July 14, 2005
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On the cover: Members of The
Good Ground faith-based rehab house. Photo by Helen Sanderson
The Good Ground: Backyard
missionaries give female addicts faith to stay clean
by HELEN
SANDERSON
THE MAUVE, CUSHIONED PEWS WERE
CRAMMED TIGHT with well-scrubbed Pentacostals as Pastor Jonathan
McDonald, son of Senior Pastor John McDonald, paced the altar
and stomped up and down the plush carpeted aisles of the Full
Gospel Tabernacle's Cutten church.
His face red and shining, his
neck muscles swelling, the lively 35-year-old preached. Into
a cordless microphone, he told the story of Hagar, the mother
of Ishmael and Egyptian maidservant of Sarah and Abraham. Her
abusive employers cast Hagar into the wilderness.
"I want to preach to all
the Hagars here who were raised in situations that were less
than perfect," Jonathan said.
As he went on with Hagar's story from the book
of Genesis, the pastor's feverishness grew, his oration, booming
over amplifiers, became more southern-sounding: every sentence,
then almost every word ended with an `uh' for emphasis. "And
then-uh Hagar-uh went-uh through-uh"
Jennifer, a 29-year-old resident
of a faith-based rehab house called The Good Ground, was on her
feet along with her housemates, holding her five-year-old daughter
close to her chest, rocking side to side.
The 350 or so worshippers, all
on a spiritual high, absorbed every syllable. Some fanned their
faces with folded sheets of paper, nodding in agreement. Others
lurched from their seats and held their hands to the rafters
and yelled "amens" of encouragement.
It's true that Pentecostalism
is pretty different from classic WASP services. The sermon is
loud, bordering on rambunctious. All of the women wear long dresses
and leave their hair uncut. Sometimes, parishioners speak in
tongues. Pastors heal the sick by laying on hands.
Brother Jonathan was like a
point guard leading his basketball team in a championship game,
and the Full Gospel Tabernacle was a stuffy gymnasium of rooting
fans devouring his every move.
"God has been seeing you
the whole time," Jonathan said. "You haven't been by
yourself! God saw Hagar getting beaten but He said, `I've got
to wait until she's all alone by the well.'"
He crouched inside of the Plexiglas
podium on the pulpit, and hugging himself, he acted out Hagar's
despair, stooped by a clear plastic "well" for everyone
to witness.
The sermon had reached its crescendo.
The congregation was on its feet, cheering and praising Jesus.
Jonathan stood back up, took off his glasses and wiped sweat
from his face.
"All Hagar could see was
the desert," he said. "But if you can see a power greater
than sin and insecurity there is a well of water for every Hagar
here today!"
As things simmered back down
and Brother Jonathan poured what seemed to be his reserve tank
of energy into the microphone, he issued a powerful promise.
"God is going to set you
free," he declared. "I don't care if it's your first
day here or if you have been here for 50 years, God will give
you deliverance."
Total
trust
No one ever said that getting
sober was easy. It takes time, patience and a hard look in the
mirror. A person in Alcoholics or Narcotics Anonymous would tell
you that recovery comes one day at a time. Someone in The Good
Ground would agree, but they would add that quitting drugs also
requires total trust in God.
The Good Ground, so named for
the Biblical parable of the sower whose seed only took root in
fertile soil, is a residential recovery house in Hydesville for
women and their young children. It's affiliated
with Full Gospel, a member of the United Pentecostal Churches
International and a parish that takes its ministrations to recovering
addicts seriously. Senior Pastor John McDonald, who came to the
church 35 years ago when there were only nine people in attendance,
said that, in his estimation, 60 to 70 percent of the congregation
have struggled with drug and alcohol abuse.
He attributes the large numbers
of former addicts to the church's outreach efforts with people
on the street and in jails, but mainly, he said, substance abusers
learn about the church through word-of-mouth.
"A person's testimony is
probably our most positive drawing card," McDonald said.
"Where these people have been involved on the street they
know the different drug members and they'll come across someone
who will say, `You've dropped out of the ring: what's up?'
"And they tell them, `I've
found something to replace [drugs] that's better. I've been filled
with the Holy Spirit now.'"
Mental
captives
Earlier that morning, Carla
Giovannetti climbed the stairs of the North Coast Learning Academy,
a charter school* situated just a few yards behind the Full Gospel
Tabernacle. It also doubles as a Sunday meeting place for The
Good Ground's 12-Step group. [*Corrected from
the print edition.]
Currently, there are four women
living at the Good Ground house: Angela, Jennifer, Pam and Renee.
Their length of sobriety falls in that order -- Angela has seven
months, Jennifer and Pam four, and Renee less than a month. Carla's
lectures are specially aimed at these women, but any woman with
addiction problems is invited to attend if she wishes. Typically,
there are eight women there.
Carla unlocked the classroom
and organized the small desks into an "L" shape in
front of the whiteboard. In the middle, she left one table where
she set her paperback study book, The Twelve Steps: A Spiritual
Journey, and a Bible with a worn leather jacket.
The 51-year-old mother of two
grown children seems comfortable in front of a group and fiercely
committed to the topic of recovery. As a teenager she was arrested
for drug possession. At 20, Carla sobered up, or as she puts
it, "I'm 31 years in the Lord."
Like AA, The Good Ground uses
the 12-Step model to substance abuse recovery:
Step 1: We admitted we were
powerless over alcohol (or drugs) that our lives had become unmanageable.
Step 2: Came to believe that
a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
But it's here in Step 2 where
The Good Ground distinguishes its approach to recovery. In AA,
the member decides what "Power" to rely upon for their
sobriety. But at The Good Ground, God is in control, not Buddha
or Allah or GOD (the Great OutDoors). Faith in Jesus Christ is
essential to make this particular route to recovery navigable.
And because the faith-based
path is narrower than other treatment options it doesn't work
for everyone. Along with a heavy dose of Bible study, parenting
classes, relapse prevention classes and daily work in the flower
and vegetable gardens, there is a list of 40-some odd rules outlined
in a "behavioral contract" that the women must adhere
to for the entire year that they are in the program. That means
no tobacco, no television, no sex, no yelling, no imposing opinions
on others, no revealing outfits, no NA or AA meetings outside
of the house; this last rule came into effect after a few women
scored drugs from old friends at an NA meeting in Fortuna.
Carla has had some time to hone
her craft of preaching. Since 1990 she has worked with a religion-based
counseling group for women at the Humboldt County Jail called
The Spirit of Recovery. Often, she'll refer inmates to The Good
Ground upon their release. That's how many of the women wind
up there, like Angela.
Once everyone was settled into her seat, Carla
[photo at left] popped the cap off of her black marker and began
scribbling on the whiteboard. Across the top, in big letters
she wrote, "God is Love."
The class begins with a discussion
about the Fourth Step: Make a searching and fearless moral
inventory of yourself.
It's a hard Step, arguably the
hardest of the twelve. Thoroughness and total honesty in those
admissions is key. Writing it all down, Carla said, is vital
to the recovery process. At The Good Ground, once they've put
it all on paper the women then have to read their life's wrongs
to themselves in the mirror.
Each Step takes a month to complete
-- 12 Steps for a 12-month program. June was an especially emotional
30 days. Director Therese Spears said the mood at the
Hydesville house was, at times, very somber.
"I never said honesty was
easy but it is paramount to your recovery," she told the
group.
Examining the wounds that drugs
once numbed can be emotionally excruciating. More often than
not, Carla said that among other traumatizing events, the women
she works with have been sexually abused. It's typically what
sparks their foray into drugs. Coming to terms with those things,
she said, is the basis of recovering from drug abuse, not just
fighting the actual addiction itself.
To the eight women in the class,
Carla posed a question: What triggers your impulse to use drugs?
Collectively, they brainstormed:
anxiety, low self-esteem, abuse, codependency, guilt, shame,
loneliness, people pleasing, trying to blend in.
Using the Scriptures to help
sort and manage these feelings, Carla claimed, is the key to
staying clean.
To illustrate her point, she
moved back to the dry erase board, and wrote Luke 4:18.
"I want you all to memorize
this passage," she said.
The Spirit of the Lord is
upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to
the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach
deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty them that are bruised.
"Think about that when
you're in turmoil, when you're in a state of brokenness,"
she said. "When He says, "captives" He means emotional
captives, He means mental bars, not like the bars of a jail cell.
He means spiritual blindness not physical blindness. I like to
think of it as recovery from denial.
"See, even the Lord is
into recovery!" she said, lightening the mood. "He
wants to `set at liberty them that are bruised.'"
Suzanne
Jesus Christ
One of the church members who
came to hear Carla was Suzanne, a 36-year-old Eureka resident
who for over a decade was addicted to methamphetamines. She and
her two children, who are now 17 and 9, moved from place to place
with a series of boyfriends, until she was living in a trailer
at the Redwood Acres parking lot in Eureka. She remembers buying
water shoes for her and the kids so they could shower in the
cement stalls there.
Smoothing the tablecloth of
her kitchen table with her hands, Suzanne recounted the day she
ran into an old acquaintance, someone she used to do drugs with.
The woman, who was staying in a halfway house, had since kicked
her drug habit and become religious.
"She said, "'Sister,
you need to get into recovery,'" Suzanne recalled.
The next day was New Years Eve
1999. It was her last night in the trailer and the beginning
of her sobriety.
"When I came to this church,
they taught me one thing it's that the cycle does not have to
continue," she said. "It can all stop here. My children
don't have to be living with parents addicted to drugs and alcohol.
"My God, it was a revelation,"
she continued. "Everything about me was able to change,
because it says in the Bible, `Old things pass away. Behold,
all things become new.' I got that. It was just like, `I don't
have to be Suzie the drug-dealing tramp.' All these things passed
away when I got baptized. I came out a new creature in Christ
Jesus. I had a new name. I was no longer Suzie, I was Suzanne
Jesus Christ. I was able to become new. I wanted to be known
as Sister Suzanne."
But even with a new name and
a new sense of self, old demons returned.
In the spring semester of 2004
she was on the Dean's list at College of the Redwoods. By the
spring of 2005 she was flunking out. Again the culprit was drugs,
but this time more indirectly than before. Her husband, who has
been in and out of the picture over the years and continues to
use drugs, she said, has beaten Suzanne in meth-induced fits.
She stopped going to church, partly because of the bruises and
partly because she was losing faith.
"My husband was beating
me and I was praying to God that he would stop, like `Oh Lord,
please let my husband see what he is doing.'" she said,
mimicking his behavior with a raised first. "He started
saying, `Shut up. There is no God. I'm the only God you'll know.
Your life is in my hands right now, I decide if you live or die.'"
This episode happened after
she asked him to put up a clothesline in the back yard.
"Supposedly that was back-talking
and that wasn't the thing for a Christian woman to do,"
she said. "He brainwashed me because we are about submission
in the church. But there is a line in the Bible, `You submit
to a man who is following after God's own heart.'"
During another violent encounter
he allegedly gave her an ultimatum: "Either you smoke this
[speed] or you get your ass beat right now."
"And it's like, you take
a think: Are you going to take a hit or are you going to get
beat? And you know that he is serious what would you do? What
you would do is get out of the relationship, right? You would
leave," she said. "But I was so caught up and I needed
to put up this façade for the whole church."
Pastor John McDonald, who is
now familiar with Suzanne's situation, said that his church does
stress keeping the family together, but not at a physical cost.
"When it is abusive like
that we tell them first of all you have to protect yourself,"
McDonald said. "And if that means separation on a temporary
basis until they get help and get healed that is perfectly fine.
You can't live in something that's abusive like that."
Once more, Suzanne has separated
from her husband and recently started the recovery process over
again, literally, from Step One, with The Good Ground women.
Suzanne said that along with NA and AA meetings and weeknight
Bible study classes, she counts on the extra attention and support
she gets at those Sunday morning meetings.
Backyard
missionary
Therese Spears, a practicing
Pentecostal and founder of The Good Ground, jokingly calls herself
a "backyard missionary" partly because she has taken
on a faith-based endeavor to help people close to home, but also
because she actually enjoys spending time in the backyard. Gardening
is a major staple to life at The Good Ground, an integral component,
she says, for the women's recovery process.
"Getting out into the garden
and working the soil is a wonderful healing process," she
said one recent morning at The Good Ground's Hydesville home.
Angela echoed her claim.
"I love tearing out the
weeds because it's like getting rid of all the bad things from
the past," she said with a laugh, miming the action with
her hands. "There goes that boyfriend and that bottle and
that felony"
In 1998, Spears, 55, bought
the yellow 5-bedroom Victorian just down the road from her home
in Hydesville on the cheap. To her, the 108-year-old house had
rehab written all over it. Residents pay up to $650 per month
for 24-hour supervision. (Most women can't afford the standard
rate; they pay what they can, often simply signing over their
welfare checks).
"When I found the house,
it was already in my heart to do something like this," Spears
said.
This issue of recovery hits
close to home for Spears, whose daughter struggled with drug
dependency and wound up in jail, pregnant. "When she got
out, there was no place for her to go."
Her daughter is now in a treatment
center in San Francisco. Therese has adopted her two grandchildren,
10 and 11, and they live with her at The Good Ground. But as
they get older, she said, she'd like to move back to her own
home with the boys so they will have a more normal living situation.
Right now she is considering who will take her place.
"Angela has expressed interest,"
she said. "So have some other graduates. I know they'd all
be great, but it's a hard job, and it's a hardcore group to deal
with.
"You become like the guardian
of their thoughts; you always have to be sure they're being honest.
Unless they're open and honest, they carry ties to the past and
that gets them in trouble."
Angela said she never wants
to leave.
"I'm going to be in this
house, in that same bedroom, when I'm 90 years old," the
42-year-old mother of two said.
She didn't always feel this
way, though. When she first came in, battling a dependency on
various pharmaceutical drugs, she was skeptical of the program,
and especially wary of the church that she now attends every
Sunday morning.
"I said, `These people
are nuts! They're raising their hands in the air, they're disruptive,'"
she recalled, relaxing in the living room at the Hydesville house
one Monday morning in June. "But for some reason I kept
looking forward to going back every week. Now I'm one of those
nutty people and I love it."
Not everyone makes
it the whole 12 months. Spears said that since the program began
in 1999, about 20 women have graduated and about 10 or 12 have
not. The program is too strict for some; others are put off by
the relentless religious rhetoric.
"People have come to me
for treatment after they've been asked to leave The Good Ground,"
said Helene Barney, director of Healthy Moms, a county-operated
outpatient drug recovery program for women with children. "Maybe
they were caught talking to a man on the telephone, or doing
things that adults do, like engaging in consensual sex. Some
people feel like those rules are too strict."
But, she added, Healthy Moms
still refers women to The Good Ground.
"Their program is not for
everybody," Barney said. "But for a woman who has little
kids and no place to go, and if she's receptive to religion,
The Good Ground can be a good option for her."
Some women, such as Jennifer,
relapse and still decide to return to The Good Ground. Her first
time through, she said, she didn't fully disclose all of the
wounds from her past. Gradually, she slipped from the church,
postponing her Fourth Step and opting instead to work things
out on her own terms.
"Next thing you know it
started with a cigarette, then I have a beer in my hand and soon
enough I wanted to do a line," she recalled, visibly choked
up. "But after everything I was welcomed back here, without
judgment. That's why this place is so special to me."
For Therese, who has seen addicts
come and go, a faith-based approach to sobriety is successful
when a person follows God's word and learns to depend on it.
"When we just rely on reason
and logic, we're limited in our recovery," she said. "With
faith, the sky is the limit; you can do anything."
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