I was 5 years into my total commitment to the
church world. Not that I wasn't committed before now, but before it was because
of family and then friends. I had taken a few years off but came back at the
age of 25—right back to full force commitment.
I think depression brought me back, I was bored, lost, very divorced and
searching for something that I now know is inside of me.
Anyway, 5 years in and I was on the nurses’ committee.
In the Baptist church, the nurses were a step above the ushers. We took
care of the first aid of church members and the pastor. I received a personal
request to be the pastor’s personal nurse. I was honored to accept. This meant
I accompanied him on his church outings and sat in the pulpit to pour his
water, wipe his sweat, and take care of his whims while he was in the trance of
the selective holy spirit.
I
was asked to do certain things that were uncomfortable but they were done so
nonchalantly I dismissed them as my trust issues. You must understand, in the
mind of a child who has been molested as I had been, authority taking certain
liberty was considered normal. What
might come off as a pass to someone with a healthy view on life very well
likely comes off as positive affirmations and normal to a victim of
molestation.
I
was to accompany this "man of GAWD", (yes, I know how to spell, I
just like to say it like they yell it from the pulpits), to an outing in Queens,
NY. He was to be guest preacher at an event. I put on my crisp-n-white nurses
uniform and white nurse hat and allowed his comment, "Look good; you’re
representing me. I want to show them how beautiful my nurse is,” to ring as a
compliment not as an inappropriate "grooming my victim" thing to say.
I know some of you are asking, “How can a 25-year-old be a victim of another
adult?” Well let me say this, when you are trusting another to be your moral
superior and have ordained this person your mentor; spiritual advisor, gateway
to heaven, and surrounded by the status and authority the church puts on "
the chosen one;” no matter how old you are abusing that trust is deplorable. Also,
not seeing the abuse from such a holy “man lf GAWD” is completely
understandable. He wouldn’t sin in adultery. Would he? He was a married man and
I was a divorcee.
The
first insult was while he was preaching in the final moments of hooting and hollering
something happened. He was waving me over frantically while continuing to preach.
I went up in the pulpit and he whispered to me, "My suspenders came lose
can you pull my pants up?” I thought, “What the fuck? There are about 5 men on
that stage he could have asked for assistance.” He also had on a long robe, he
could have simply left them the way until he finished preaching. I didn't know
what to do. He was a pretty large man and was sweating profusely. He continued
to preach as I reached down and lifted his pants up, but they wouldn't stay.
So, I had to find his suspenders and hook them back up to the pants, it was if
I was being forced to molest him. He was
not wearing underwear. Yet the show went on, if anyone thought this was strange
they did not show any concern.
Just
like with any predator, the reward for service came. He praised me over the
pulpit for my dedication and gave me a cut of his offering. I felt at ease
again, as I was doing my duty for God. Yet it was only the beginning of the
day.
Afterwards,
we were led to the home pastor’s office before dinner. In here my pastor would
take a shower and change clothes. I brought him his bag and asked him if he
needed anything before I headed out. He said he left his towels in the car and
can I bring them in and leave them on the chair. No problem, it was a simple
request and my guards were not up at all anymore. I felt rather silly about
thinking badly about the pants issue. So, I returned with his towels and left
them on the chair and announced they were out here. He immediately opened the
door in all his 400-pound glory, holy dick hard—probably anticipating his
antics. He acted surprised to see me, "Oh! I'm sorry I thought you stepped
out." He apologized, yet made no
attempt to cover himself. He enjoyed my reaction as I rushed out of the room.
After
that he didn't do anything inappropriate for a while, making me think It was
just an accident—an embarrassing accident. I was being groomed. He saw
something in me and recognized it the same way pedophiles pick the kids they
molest. They are experts at picking their prey. This was only the beginning.
Venessa BlueNile Dixon
