“Who wants to go door knocking with me?” Dad would joyfully yell through the house on a more frequent basis than I liked or was comfortable with. He would go door-to-door knocking to love on people, ask if they had prayer requests, ask what their needs were, even though we were too poor to meet most of the physical ones. If Dad couldn’t be ministering in a third world country somewhere, flying with JAARS or translating with Wycliff Bible translators, he was going to do his best in the environment he found himself. This he always made very clear. My Dad was raised in the Mennonite faith, their most prestigious lines of work being teaching, nursing and missions. My Dad has always had a huge heart for . . .

I couldn’t stand the feel of him

Even the smell of him

Both would linger on my skin

So I would shower after every encounter and crawl back inside myself to emotionally recover…

From my husband.

Unbeknownst to me, our marriage contract was the catalyst for me unconsciously turning JT into the scapegoat for all of the dark and perverted experiences of sex/intimacy I was exposed to in my childhood, and chose to expose myself to . . .