Called to Be Amish: My Journey from Head Majorette to the Old Order- Marlene C. Miller

Fewer than one hundred outsiders have joined the Amish and stayed. Marlene C. Miller, author of Called to Be Amish: My Journey from Head Majorette to the Old Order, is one of them.

Marlene Miller grew up in a troubled and volatile home. Her parents argued frequently and were abusive by today's standards and at the very least overly heavy-handed with the physical discipline for the times (Ms. Miller was born in 1944; her parents beat her and her siblings with a dog leash). Her family was always poor, and her best friend died of polio at the age of eight. In high school, her hard work led her to become head majorette (something she never lets you forget), and she began dating the young Amish man (raised in the church but not yet baptized) who would become her husband at age 16. He proposed on the day she graduated high school.

They planned a small wedding, Johnny dragging his feet the whole way, but on the day of the ceremony, he called her up and told her he couldn't marry her on account of his wanting to join the Amish church one day. Not ideal, since she was more than a little bit pregnant at the time! After an angry meeting with Marlene's parents, he finally consented to going through with the wedding (the text doesn't make him seem terribly enthusiastic about this), and after she had the baby, she became a Christian when she was convinced she was going to hell while washing dishes one day. As one does. This conversion led her to tell her husband she wanted to become Amish.

What follows is a description of a life of relentless work, interspersed with childbirth on the regular. Amidst Ms. Miller's heavy learning curve of all the things an Amish farm wife needed to know, she gave birth to ten children in thirteen years- how this happened, I'm not exactly sure, because her husband almost never seemed to be home. Johnny farmed and worked several jobs in town in order to make ends meet; when they had the time or energy to create all those children baffled me.

While Ms. Miller is perpetually optimistic about their poverty and difficult circumstances, their Amish life comes off as fairly grim. She never fully learns to speak Pennsylvania Dutch. Accidents abound on their farm (two near drownings, one child was run over by a wagon, another cracked his skull trying to repair a gas well on the property), their firstborn dies in a car accident that's surrounded in mystery at age twenty-one, another son ended up in prison, and the majority of their surviving children left the Amish altogether. Marlene herself suffers what sounds like bouts of depression (egged on by, I'm sure, exhaustion and the never-ending hormonal fluctuations brought on by constant pregnancy and birth), and comes close to leaving at one point (but of course, she prayed, and that fixed everything right up).

I enjoyed the story of this, but the heavy-handed religiosity irritated me right from the beginning. I'm absolutely not opposed to reading the stories of people of faith; one of the most beautiful books I've ever read is I'm Proud of You: My Friendship with Fred Rogers by Tim Madigan, which analyzes the deep faith of both Madigan and Rogers. I loved that book for exploring its subjects' religion without promoting an agenda. 'Here's what we believe and think' is great, especially because it allows the reader to make their own decision on how they feel about those beliefs; 'You need to believe this or else' isn't conducive to further conversation, and Called to Be Amish is more towards the latter. In the first few pages, Ms. Miller proclaims that no one can be truly happy without Jesus, which irked me. I find that kind of attitude stifling; making absolute proclamations like that does no one any favors and is a good way to alienate readers of different backgrounds. This book was on my TBR list from a while back, and while I'm not sorry I read it, I suppose I was hoping for more detail on what it took for Ms. Miller to adapt to Amish life, with no electricity and having to give up all the trappings of her past life.

Do you read books about the Amish, whether fiction or nonfiction? I'm guilty of reading a few 'bonnet books,' as I've seen them called, in the distant past, but haven't for quite some time. Having learned about some of the dirtier underside of the Amish community (puppy mills, animal abuse, physical and sexual abuse of children), I've long since stopped being able to romanticize it as a way of life. That doesn't mean I won't read things about them in the future, but this book didn't necessarily inspire me to want to read more, either.

Assimilate or Go Home: Notes from a Failed Missionary- D.L. Mayfield

Ahh, interlibrary loan and your cover-obscuring stickers...

Assimilate or Go Home: Notes from a Failed Missionary by D.L Mayfield came to my attention via Episode #59: of the What Should I Read Next podcast, titled Prescribing books for what ails you. Ms. Mayfield was the featured guest, and based on some of the things she said, I thought I might enjoy her book.

I was correct. Assimilate or Go Home tells the story of her life among the Somali Bantu refugee population in Portland, a group of people that are, she states, some of the least successfully acclimated refugees the US ever attempted to resettle. Many of them had never lived with electricity or indoor plumbing; some of them had never climbed up stairs before coming to the US. The vast majority were illiterate in their own language, which makes learning written English difficult, if not impossible, especially when the trauma they've suffered is factored in. The Bantus were an ethnic and cultural minority even in their home country; even so, had it been possible, they would have chosen to stay there, rather than come to such an unfamiliar and difficult place..

Having long dreamed of becoming a missionary and bringing God's kingdom (if she could only figure out exactly what that was...) to those who needed it most, Bible college graduate D. L. Mayfield began her volunteer work with the Somali Bantus positive that her mere presence would be all that it would take in order for them to accept Jesus and for their lives to improve. What actually happened was something very different.

Throughout this collection of essays, Ms. Mayfield details the challenges faced by the refugee families- language, poverty, culture, racism, bigotry, among many others- and describes how her presence often made the situation worse. Wanting to share her church's Harvest Day festival with three headscarf-wearing Somali girls, whom she dressed up as Bollywood princesses, only proved how 'other' her own church community saw them; showing off her newborn baby, who was born quickly after what sounded like a fast diagnosis of pre-eclampsia, only drove home her privilege with the fact that had this happened to these women in Somalia, they and their babies would have died- most of them had already lost at least one child. 'The longer I knew my refugee friends, the more ignorant I became,' she admits. Clawing one's way out of privilege and a smaller-than-you-realized worldview is no easy task; Ms. Mayfield does it, but realizes that it comes at the expense of those she's supposed to be serving.

This is a memoir of hard-won humility, of unlearning just about everything you grew up being taught and thinking you know about the world around you. To be honest, I found Ms. Mayfield's honesty and ability to examine her long-held beliefs and ideas extremely refreshing. While I'm not especially religious, I see far too many religious leaders with that white savior complex that Ms. Mayfield admits she originally had, with no contrary evidence altering their worldviews: this is the way things are, and if you do XYZ, then everything will be perfect and fall in line. It's not quite that simple, Ms. Mayfield writes, and she's correct.

This is one of those books where I would read a paragraph; pause; read it again; think about it; then write a line or two down in my reading binder (do you keep a log of notes as you're reading? I find it helpful. I use a binder because Walmart was out of notebooks the day I went in. Out. Entirely. Again. One time they were out of extension cords. The Walmarts here are bizarre). D.L. Mayfield shares a lot of poignant insights that, while they stem from her Christian faith, apply universally, and she does it in a way that begs the reader to follow in her footsteps. Examine your ideals, your biases, your preconceptions about how the world should work and how people should act, and replace them with reality- not how you want it to be, but how it is. That's where God, and growth, and peace,  and understanding, will be.

Even if you're not religious, this is a worthy read, both for the story and for the painful lessons that Ms. Mayfield learned (and that so many of us could stand to learn as well). This should also be required reading for anyone beginning work, volunteer or otherwise, with any marginalized community. It's not a soft, gentle read by any means; it asks hard questions and demands changes, but it's a challenge we should all be up for.

I was pleased to see that Ms. Mayfield is represented by Rachelle Gardner; I've followed her on Twitter for years and I've read and enjoyed other books she represents. Do you read the acknowledgements? I always enjoy scanning them and seeing if I recognize any names.

If you're interested in this topic, books with similar themes include The Newcomers: Finding Refuge, Friendship and Hope in an American Classroom by Helen Thorpe (for more on the refugee experience), and The Childcatchers: Rescue, Trafficking, and the New Gospel of Adoption by Kathryn Joyce (for another example of the damage the pervasive attitude of white saviorism can wreak).

Visit D.L. Mayfield's website here.

Follow her on Twitter here.

This Dark World: A Memoir of Salvation Found and Lost- Carolyn S. Briggs

I'm a sucker for a good memoir about leaving a religion or religious group. It's always been my favorite genre of books, and I've been known to shove one of those books to the front of the line whn it comes to what I'm reading next. I'm contemplating the why of it; there's something about belonging to a community and suddenly (or gradually) finding oneself not merely embraced, but suffocated by it, that draws me in. I'm not particularly religious, nor have I ever truly belonged to a group, religious or otherwise, so maybe it's just the intrigue of the unknown. Whatever the reason, This Dark World: A Memoir of Salvation Found and Lost by Carolyn S. Briggs was right up my alley.

Ms. Briggs grew up in Iowa, a late bloomer who lived in the shadow of her younger sister until puberty caught up with her and she blossomed at age 16. By 17, she began dating the lead guitarist in a popular local band, and the two married not long after they graduated high school, since Carolyn had become pregnant. When a close friend finds Jesus at college, Carolyn and her husband Eric begin seeking as well, and before long, their entire lives are centered around their new faith. They pass out Bibles everywhere they go, include tracts with the bills they mail out, and pepper their speech with "I'll pray for you" and "Praise Jesus!" Within this intensely religious way of life, Carolyn finds a passion, one that she doesn't feel for her husband, and the identity she left behind to become a married teenage mother and housewife.

As the years pass, her doubts and sadness over her lack of longing for her husband only increase, and it's only when Carolyn returns to college in her 30's that she's finally able to shed the burden her faith and way of life had become. It's clear that she's outgrown not only the stringent beliefs and restrictive lifestyle her religion had stuffed her into, but her marriage as well, and she begins down a new path, one full of intellectual curiosity, where she's allowed to seek happiness and fulfillment in all corners of the earth.

The bulk of this memoir focuses on Carolyn's life as a "Jesus freak," as she called herself, and later on, a fundamentalist (although she never seems to stray into some of the practices commonly associated with fundamentalists; there's no mention of skirts/dresses only or homeschooling, for example, though she does mention that some of the families in the church refuse vaccines because God will protect their children). I found the descriptions of her day-to-day life and how she lived out her faith- and her doubts- interesting; I find great satisfaction in learning about the lives of people who are different from me, and I very much enjoyed reading about the many different versions of Bible study she attended, the growing number of children Carolyn's fellow church sisters kept producing, how deeply she struggled with her doubts about her faith, and the sorrow she experienced over the complete absence of desire she felt for her husband. Her story is not dissimilar to Leah Lax's Uncovered: How I Left Hasidic Life and Finally Came Home. Both women who came to fundamentalism in their teens, who filled their lives with religion and babies and who struggled with doubt and truly loving their spouses, until they realized they were living a lie and had to make serious changes, despite the difficulty doing so presented. And, obviously, both really great reads.

I enjoyed this. I enjoyed getting a glimpse into the struggles of a young woman substituting religion for so many other things in life, watching her grow and change and finally outgrow and move on from her earlier choices. I'd love to read more of what Ms. Briggs's life has been like since she left fundamentalism behind.

Apparently there was a movie made based on this book, called Higher Ground. I vaguely remember hearing about it years ago and looking it up, but I had no idea it was connected to this book until I scrolled through the Goodreads reviews. I've now got it cued in my Amazon Prime watchlist, although who knows when I'll get to it- we're currently finishing up season 10 of Supernatural, so we'll be spending a little more time with that. If you've seen this movie, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


Follow Carolyn S. Briggs on Twitter here.

This Is Not a Love Story: A Memoir- Judy Brown

This Is Not a Love Story by Judy Brown is a painful memoir about the author's childhood, growing up with a brother that no one understood.

Brown, who also penned the phenomenal YA novel Hush under the pen name Eishes Chayil (which was seriously so good that I sat up until 2 or 3 am, reading it on the bathroom floor with the door closed so the light wouldn't bother my sleeping husband, because it was winter and the downstairs was far too cold to be comfortable in, and so I made do and it was entirely worth it), grew up in a Hasidic Jewish family in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn. She's the third of six children, and she's aware from an early age that her younger brother Nachum isn't like everyone else. He doesn't talk, he seems to stare through everything and everyone without seeing any of it, he bangs his head and rocks, he can't tolerate touch or loud noises, he has public meltdowns.

Most readers today probably recognize those characteristics as falling on the more severe end of the autism spectrum, but back in the early 80's, no one seemed to know what was wrong with Nachum. 'Crazy' was the word most frequently used to describe him and his behavior, and her insular community assigned many reasons as to why Nachum acted the way he did, including the rumor that Brown's parents, disregarding Hasidic tradition, fell in love before they were married. The entire family is deeply stressed by Nachum's mysterious behavior, each family member showing it in different ways. Their mother never stops searching for answers, dragging her son from doctor to doctor. Their father alternately shuts and explodes with anger. Brown makes deals with God to help her brother, prays for his death, and feels nothing but relief the two times Nachum is shipped off to live with relatives in Israel. Her behavior seems harsh until you remember that no one understood what was wrong, and she was only eight years old and extremely frightened (to the point where she worried that Nachum was contagious, and that her future marriage prospects- something incredibly important among the Hasidic community- would be compromised, because no one would want to marry someone with such a brother, which wasn't an unfounded fear if you know anything about Hasidic matchmaking).

In 1993, when Nachum is sent to Israel for the second time, a specialist finally diagnoses him with autism, something Brown's mother had never heard before, and his life starts to change. When Brown reluctantly visits him four years later, she finds a brother who can talk- differently than her, haltingly, but he's a brother she finally starts to understand, because he's able to participate in the world around him.

This is a tough, sad read, and it's important to remember that when the author was young, especially in her insular community, there wasn't quite the understanding we have of autism now. I have to admit, I was surprised by the medical community's inability to diagnose Nachum- if I read this correctly, Brown is about my age, and thanks to The Babysitters Club book Kristy and the Secret of Susan, I was aware of autism back in 1990/91 when I was just ten or eleven years old. Nachum wasn't diagnosed until 1993. Were doctors more conservative with that particular diagnosis back then? I'm deeply curious as to how it took him so long to receive the proper diagnosis (and it wasn't for a lack of trying on Brown's mother's part, that's for sure). This book also made me realize how damaging the societal attitude about people with disabilities was in the past- not just for those with disabilities, but for their families as well. Brown and her siblings suffered deeply (as did the parents, my goodness), and it was only as an adult that Brown was able to connect with her brother, reconcile her childhood attitude towards him, and forgive herself. We still have so far to go in terms of how we treat people with disabilities, but thank goodness we've already come so far.

This isn't an easy read, but it's a deeply fascinating one.


Visit Judy Brown's website: http://judybrownhush.com/

Once You Go In: A Memoir of Radical Faith- Carly Gelsinger

I'm so pleased to start this blog off with a review of Once You Go In: A Memoir of Radical Faith by Carly Gelsinger, an engaging memoir about one young woman's struggle to adopt a set of religious beliefs and behaviors that never quite match up to who she truly is.

As a young teenager, desperate for a place to fit in, Gelsinger joins Pine Canyon Assemblies of God, a Pentecostal church where the members roll on the floor, speak in tongues, and sob while being prayed over. None of this comes naturally to her and it's a struggle for Gelsinger to shape herself into the kind of person Pine Canyon has dictated she should be. Don't reveal even a hint of your feminine body. Don't question your leaders. Feel the spirit in the way everyone else does, using the correct vocabulary to speak to and about Jesus, and don't stray off that path, or there will be consequences- not only eternal, but social, too.

Gelsinger's doubts start early on, maybe immediately, and for the reader, it's obvious that she's trying hard to cram herself into a mold that doesn't fit. 'I cry because I am frightened for the way my peers pray, and I'm angry I can't pray like them...I cry because I don't think I believe in the Holy Spirit,' she writes, one of the many times she expresses her apprehension over what she's been taught. I was struck by the following passage, written about an extraordinarily long church sermon:

I cross my arms and decide [the pastor's] delivery is excessive and tacky. He looks extra reptilian tonight, with his triple chin quaking with every word, long neck outstretched to the heavens, and eyes darting around his congregation. Like a spirit-filled Gila monster.

Later on in the sermon, she observes:

"Isn't the Lord such a sweet, sweet presence?" he asks, and the group nods and clucks.

 No, I think. No, it's not sweet. It's boring and weird.

It's obvious from the beginning she's not quite all in.

Pine Canyon is a strange place. Gelsinger struggles to connect with and understand the sermons, and struggles harder to make a place for herself amongst the cliquish youth group. She's taught to doubt her doubts, as the saying goes, and mistrust her own feelings and instincts from the beginning. She often notes something is creepy or weird, but she forges on, desperate to conform. At one point on a missions trip to Romania, she's sexually assaulted on a public bus, and the female youth leader is quick to put the blame on Gelsinger. The messages about the absolute need to disregard your own feelings, so dangerous for a young woman, are hammered home again and again, though to Gelsinger's credit, she's never able to fully commit to this faulty ideal.

Things start to unravel after her house is destroyed in a wildfire, and Gelsinger finds herself less and less able to act like the person Pine Canyon demands that she be. A later church's homophobic marriage initiative nearly breaks her, and when her youth pastor (at the time) fiancé is fired for not bringing in the right kind of kids (kids whose parents tithe heavily, of course), the dam bursts and she realizes it's not about the spirit and never has been- it's always been about control.

This is a fabulous memoir. Gelsinger portrays her doubts and questions easily, although they must have been hard to quash at the time. Her discomfort- during lengthy services where people speak in tongues, feeling as though she has to witness to her best friend, having a sleepover with her youth pastor's wife and the wife climbs in bed with her at night and drapes her leg over her- shines through on nearly every page and it's uncomfortably honest and refreshing to read.

Something that struck me as I read this was the depth of responsibility placed on the shoulders of children and teenagers on mission trips. Gelsinger is told, "Witness to the person next to you on the flight home; if the plane goes down before they've had the chance to accept Jesus, you'll be held accountable." We don't hold our youth responsible for the physical survival of another person; why on earth would we heap the responsibility for someone's soul on them? This isn't something I'd ever considered before, and now I'm horrified by the stress and fear that must cause some kids. How damaging, and how unnecessary.

Gelsinger's faith finally lands in a comfortable place and the relief- hers and the reader's- is nearly palpable at the end. For anyone who's ever tried to force themselves into a mold that didn't quite fit, for anyone who's tried to be or become something that doesn't quite ring true to their soul, this is your book.


Visit Carly Gelsinger's website at https://carlygelsingerauthor.com/