The Pastors Daughter

Chapter 1

"You know, I haven't seen you in a pair of pants in over five years, honey," I told my wife, Cathy, as we pulled up to a little retail store called Cato.

"That's because I don't own any pants," she replied. "Until recently, we both believed that a woman wearing pants is a violation of scripture and shows a lack of submission to one's husband and to God."

I sat there for a moment and wondered how we'd ever gotten so deeply into that mess. How had we allowed ourselves to give up our own sovereignty over our lives and hand it over to the pastor of a fundamentalist Baptist church? Answering that wasn't as simple as it seemed. Billions of people on earth believe in one God or another and all did so by faith. Yet very few of them ever stop to think that the people in other faiths hold mutually exclusive beliefs. That means that while all of them could be wrong, only one of them could be right. Even when some did take a moment to confront that thought, they glibly dismissed it with something as simplistic as being grateful for having found the one true faith. The others have all been deceived by the devil. How convenient is that? Oh, by the way, how exactly does the devil "talk" to us anyway? Don't ask, okay?

Those beheading people and setting them on fire are utterly sure of their faith and that they are doing God's will. So are those protesting at the funerals of service members and gay Americans. My best friend in high school was a Mormon. I clearly remember his dad telling me how he once believed the Mormon Church was true but he now KNEW it was true. How did he gain this certain knowledge? By faith, of course. He claimed God had revealed it to him but the truth is it's nothing more than believing something for so long one decides one "knows" it to be true.

As a third example, there was a little old man in my very small hometown who lived in the jewelry and watch repair shop where he worked. He'd given up pretty much everything for what he called "the sake of Christ." He was 100% certain of his cause while he was equally sure that Islam and the Mormon Church were instruments of the devil and their adherents on their way to a devil's hell. His work was a front for his real purpose which was to witness to people to try and lead them to Christ. I was one of his converts at an age where I was too naïve to know better.

The story is too long to tell, but in a nutshell I came from a home where God wasn't discussed let alone believed in. This man made everything seem so simple. All men were sinners. I'd done wrong so I was a sinner, too. The wages of sin is death or eternal separation from God. But no worries! God loved us so much he sent Jesus to die for our sins so we could go to heaven. If I'd just believe that and ask God to save me, He would. So I did. I didn't think to ask where God and Jesus were or why they needed this man to their work. Why didn't they show up and talk to me? Good question!

For several more years, I believed there was a God who "heard and answered my prayers" in spite of the fact that my prayers seemed to be only randomly answered if they were even actually answered at all. Those doubts only grew larger as time went by. On those rare occasions when I asked others who allegedly knew more than I did about my such things, the answers I received were at best vague and unsatisfying. One was that God moves in mysterious ways. Gee, thanks! Another was that we couldn't understand everything in this life so we'd just have to trust God and wait until we get to heaven. Then we'd see all things clearly. Well, okay. Maybe so but... My favorite was, "How do you know He hasn't answered your prayers already in a way you didn't expect or that He won't do so in the future?" How could I argue with any of those without losing my faith? And MY faith, of course, was the TRUE faith. Losing it would be a fate worse than death.

So I pushed those doubts aside and continued to go to church, attend and even teach Bible study, and sing in the choir. Then one day I saw a young woman about my age at church who was visiting with a friend. I was hoping she was single and a Christian because she was stunningly beautiful. Much to my very pleasant surprise, I learned she was indeed unmarried when I spoke to her after she "walked the aisle" following the "invitation" (at the end of every sermon the pastor would invite those not saved to walk down the aisle and receive Christ as savior.) On that first visit, this beautiful young girl did just that.

I couldn't wait to shake her hand and introduce myself after she was "saved." I stood in line waiting my turn to welcome her into the family of God. I also remember being completely smitten with her and her beautiful smile. But most of all, I remembered the way she was dressed because she wore what I most love seeing on a woman. She was wearing a very sexy looking, form-fitting beige sweater and matching skirt. As crazy as that sounds, nothing turns me on more than that. Not thick, baggy, multi-colored sweaters your grandmother would wear, but very sexy knit tops that show off a woman's best curves in all the right ways. I justified having such 'impure' thoughts as long as I didn't lust after them, but in her case, I found myself masturbating—another sin because it was "spilling seed"—every day thinking about her until I finally got up the nerve to ask her out. That happened the next Sunday right after church.

I was a little surprised when Cathy said "yes" because she was by far the prettiest girl in the church and one of the most attractive women my age I'd ever seen. She was 20 years old and worked as a bookkeeper in a doctor's office. I was 22 and getting ready to graduate from college. I'd decided to join the Marine Corps as an officer so I spent a lot of time running and getting physically ready for Officer Candidate's School in Quantico, Virginia.

As far as girls were concerned, I didn't lack confidence. I'd never had any trouble getting dates and I'd had more than a few girls tell me I was very cute. But Cathy was so good looking I wondered if she would consider me to be in her league. She later told me she felt the same way about me and we both laughed at our own insecurities.

I'd been a Christian for a couple of years by this time while she was just learning the ropes. That worked in my favor because she was hungry for "the Word of God" and I was all too happy to teach her as we got acquainted. We dated for several months and I should point out here that those dates excluded both dances and movies. Both were "worldly" and therefore sinful. Of course, the same thing applied to smoking, drinking, cursing, or sex before marriage. But that's not all.

As if that isn't restrictive enough, Independent Baptists (who are WAY to the right of Southern Baptists) have two other big rules. The first is that women may not wear pants. No, I'm not kidding. Dresses and skirts only! So Cathy willingly gave away all of her jeans and other pants and made the transition without complaint. The second is that women must submit to their husbands just as a man must submit to Christ. HE is the decision maker and his word is final. He can and should "seek his wife's counsel" but he has the final say in all things. Looking back, both of these seem bizarre to me now, but when you're inside the bubble, it all makes perfect sense—by faith. The faith you somehow "know" is true—by...well—faith, of course.

We did plenty of kissing and even some light petting but abstained from sex until we were married. Neither of us were virgins but being relatively new to the whole church thing we were both very motivated to "do God's will." I proposed to her during Spring break my senior year and we were married the day I graduated from the University of Washington in Seattle in early June.

I left for OCS the following week and was gone until the middle of August. When I returned, we had movers pack up our modest belongings and headed for Virginia. I spent the next six months in what the Marine Corps called The Basic School or simply TBS. It was a grueling entry-level course which focused heavily on Marine infantry training and every officer went through it regardless of what he she later did. Pilots, lawyers, and everyone else went through TBS so that they all had this common experience of what it was like for the guy on the ground serving in the infantry. We joined a local Baptist Church there and attended every single Sunday I wasn't in the field.

About a month before graduation, I got orders to my first permanent duty station at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. One of the first things we did when we arrived there was to find another local, Bible-believing, independent, fundamental Baptist Church where we began attending.

At some point, my old doubts about answered prayer began once again rearing their ugly head. I remember having to work up the nerve to tell my wife about these doubts of mine and I was more than a little afraid of what she might think. After all, I was the head of the family. How could I be leading her and have serious doubts about something as basic and fundamental as to whether or not there's a God "up there" listening who cares about us?

Not surprisingly, her answers came in the form of anecdotal stories she'd picked up along the way. She recited one she'd heard about Brother so-and-so who was "miraculously" healed of his terminal cancer after a prayer vigil. That was followed by a tale of Sister so-and-so who was a widow who needed a hundred dollars to keep her electricity on. A check came from out of the blue for $110! The extra ten bucks was so she could pay tithing on the other hundred after paying her bill. Hallelujah! Another miracle! Of course, there was no mention about the little girl from our church who died of leukemia after a similar prayer vigil or the couple that lost their Christian book business and went bankrupt in spite of many prayers on their behalf. Those too, were all the will of God. In other words, no matter what happened it was God's will whether you prayed or not but you had to pray because it pleases God who is listening but who works in mysterious ways. Whew! Are you dizzy yet?

Once again, I shoved those doubts deep, deep down inside and went on living like this for another three years before making the decision to leave church after a very long sermon on an Easter Sunday. But before I get to that, I should add that it was in this particular church that I met a woman who was almost as attractive as my own wife. Her name was also Kathy but she spelled hers with a "K." She also happened to be the pastor's daughter.

Kathy wasn't a little girl but an adult and a married woman. Her husband was named Dean, who was a former enlisted Marine and a convert to Christianity. He met Kathy while stationed at Camp Lejeune and began attending services and was soon "saved" then engaged and later married to her. As such, he'd sewn his fair share of wild oats before settling down with Kathy. She, on the other hand, was the consummate good girl who'd never done a single thing wrong in her life. Many said they were the ideal couple in our church although more than a few others thought that was an honor that belonged to me and my Cathy. Regardless, he was good-looking guy with a great smile and she was beautiful young woman with very long blonde hair, amazing C-cup boobs, and a perfect smile of her own.

My interest in her was due not only to her obvious external beauty but also to the fact she regularly wore the kind of things that got me all hot and bothered. She played the piano and the organ in church, so she was up front with her father for the first 15-20 minutes every Sunday and she caught me staring at her more than a few times. I would be zoning out on the sermon and instead looking at her soft, round mounds under whatever very pretty sweater she was wearing that day. When she realized I was staring at her, she played it cool so as not to draw attention to it. She never gave me the "skunk eye" but I'd seen her give it to more than one guy who was guilty of the same offense as me. In my case, she'd just wait until I looked up at her face and then smile ever-so-briefly at me. It was a polite way of saying, "I'm not upset, but you are looking at my boobs, Brother Cal."

The four of us weren't socially close by any means, but we were all cordial with one another and on one occasion we had dinner with them. That was about a year before I quit going to church and maybe 18 months before I was scheduled to be discharged.

After the meal, Dean and I were swapping "war stories" (neither of us had been in combat) while our wives chattered away about various things. I wasn't paying any attention to their conversation until I overheard my Cathy say, "Oh, Cal loves sweaters so I wear them all the time for him."

My ears perked up and I heard Kathy say, "I'm sure he appreciates that a lot. I love sweaters. You always look so pretty in yours. I'm guessing they must be the kind he favors."

Cathy then spent a fair amount of time describing exactly what I liked in terms of colors and style, and that surprised me because this just wasn't something women like them would talk about especially with us sitting right there with them.

Kathy continued by saying, "Oh, I love sweaters. They're definitely my favorite thing to wear. It's cold here about seven months out of the year so they're also very practical."

Cathy smiled and said, "Oh, he's noticed that you wear them. Trust me." Dean's wife was immediately embarrassed and mine said quickly, "Oh, no! Don't be embarrassed. It's just that you're obviously a very pretty girl and it's understandable my husband—or any guy for that matter—would notice." Her explanation only served to add to Kathy's obvious discomfort.

Kathy recovered fairly quickly and said, "Well, Dean doesn't share my preference. He prefers things that are a little more..." She hesitated and was clearly embarrassed again. At this point Dean finally realized I wasn't listening to him at all. He stopped talking and noticed I was listening to our wives and did so himself. The girls had no idea we'd overheard any of this.

Dean chimed in out of the blue saying, "It's okay, honey. You can say 'revealing.' After all, it's true. I like short skirts and low-cut dresses but Kathy can't wear them for obvious reasons. Well, except here at home when it's just the two of us."

Dean laughed at his own comment. Kathy did not. She was blushing deeply and put her hands over her face. "I can't believe you said that, Dean! I'm so embarrassed! How could you do that? How could you say something so personal in front of friends from church, honey?"

Dean was still smiling and he just winked my way when he said to her, "Well, it's the truth and we do need to be honest in all things, right, sweetheart?" She turned to Cathy for a little sympathy which she received in spades. Kathy soon recovered again and the conversation was forgotten as quickly as it had started. Or so it seemed.

Little did I know that that conversation set Kathy's mind in motion and started her on a path toward temptation and a desire for new experiences which led her to my house about a year and a half later. She told me that after that conversation, she carefully chose what she wore each Sunday with one objective in mind—to draw my attention to her. She said she alternated between feelings of deep shame and total exhilaration each time she found herself choosing what to wear to church hoping I would end up lusting after her beautiful body. It was her own private fantasy world about which she told one until she shared it with me when a confluence of events brought her to my home and into my bedroom.

Shortly after that dinner, I received orders to deploy on board the USS Okinawa for a period of six months as part of a Marine Expeditionary Unit. I was an infantry platoon commander as was my closest friend, George, who was killed during this deployment. He was gravely injured in a mortar attack and I remembered praying for him as sincerely as I could. Everyone liked George and he attended a different Baptist Church not far from our own. How could a loving God not want to spare such a good, decent, moral young man? Several hours later, he was dead and my doubts about prayer increased exponentially. Even so, I still wasn't ready to throw in the spiritual towel. At least not right then.

When I returned, I only had about a year of obligated service remaining and had no idea I had only half that much time left in church.

My doubts continued to grow. One day I was eating lunch and something hit me out of the blue. I remembered what I thought was a line from Steinbeck's classic The Grapes of Wrath. As it turns out, I botched the quote, but what I thought I recalled made a huge impression on me whether I'd gotten it exactly right or mostly wrong. What I believed (by faith?) I was correctly recalling from that book was something which I attributed to Tom Joad. I thought I remembered him saying, "I used to believe they was a right and a wrong. Now I just believe theys things people do." For some reason, that (mis)quote stuck with me day in and day out until Easter Sunday when the final straw was laid that broke the camel's (spiritual) back. The reason prayers didn't get answered was now crystal clear. There's no one "up there listening." Right and wrong really were relative and there is no absolute morality from "on high." These revelations were literally tearing me apart at the seams.

I didn't mention the epiphany to Cathy. She'd recently met a young woman about our age and invited her to church on Easter Sunday. She and her husband did indeed visit and they also brought their year-old daughter who was back in the nursery where my wife often volunteered to work. On this particular Sunday that's where Cathy was while the man and his wife sat with me.

The pastor of our church was very long-winded. No three-point sermons with a poem and a prayer for him. He often rambled on for over an hour and this particular Sunday was even worse. My friends weren't used to that and after 20 minutes the husband asked me how much longer he would be. I told him what he wanted to hear by saying, "Not too long" knowing that wasn't true. I remember praying in spite of my new-found beliefs to the contrary that God would guide the pastor into somehow miraculously stopping early just this once. After another 20 minutes of pastoral ranting and raving about sin and hell, this guy leaned over and said, "We really need to go check on our daughter. Is he almost done?"

Like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. "This is bullshit. ALL religion was made up by people who were trying to explain the unexplainable during a time when the world was a very scary place. I'm done with this shit!"

Five minutes later, my friend grabbed his wife's hand, stood up, and said as he stepped past me, "I'm sorry but we can't stay any longer. Good bye." They walked out before the service was over but just I sat there thinking, "I'm right behind you, my friend. I can't take this any longer, either. I'm so outta here, too."

My wife cried when I told her how I felt later that evening. She said, "You just have to keep praying and trust God and work through this."

I told her as politely but as firmly as I knew how, "I'm sorry, honey. I love you but I am NEVER going back to church again. Ever." She continued attending for another two months then went to visit her grandmother in Kentucky. Her grandma was 90 years old and she'd sneak up into the attic 3-4 times a day to smoke a cigarette. My wife told me she found her joining Grandma and before she left, looking forward to having a cigarette. When she returned she told me, "I did a lot of thinking and I agree with you. I'm through with church, too."