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