pearls’ discipline

this isn’t just a story about mike and debi pearl and their book ‘to train up a child’, it’s a story about my own growing up.

this book has become a popular book to bring about near-perfect obedience, in which the child has no voice. i grew up with its predecessors and then when the book came out, they applied it to us too. with fervent hearts, and willing fists, they applied discipline and attitude adjustments to us until our skin broke, and our hearts were numb.

unlike many brought up with these teachings, i was not home-schooled, rather i was private small church schooled. i see little difference beyond the size of the class in the methods of isolation and quality of education. we were being raised in what i now understand to be quiverfull movement.

by the time the pearls came on to the fundamentalist scene with their discipline books, mine were already well-versed in the methods. not only were they experts in this style of discipline, they’d taught it year after year in the churches we attended. i grew up in the Independent Fundamentalist Baptist cult of secrecy and shame.

i am the second of 5 children, and one of 4 girls. we were born within 6 years of each other. our parents’ methods of discipline were not gentle, they were not g-dly. i did not realize this until recently, i figured everyone got spanked like this. i figured that everyone grew up with this. i thought it was normal.

this then, is a story of how we were disciplined under the ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ doctrines. i was 6. the crime: Being Too Loud.

we were lined down the hallway, our bodies fluttering, jumping, skin twitching in sympathy to the sounds that whispered from The Room. that was all we heard, a strike, a slap, a raised murmur of sound from his chest.

age bye age we stood in line. river, 1, was the baby. her sessions were always shortest. he’d handed her already to mom, dripping and half asleep. she was still young enough for the hugs and kisses to almost mean something in the after.

cairn, defiant, walked out half-strong, half-broken. following him, came these words ‘Remember, what happens in the room, stays in the room. I will know if you speak of this.’

he walked by we three, lark, alder, me. we, not-looking, and he not-looking. in crime, in punishment, we walked aching alone into the dark with a belt for company.

lark, trembling, walked in. her clothes already laid neatly in a stack. she was better at folding than i, straight military corners showing her cleanliness and g-dliness was already greater than mine. one more strike against my unruly self. still, she walked in so brave. and her voice braided up until the sky fell down. she cried, and his voice thundered from g-d’s own word.

‘The wages of sin, say it. Say it.’

i knew what he was waiting for, the call-repeat of our discipline-grace sessions was ingrained so early i don’t think we knew any other language. i hoped she’d start before it got worse, before her voice became an accusation of defiance.

the minutes dripped while we waited. no clock could ever measure the salt running down our backs, the fear that stalked our middle with the promise of shame. we waited until she crept from the room. we waited.

i, second, was summoned to recount my sins. which, in reality, were compounded by the sins of the youngers. we each, in our cascading responsibilities were to care for and discipline the youngers. lark was to care for cairn and river. i, to care for lark, cairn, and river. and lark was just 1 year younger than i. an awkward setting of fear and blame to mix with our tangled sibling love.

‘What does sin bring, Shade? Tell me.’

‘sir. sin brings death, sir’

‘Louder. Say it louder.’

‘sir! sin brings death.’

‘I’ll have none of your lip.’

my face is burning, i stumble up from the ground.

‘Give me the verse. Give me all of them.’

‘The wages of sin is death.’

‘More, Shade. You know which ones I mean.’

i stare blankly. we’ve learned so many verses, so many verses, that they all pile up behind my teeth. the words tangle, the promises linger. death, death walks behind me. i’ve sinned, i’ve disobeyed. death is coming. i reach for the darkest one i can think of. he doesn’t even know i know it. i’ve been memorizing every night, to pay for any unconfessed sins. the bible has become my double-edged sword. it will cut all the bad from my heart.

‘But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murders, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death. revelation 21:8. sir.’

i wait for my judgment. and the belt has unfurled, it’s swiping the air next to him as we talk.

‘And you know, don’t you, that you’re a liar, a disobedient liar. You deserve to die, don’t you, Shade?’

‘yes sir.’

‘No mumbling, speak up. Confess your sins. If you do, it will go better for you. Confess your sins, I will be faithful. I will be just. There can be forgiveness.’

the glances i’m stealing flit by his face as fast as wishes, little prayers to the unknown, for a little reprieve. his face is smooth glass, his mustache covers his mouth. i cannot tell if he’s serious or not. i cannot tell what i should confess. i stand, attention-still waiting for the belt. there’s no other answer, i believe. with all my heart, i believe.

‘Well, now we know. You can’t even confess properly. You have no remorse, no conviction. G-d help me, I had hoped I was getting through your thick skull. Now it’s between you, me, and G-d. You deserve death, you will receive grace. Bend over.’

and so it begins. i count the strokes of grace as they burn deeper into my skin. by 1, by 2, i’m keeping track of my repentance. i’ve got to bear the stripes, the stripes of my sins, lark’s, cairn’s, river’s. i’ve got miles to go before we are done. my voice hitches on the thought. he stops.

‘Again, start again.’

and we do, at 1. i must reach 10 to win. 10 is the magic number of repentance, of forgiveness, of ending. it’s a race between us both. does the dark come first, does the world split and show itself by numbers, or does he finish with the belt? we repeat, again, again, again.

until the belt is ice against my back, my legs. it’s wrapped about my shoulders, tangling in my hair. he rips it free.

again. again.

until the world whitens. i’ve got the numbers now, they shimmer in front of me. they tell their secrets and i hold them close. my mouth counts, but my soul sings with the other numbers until the dark takes us all.

i hear myself say ’10’. and i don’t know how long it’s been. my legs stopped holding me awhile ago, i’m leaning against the bench, hoping he won’t notice. if he does, we start again.

the world pauses, my breath has frozen. he’s rubbing his arms, the belt has fallen to the ground.

‘Now, Shade. Let’s pray.’

he reaches over to hold me, hands rough on my numbed skin. i pretend i feel nothing under the fire and ice. i pretend i’m just a number, essential and serene. since he no longer trusts my evil prayers, he prays over me.

‘Dear Heavenly Father, I thank you for this chance to teach Shade a lesson about Your grace. I pray that she learns to obey my rule, and submit to my loving discipline. I pray that I can guide her towards submission and loveliness. I pray that she learns these things before she is broken without remedy, before she is killed. It’s in Your precious name I pray these things. Amen.’

we’re done.

he stands me on my feet and pushes me to the door. ‘Remember, Shade. What happens in here stays in here. Your discipline is yours alone. I will know if you tell. If you tell everyone will know how evil you are. I do this for your own good. I love you. Now get out of here. You’re filthy.’

i’m free.