AFTER MOM RETURNED to Denver without either Marilyn or me, life settled into a nice routine of school, work, homework, and taking care of Mark and Lillian’s kids. For the first time in my life, I felt normal. I could hardly believe the difference as I walked into Spring Branch Church of God Academy each weekday. Following the incident with Mom, all the teachers knew my story, but they didn’t treat me as odd because of it. Instead, they treated me with kindness —an intentional outpouring of thoughtfulness and care —from the first moment. I’d never been on the receiving end of such love. Their eyes showed they cared, and their words were understanding and compassionate.
The same was true of my fellow students. They made me feel welcome at school and invited me into their circle of friends. The small school had fewer than a hundred students in K–12, so we all got to know each other well. Plus, the families all attended the same tiny Church of God, a requirement for a having a student enrolled in the school. In this tight-knit community, everybody knew everybody, but more important, we had each other’s backs. I became fast friends with siblings Madlin and Alex Campbell, as well as Michelle Carpus and David Heyen.
My new girlfriends invited me to go with them to the youth retreat planned for Thanksgiving weekend, just a few weeks away. As Lillian drove us home from the appliance store that evening, I began to think through how to ask her if I could go to the retreat. I just needed to find the right moment. Even though my free time was limited because of school and work, I still longed to join my new friends.
Lillian looked more fatigued than usual as she tried to finish dinner and deal with the babies. After dinner, I took the kids off her hands, put them in a bath —which always settled them —and helped get them ready for bed. I knew it was now or never to make my request. Lillian was in the living room, where a laundry basket full of clean clothes waited for me. As I picked a shirt out of the basket and began folding it, I seized the opportunity. My heart was beating fast as I tried to find the words to ask Lillian about the retreat, knowing it would be a sacrifice on her part if she agreed.
“I like my new school a lot. The teachers and kids are really nice to me.”
Lillian looked at me. “I’m so glad to hear that. Mark and I both think it will be a good situation for you.”
“I do too.” I paused and cleared my throat, which had suddenly gone dry. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“Well, there’s a youth retreat coming up . . .”
“I heard about that at church on Sunday,” she said.
I grabbed a pair of jeans and quickly folded them. “I’d kind of like to go.”
I was afraid to see Lillian’s expression, so I averted my eyes and began to sort the socks. My head and heart willed Lillian to say yes, or at least say she’d think about it and talk to Mark. I viewed the long weekend away as an opportunity to get away from the endless work at the store and at home with all the children. I desperately needed the break, but I also knew this would be a privilege.
When Lillian didn’t say anything, I glanced up. A faint smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I think that would be okay. Do you have any more information about it?”
I told Lillian how much the retreat cost, but quickly added, “I don’t have the full amount right now, but if you would loan me the money, I’ll pay it back with my earnings.”
“Let me talk to Mark, and I’ll let you know one way or the other.”
The next morning at breakfast, I tried to be as helpful as possible —again, hoping my efforts might be worthy of some time off.
Lillian pulled me into the laundry room. “Anna, Mark and I talked about it, and we are not only going to give you permission to go, but we’re going to pay your way.”
I stared at her, my mouth open, until one of the kids hollered from the dining room. “Thank you so much, Lillian! This means so much to me. I don’t even know how to thank you.” I hugged her and held on.
Lillian broke away when we heard another squeal. “I hope you have fun with your new friends.”
We met at the church right after Thanksgiving dinner, and after we loaded our luggage and sleeping bags into the back of the church’s old bus, all of us climbed aboard and found our seats. I waved good-bye to Lillian and the kids through the window, then settled in for the hour-long ride to J Bar J Ranch, in Sealy, Texas. En route, I learned many of the Christian camp songs popular in the eighties, which we sang at the top of our lungs. Before I knew it, we had arrived. The ranch sprawled over several acres, and even though the grass was brown and many of the trees had shed their leaves, I relished the opportunity to spend a few days outside the city.
During the day, we played kickball, tetherball, Wiffle ball, and tag for hours, then gathered in the chapel in the evening to sing and listen to the youth pastor’s sermon. I got to know my new friends better in the carefree, lighthearted environment. I especially liked the camp food —particularly that there was plenty of it.
Though I hadn’t envisioned anything other than a break from the mountain of work back home, God had something different in mind for me. On Sunday night, after Pastor James finished his sermon, he stood at the front of the small chapel with arms extended and said softly, “Is the Lord calling you tonight? He is, if you don’t already have a relationship with Him. So ask yourself, ‘Do I know about Jesus, or do I know Jesus Himself?’”
As the pianist played quietly in the background, I felt something pressing on my chest, as though someone had placed a sack of potatoes on it. My heart beat faster and I gasped for breath.
Pastor James continued. “In just a moment, we’re going to dismiss for the evening. But if you feel God calling you, if you want to pray, just stay in your seat. Let everyone else leave. Don’t worry about what they’re doing. You have an appointment with Jesus tonight.”
All around me, kids started getting up silently and walking out of the chapel. But I stayed. I don’t think I could have willed my feet to move even if I’d wanted to. Honestly, I didn’t fully understand what I was doing. But a spectrum of emotions —peace, hope, joy —washed over me. For the first time ever, I felt settled and accepted for who I was. I wanted in on this amazing life that I could see everyone there had. I certainly didn’t understand everything, but I knew enough to know these people had something real, something special. The love in their lives was evident to me. How they lived out their faith was palpable. So when Pastor James offered me the opportunity to be a part of it, I wanted to accept.
Eventually, only the two of us remained. Pastor James walked over to me, turned a chair around, and sat down in front of me. “Anna?” His voice was filled with compassion.
I lifted my head to look at him.
He greeted me with a wide smile. “Would you like to pray to invite Jesus into your heart?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He asked gently, “Are you comfortable praying out loud?”
My voice was barely above a whisper. “No.”
“That’s fine. No problem. You can pray silently. Just repeat after me, okay?”
I nodded again.
Pastor James took my hands in his and began to pray, and when he paused, I repeated the words in my mind.
Dear God, I believe that Jesus died on the cross to pay the penalty for my sin. Thank You for loving me so much that You have forgiven me and offer me eternal life. Amen.
I clutched his hands as my heart beat wildly in my chest. I meant every word I prayed that day.
I felt conspicuous as I walked out of the chapel and joined my friends in the game room. I thought all eyes would be on me as I walked in, but the other kids pulled me into the banter and fun as though nothing unusual had happened. The smile on my face told the whole story. I was loved and accepted by God, and I was bursting inside with the wonderfulness of it all.
When I got back home, I felt different —renewed and full of hope. I knew I had a lot to learn about the Bible and my relationship with Jesus, but I understood that I was saved. If I died, I would go to heaven, and that assurance gave me security and peace. Still, I struggled with actually saying the name Jesus. His name had been spoken with such scorn and derision in my family that whenever I did say it, even to myself, I had to fight off negative thoughts and feelings, imagining my family’s judgment.
Although I shared most of what happened during the retreat with Lillian and Mark, I didn’t say anything about my conversion for fear that they might enroll me in public school. I knew they hadn’t sent me to a Christian school to become a Christian; I was there because the culture there would keep me safe from the “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” so prevalent in the public schools.
I knew Mark and Lillian were being exposed to the gospel themselves. In order for me to go to the academy, my “parents” had to attend at least one church service a week. So they dutifully got up on Sunday mornings and took the entire family to church. They began serving the church before they became believers.
Mark, an incredible musician, sometimes played piano during the worship service, and Lillian would sing with him. Mark also volunteered to drive for the bus ministry. Their involvement gave me a sense of relief.
I’m not entirely sure how and when their conversions occurred, but one Sunday night at church during testimony time, they each stood up and shared that they had come to trust Jesus and gave glory to the Lord. I felt even more relieved. I had purposefully chosen to let them come to know God in their own way and in their own time. After I had made my decision to follow Jesus, I was a quiet believer at home. But at church and youth group, I spoke freely about my faith and love for Jesus. Once I heard Mark and Lillian testify, I told them what had happened to me on that weekend retreat and felt free to talk about spiritual things at home, too.
Mark and Lillian still had the daily pressures of juggling work, school, and kids, and we always feared repercussions from Dan Jordan or my mom, but the atmosphere in their home eventually began to change. The undercurrent of stress and fear gradually abated for me. After years of being Lillian’s right-hand girl who worked hard for her approval and made sure my consistent efforts secured my place in her home, I now realized I had become indispensable to her and Mark.
In the spring of 1983, at the age of fourteen, I starting “going with” David Heyen. I fell hard for his sweet smile and somewhat shy personality. My mind quickly turned to thoughts of marriage; after all, most of the females in the culture I’d grown up in were married by age fifteen. I began to wonder what it would be like to marry David —and more important, to be his only wife. Though it was a foreign concept from what I’d grown up with, and far outside the realm of my reality, I liked to imagine myself being special to someone, instead of just one of many wives. I let myself fantasize about a monogamous marriage —like Mark and Lillian had, or Jim and Kathleen, who had eloped when they couldn’t get permission from my mother and leaders within the cult to marry. I wanted the kind of love they shared.