. My son’s IV had backed up (I am sure there is a medical term for this, but it escapes me) and the nurses had stuck him 24 times unsuccessfully. He was in absolute hysterics, and I literally threw my body across him and yelled at the nurses that no one would touch him until they woke the doctor and got permission to sedate him. He had become so dehydrated that after sedation, a NICU nurse was the only one who could get another IV in his tiny little vein. I would spend hours rubbing his feet and legs that ached to move. He had tubes in his nose and mouth. He was in pain. So you might ask. . . did we think there was something wrong with the way the pastors were treating us during this time? Yes. We knew. And, it hurt. But, the overwhelming love of everyone else was an overriding factor. And, somewhere deep down, a part of us always stayed to help the very people who cared for us. I don’t know if this can make sense to someone on the outside. But, I pray that if you are in the inside, it will help you see.

Our pastors asked us to meet them for dinner not long after we had moved. We were excited to spend the time with them. We met a quaint little Italian restaurant, and we ordered and made small talk. Soon, our food arrived along with the real reason for the dinner. Our pastor spoke to us about the new campus the church was opening and about all the opportunities and challenges that would come with it. He had a way of making you feel like you were important and special to be included in the conversation. Then, he asked me if I would like to be the nursery coordinator. At first, I didn’t really believe he was actually asking. When I realized he was serious, I said that I would pray about it and that I would talk it over with my husband. He smiled at me. Then, he told me that I only had until dessert to answer. I said, ‘Well, you know that I will do whatever you ask. I would clean toilets if you needed me to. So, yeah, I guess I will do it.’ Upon leaving the restaurant, I was flooded with emotions. Terror over the task—I had never so much as volunteered in a nursery, much less ran one. Pride over being considered. Sad that dinner was about an agenda and not spending time with us. Happy to be chosen. Angry that I wasn’t allowed to think it over. Relieved that I didn’t have to think it over. In short, I was a little all over the place. A perfect target for control and manipulation. Yep. I own my part in it. And, in case you were wondering. . . I have never to this day set foot back into the restaurant. Couldn’t even tell you if the food was good.

Lots of folks have been asking for me to tell of one of my many experiences in Louisiana. So, here’s a little story. Mike and I were living on the compound in a little white house. The church had graciously let us live there rent-free with the stipulation that Mike would play for 3 weekly services. At the time of this story, we had been in the house for 3 years, and Mike was playing 7 times a week, leading the college age ministry, while I was nursery coordinator for a new campus, women’s ministry assistant, and life group leader. Not so rent-free anymore. Anyway, I was pregnant with our fourth child, and we had more than outgrown the house and suffered from the effects of black mold for longer than we could stand. Mike had received a nice little paycheck, and we had a down payment ready to go on a new house. We found a house that we loved, took our associate pastors to see it, asked them if we could buy it, and then made an offer when the pastors said ‘yes.’ Fast forward a couple of days. Mike called the pastor to tell him that the people had accepted the offer and we were going to be homeowners. The pastor quickly told him that we were not allowed to buy the house. Retract the offer. Mike hung up the phone in shock and called the homeowners to tell them to keep our deposit, because we would not be buying the house. I lost it. Who were they to tell us we couldn’t buy a house? Why would they tell us to buy it and then change their minds after the deal was done? What were their motives? I informed my husband that he would not be choosing them over his family again, and that I was leaving him. As I was packing up the car, he called the pastor. The pastor told him to let me go. Now, I was devastated. I went inside, took several Tylenol PM and went to bed in the middle of the day. When I woke up, Mike said that the pastors had asked us to leave town for the weekend and pray about if we were even supposed to be there. How dare we question their authority in our lives. So, we did just that. Our kids enjoyed a hotel pool in Houston for 2 days while we prayed about what to do. By the end of the weekend, we had decided that we could not leave a place this hurt and offended. Our only choice seemed to be to return and stay until things could be made right. When we returned, the senior pastor invited us into his car where he proceeded to rebuke the dog out of me. He called me a Jezebel and told me that I should be on my face before my husband for making him choose between me and God. (Was he suggesting that he was God?) I cried and repented. Then came the marching orders. We were told that because we asked ‘Why?’ that we were not allowed to speak to our associate pastors for several months. I was removed from all ministry, and I was told I was not allowed to speak to the woman who was taking my place over the nursery. (This woman was a good friend who we had gone to lunch with on Sundays quite regularly. To this day, she probably wonders what happened to our friendship.) I was also told I was not allowed to speak to another dear friend because she had expressed concern to an elder’s wife over the situation. She literally struggled with what she thought was rejection from me for months on end. And, Mike Ross. Well, he got to continue playing 7 times a week (even though he had been begging for a break from this for months), but the college ministry he so dearly loved was taken from him. Want to know the craziest part? By the end of the whole ordeal, we were cowering in the little white house and thinking that we had been just terrible. All of the sudden, we believed that we never should have questioned. We were manipulated (again) into thinking that they had the right to tell us where we could live. To this day, I still find myself questioning their motives. Did they want to keep us ‘captive’ on the compound in order to continue to use my husband’s talents? Was it true that the senior pastor wanted us in the neighborhood of our associate pastor because at the time we were the primary babysitters for their children, and the house we had chosen was not in their neighborhood? Was it some kind of sick test of our obedience to them? I will never know. But, what I do know now is that this was wrong. This is a prime example of the unscriptural doctrine on spiritual authority that this church practices. This is the kind of stuff that happens in cults. And, I know that word sounds harsh to those still at this church, but to anyone on the outside (especially those who are familiar with cults), it is, well, cultish. It is a form of control and manipulation. If you have read this story and can relate to it in any way, and you are still at a church practicing this type of abuse, please get out. Ask for help.

I know. I can’t believe it either. I would have never thought that I would tell someone to research their church. But, I certainly wish I had. I would have learned that I was walking into a church with quite a history. One that seems to repeat itself. I had barely heard of Jesus, much less the Shepherding Movement. This church was a part of an organization that was birthed out of false doctrine. Funny, but the organization it was a part of doesn’t even exist anymore. Sure, the leadership that didn’t get caught stealing money and having affairs just regrouped and renamed, but the majority of original founders were out. My old church even pulled out. They just so happened to keep one of the founders as their pastor’s pastor. The teaching runs deep here. The funny thing now is that someone has sarcastically posed this question: ‘Are you the doctrinal watchdogs for our church?’ Umm. Isn’t everyone? Shouldn’t you be? I mean, even Paul—you know, the guy who wrote a majority of the New Testament—praises the people who compare his teaching to the scriptures. Read about the Bereans whom he calls noble for double checking his words. So, yes. I am a doctrinal watchdog. You should be, too. Following men blindly will only lead to heartache. They are just men, after all. Dig in and learn the history of your own church. Pay attention to the underlying beliefs. Stop thinking it is okay for people to just disappear. And, for goodness sake, check the books. If they will let you, that is. There should be some sort of financial accountability. Know who the elders are. Find out if they are just figureheads. Ask to see by-laws. I mean, truth be told, there should be nothing to hide. And, if there is, then just run. As fast as you can.