Sons and Daughters of The Movement: Dani's Story

Curled up in her guest bedroom, Dani began to share with me what she had been going through at home the previous year. For me, this was my first sleepover in heaven knows how long. I was 18 and newly graduated and had one thing that God orchestrated perfectly for me to have: My sexy red Honda Civic. If it hadn’t been for that car, there is no telling where on earth I would be. That car was the sole source of my fleeing my parents and our rotten home life.
Her blonde ringlets were soft and silky against my strawberry blonde thickness on the pillow where we lay. I knew some of what she had been through, it was quite the scandal to those that knew of it in our circles. But here she was, a not so sweet 16-year old, sharing with me everything from her heart and her perspective.

She grew up in Phillip Lancaster’s church, Immanuel Family Fellowship, or more commonly, IFF. She was the oldest of ten and much was expected of her. Dani’s mother and my mother were friends. Good friends, best friends even. A true daughter of the Quiverfull movement, in more ways than I. All dresses were homemade or of the jumper genre’. No shorts, and no jeans. Cloth diapers. Dani was required to help with the care of her younger siblings as she aged from changing multiplicity diapers, to dressing, disciplining and cooking.

Dani had a vivacious, tomboy, exuberant personality and was a bit of a Drama Queen. I loved her (and her easy to talk to mom and darling sisters) very much. Even though this was a family that clearly hid the gar-bage well, their home to me still felt more inviting and comfortable and harmonious than mine. She lived near my house and for quite a while I would escape into the doors of their sunny home just to flee the ugliness of my own life.

Something had gone amiss. This Quiverfull ideology clearly began to haunt Dani and it grew quickly as a cancer in her heart. She hated her life, and more than anything…she longed for freedom from responsibility.

They lived on a busy corner in a lower-class area and the neighborhood low life’s would hang out and loiter nearby. I really don’t think that Dani ever wanted to be like them or get herself into a boatload of trouble. But there was this seed in her heart. “What would it be like? What would it feel like? What is so wrong with what my parents are trying to keep me away from?” There was very little discipleship from her parents during this time in her life. It was simply, “No, you are not allowed to hang out with them. No we are not discussing this, you are just simply to obey it what we are telling you, no questions asked.” But Dani was 15 at this time, and more than capable of knowing the dangers of drugs, petty crimes, and premature sex.

The issue was her lack of socialization. She had no friends that she saw on any sort of regular basis. She knew a few “approved” friends, but saw them sparingly and the “approved” friend list was small and her personality just didn’t click with the other girls. This feeling of not fitting in and severe loneliness and isolation was something I knew all too well. Every Movement child from the Pioneer Era, I have ever spoken with has articulated this same concept to me. Dani just wanted to fit in, have friends, and have freedom to make her own choices. This environment across the street presented itself as her ticket to what she wanted: friends, freedom, choice to choose for herself between right and wrong.

She had felt trapped, much as I did. Her mom never talked to her about “important things.” I felt the same way. Our mothers expected blind and unquestioning obedience, but at the ages of 16 and 18 we were no longer toddlers. We were disrespected. And Dani saw a ticket out: the boys on the corner dealing drugs. Dani proceeded to hang out with them, and became quickly involved in smoking and stealing. At one point, she and a few others were arrested. This is when her parents knew that something had to change. They put her on a lockdown and strict curfew and the chains were become tighter and tighter as she was required to “give back” to her family. Dani grew more and more resentful.

And as we were lying in bed sharing our hearts, our worlds, she proceeded to tell me something that was unbelievably shocking and ripe for even more resentment of her parents in the years to come.

One night after she had been told to have nothing to do with the street gangs and neighborhood, while left alone to baby-sit her younger siblings as her parents were out on a date; a 20-something black male (who was also a near-by neighbor) showed up at her door. And though he was invited in, and Dani had been secretly flattered by his recent attention towards her for the last several weeks, what he did to her was something that required legal action.

Dani was dying inside; a part of her was dying. She was hurting and more than anything she wanted attention to her heart that only her mom and dad could offer. This desire to be loved for who she was, to have her parents understand that she needed attention and allowed to be a teenager with age-appropriate responsibilities and to know that she was deeply cared for, made her willing to take action and act out in self-destructive ways.

According to Dani, this night in her parents’ living room, he raped her. I am sure that she had a role to play in being a somewhat willing partner, but the truth is that she was raped. He was 20 something and she was 16 and as I lay there listening to her, tears streaming down both of our faces, you could hear that she knew that something had been taken away.

Her parents believed her, but placed the sole responsibility on her shoulders. Her father confronted the young man but of course he denied it. Her parents refused to take action or press charges. No rape kit was done, no police called. A silent crime, gone unreported.

She was made out to be an example, a lesson of “what not to be” to her younger sisters and brothers. She wasn’t believed and it made her feel cheapened and unloved. Her word was disrespected. In her parents’ eyes, Dani had already broken their trust so much with the previous incidents that they were willing to say that this was entirely her doing, even though they admitted that it did happen. She was akin to Hester Prynne, wearing The Scarlet Letter.

I packed up my bags the next morning, giving her a hug, telling her I would pray for her. This was the last time that I saw her. Two weeks later, with the aid of another family, at the age of 16, she ran away.

Her life swirled out of chaos. She became involved in drugs, dealing them off of the street. She cheapened herself and slept with innumerable men, becoming pregnant and later losing the child in tragic childbirth. She never knew who the father was of her baby.

She has had a hard life. Though I am not making excuses for her choices and behaviors, I would like to issue a bit of responsibility to the parents. The biggest thing is not taking legal action where legal action was warranted on behalf of their defenseless daughter. I believe that this was pivotal point in losing their daughter, and that if they had done so, she would not be where she is now…cheapened and degraded and humiliated.

My heart cries when I remember the faces of the people whom my family swore to die serving. I cry when I think of Dani and the heartache and pain that she has been through. I don’t thrive on exposing these nasty, naughty parts that no one wants to discuss in the homeschooling movement. But these stories are there and it’s the first of many to come. These stories must be told! Our legal system, and the parents who are choosing this for their children, need to be held accountable. And this accountability and primarily change won’t occur until every single story of abuse and neglect is told and shouted from the mountaintops.

Suffer the little children unto me for such is the kingdom of heaven.