Saturday, June 30, 2012

Today's Itinerary

Today, I'm going to a little zoo in a little town with little Melissa from Permission to Live, her wife (who actually has a name), and her twelve children.  I'm also going with my adorable wife, Kristine, and our forty-five kids.  Also, a neighbor is hopping along for the ride with her brood of sixteen children.

I'm going to be surrounded by gorgeous women!!!!!.....and kids (so I'll never get to ogle at the estrogen, embodied in hotness).  When you add them all up, it's five adults against fourteen kids.

Then, we're headed into a bigger town to go swimming and tear up the place.  I think I'll try to get myself arrested, just to experience something I've never done before.  I'll steal a lawn gnome or something.  Maybe, I'll grab a lawnmower off a property and mow some old ladies yard, then eat all their white clover.

Yes, it's going to be a great day.

I'm Circumcized - Ignorant and Happy

When I was born, all male boys in America were circumcised.  It was as normal as cutting the cord to give a baby a good looking belly button.  Nobody wanted a kid with a tail in the front, so they sliced it off, as they do today.

As a young boy, I would pee like other boys, wash myself like them, and even compare myself to other young lads to see where I was developmentally.  I never saw an uncircumcised unit - ever.  Never even knew they existed.

I grew up and went to college.  There, I began to hear about a rift in America and the rest of the world.  People were breaking into factions over what was called "the mutilation of little boys."  I would look at myself and think that I looked pretty damn good for a man of my size.  I couldn't see the problem.

Then I was righteously outraged when I heard of the common practice in the Islamic world where they mutilate a girl by performing a surgery called "female circumcision/mutilation".  Essentially, this barbaric practice is carried out with the belief that it reduces a woman's sexual drive.  That is beyond sick.  It disgusts me to no end.  All human beings should be allowed to enjoy the unholy pleasures of sexual gratification to their fullest orgasmic heights.  On the other hand, I couldn't understand why people had their undies in a wad over male circumcision.

As time went on, I began to see the argument become two-pronged.  First, the medical benefits of circumcision were proven negligible by many studies and the detractors reasoned that there was no cause for performing the procedure on their sons.  Second, the practice was determined to be a religious exercise and thus, logically came under the hot microscope of skepticism.

At the point of this realization, I had already circumcised both my sons and had enjoyed over a decade of penile usage in its most purest form, not to mention the previous two decades of necessary spillage.  I had no frame of reference for considering what life would be like pre-foreskin slice and dice, rather than what I was enjoying currently.  Asking for testimonials from those that hadn't been circumcised was foolishness because they would also have no frame of reference for how life was without a wrapper - not to mention, they would walk away, mumbling inaudibly.

I had relatives that had to be circumcised as adults because their foreskin became tight and inhibited normal urine flow.  I picked their brains (the ones in their know, the thing connected to the neck...above the shoulders (damn innuendos)) and discovered that they actually enjoyed life better without the extra skin. (This anecdote is NOT AN ENDORSEMENT for baby mutilation.  It's only to point out that sometimes it may be medically necessary.  That is all.  And yes, they were adults.  I get that and it's an awesome point.)

That was enough for me.  I don't get the brouhaha  The fracas.  The vexation.  It's as odd as the crowd that is so dead set against immunizations.  And the funny thing is, they are usually not bedfellows.  Those who are against circumcision are usually that way due to logic and science, the same exercise that gives them reason to trust in inoculations.

As you probably guessed already, there is no point to this post, except to say, I am convinced that male circumcision is a free choice and people can choose to do it to their sons if they so please.  It doesn't hurt them and it doesn't help them, though it could do both.  Frankly, my life in all areas to do with my penile member, is perfect.  I wouldn't change it for the world.  Not even if science discovered that sensation was tenfold with it back on.  I'd freaking explode.

Ramble over...

Friday, June 29, 2012

I Call Them "Word Games"

P. Z. Meyers recently wrote a brilliant critique of the argument of "presuppositionalism", which isn't even a real word.  I've even heard the school of thought framed as "everything that is argued between Creationism and Evolution stems from some sort of circumstantial evidence."

In his eye-opening and thought provoking article, Meyers tells us why that just isn't true.

" The presuppositionalist who says the total foundational premises of his view of the universe are determined entirely by one holy book is crippling their inputs — it’s like trying to read a book through a pinhole and refusing to ever turn a page. " - P. Z. Meyers.

Enjoy the read...

Beware!  Presuppositionalists!

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Do Baptists Hate Cats?

Yeah.  That is the coolest Goog search of the day that led someone here.

I grew up Baptist so I'm an expert on this one.  I hate cats and I own two and they love the crap out of me.

So...yes and no.

That should cover it.

God Does Not Care About Your Buildings

My Facebook is lighting up with praises to God for saving the ministry headquarters of Summit Ministries.  Summit is a Christian organization that claims to have absolute truth on everything in life, purportedly receiving its direction from the Holy Bible.  Thus, they look at themselves as blessed by the Almighty because, after all, why wouldn't the Almighty bless those that are perfect in purpose?

Then, the Colorado wildfires.

Summit Ministries was spared.  Sure, they had to move their classes to another facility for a while, but no property damage was reported on their campus.  Thus the praises to God on my Facebook.

Why does God care more about Summit Ministries than the hundreds, even thousands, of families and businesses that lost property and even homes - everything they own.  Why would God burn the forests, home to millions of rabbits, dear, bear, bugs, spiders, birds, and even bees.  Why would he do that and then create this magical wall around some ministry that is doing what he wants?

I bet if you took a poll, there were many families and business owners that were praying profusely to their god - more than likely the same god Summit Ministries pretends to know perfectly - and yet their livelihood went up in smoke.  Why them and not Summit?

What would the rabid excitement be like on my Facebook wall had Summit Ministries evaporated in a wall of flames?  Would the same crowd that praises their god for sparing their pet ministry also praise that god for taking it away?  Or would they ask for lots of money, rebuild, and then praise god for giving them lots of money to rebuild and make things better.

However you slice it, a Christian ministry can never be judged by God and yet, everyone else gets his judgement.  The hypocrisy is sickening to me.

Let's all agree that stuff happens, fires burn, lightning strikes, winds blow, and people die.  It's life people!  It has nothing to do with a higher power.  If you're spared, grab a shovel and help those who weren't as lucky.  Stop the sanctimonious and finger poke in the eye praising of your god who seems to be pretty picky these days with whom he spares and whom he doesn't give a crap about.

That is all.


I. C.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

An Emergency Request for Dynamic Friendship

To all my readers,

I was just contacted by a very dear friend of mine who lives near Akron, Ohio.  She is hurting right now.  Some of you may know her from reading this blog here, but I won't reveal who she is unless you are willing to help.

She is in need of life, laughs, and love.  Really, she simply needs a friend or two.

If you are close to the area or will be passing through, please don't hesitate to contact me and I will put you in touch with her.

In short, you might save a life, figuratively and in reality.


I. C.

The Movie Brave Looks to be Awesome

For all of you who are itching to see Brave, here is your breaking scoop.  I interviewed Felicity (5) after she came back home from the theater.


Friday, June 22, 2012

The God of the Bible is Actually Satan

It's quite funny actually.

I have been told hundreds and thousands of times that there are no contradictions in the Bible.  If that is the case, there is no other conclusion to make than God is actually the devil.

Read the story of David numbering the people in 1 Chronicles 21 and then read the exact same story told in 2 Samuel 24.  Only, they aren't the exact same story.  In the former, Satan makes David number the people.  In the latter, God does the evil deed (2 Samuel, if true, is much more sinister than the 1 Chronicles version, being that God made David do a naughty thing just so he would have an excuse to murder bunches of peeps).

But, again, I have been told, heatedly, that there are most definitely no contradictions in the Bible.  That the Bible is God's perfect, inspired, infallible, and most definitely, inerrant word.

Fine.  Have it your way.  God is Satan and Satan is God.

God Loves You...If You're a Tree that Bears Fruit

I'm not joking.  In Deuteronomy 20:10 - 20, God tells the people of Israel to kill everything that breathes, in some cases, or to just kill all able-bodied males in the cities he gives to "his people" - then steal all the women, kids, animals, Ouija boards, and Vicodin.

Then, in verse 19, god says, "don't cut down the trees that bear fruit".  What is the reason?  Because you are not besieging the freaking trees...just the peeps.  Kill the peeps, keep the trees - unless of course, the trees don't bear fruit.  Then slice and dice 'em.

There is so much here that is wrong.  But, suffice it to say that God cares more about trees than he does you, once you get on his bad side.  And getting on his bad side is pretty much up to his interpretation.  In this case, the people were merely in the wrong because they were squatting on land that that god wanted for "his people".

God is a god of love - if you're a fruit-bearing tree.

Wherein I Sincerely Apologize


You may have noticed I haven't produced any new material or even continued with old material lately.  I am in a sort of wake up, do day, get home, do nothing, go to sleep mode. 

I sorely want to write but my fingers, brain, and rear end don't agree with my brain.  I will re-motivate myself shortly.  That, I can guarantee.

Again, I apologize for not entertaining you.


I. C.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

My First Kiss: A Disgusting, Sloppy Mess

I dated exactly one woman in my life.  Her name was Kristine and she is now my wife of almost eleven years.  Everything about her is 100% kosher and I mean everything.  Psychologists speak of the unhealthy nature of codependency yet I proudly thumb my nose at their drivel and count myself as a codependent card carrier.

Every time I kiss my bride, I get butterflies in my stomach and my toes tingle a little, crackling the yellowing nails and causing the ever-present athlete's foot between my toes to itch.  Even a small peck has this effect on me, except that I don't go in for a peck too often - something that is irritating to Kristine, at times.  I'm all about the five minute long, passionate kiss.

I'll kiss Kristine in the middle of a diaper change, around the shower curtain while shampoo is running into her eyes, at the Gatorade booth mid-marathon, between trombone puffs while she is playing Ludwig van Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in C Minor, whilst she is pulling a shirt over her head, between loud curses while she is struggling over a calculus problem, and even at the 30-second mark of swishing Listerine Mint Mouthwash.  And the kiss will always be the best kiss ever, until the next one.

But it wasn't always that way.

Kristine and I began our dating relationship in a uniquely fundamentalist way - we decided we wouldn't kiss until our wedding day.  Not more than a few hours after meeting her, I kissed her above her top lip and said, "that wasn't a kiss because I didn't kiss you on the lips."  We played this game for about a week until one night, I couldn't take it anymore.

We were passing through the small town of New Ulm, Minnesota, on our way to somewhere from the place we started from, when I veered off the road into a K-Mart parking lot.  Being that it was K-Mart and 7:00PM, there was only a car or two in the lot.  I threw the car in park, unfastened my seat belt, and twisted my body around so that I was on my knees on the passenger side, between her knees, staring straight into her eyes.

I went in for the kiss.

I hit her with an open mouth and saliva started pouring out.  I had no clue how to handle a woman's lips and she valiantly tried to come up for air, drowning in the thick and bubbly fluid.  We giggled our way through it, trying many a move for about 45 minutes.  Then, I gave her a long, passionate hug for another fifteen minutes, twisted back into my seat, and drove away.

Kristine was silent for a mile or two.

"Was that good?", I asked.

"No...," she said, matter of factly, ending with one of her adorably sexy, deep-throated giggles that began in her lower chest.

And from that moment, I purposed to improve.  I have to say, these days, the final kiss in Princess Bride has nothing on us.

Just don't ask Kristine.

Father's Day, 2011 (Sure...I know it's 2012)

One year ago, I wrote Father's Day, Undeserved.  It was a very heartfelt post and I still agree with it completely.   I said, in the piece, that I was slowly learning how to love my children for the beautiful individuals they are - and that is still true.  By the time they move out at 35, I will have learned everything there is to learn about loving them (sarcasm intended).

I received many warm comments and emails from this post and it has proved to be one of the most popular on Incongruous Circumspection.  I also received enough hate mail to realize that there are those out there that expect a parent to be perfect from day one.

Frankly, if a parent realizes they have something to improve and set out to make damn sure they fix that issue, I would trust their parenting much more than the parent that thinks they have all the answers.  This doesn't, in any way, excuse me for being the horrible father that I have been and am currently improving upon.  Rather, it helps me understand that there are those that will be at the finish line, cheering me for what they see right in front of them, right along with those that will genuinely be praising me for fighting the long and good fight of life with children.  I will hug both.

Thank you and please re-read my Father's Day, Undeserved post from 2011.


I. C.

Ray Comfort: Bad for Christians, Good for Skeptics

This post will be appreciated by Christians who believe in a pure and unadulterated salvation message where you can "come to the cross" as you are and be accepted by the one you choose to believe in, Jesus Christ.  It will also be appreciated by skeptics that desire to be shown proof of God's existence before they run to him out of fear.

Ray Comfort, aka, Banana Boy, was asked the following question:

"If God was so obvious, why has he not revealed himself to all of mankind where there would be no question that he exists?"

Ray's answer:

"If you wanted to see the queen of England, you wouldn't snap your fingers and say, "Queen, come here!"  No, you would humble yourself, clean yourself up, and then request an audience of the queen."

For the Christian:  Ray is saying that, in order to come to God, you must be cleansed.  Unfortunately for Ray, this doesn't work for the message of salvation.  If we're all sinners anyway and have no way of cleansing ourselves without Christ, how much more can we then cleanse ourselves to make us good enough for God so that he can reveal himself to us in order that we might believe?

Jesus said that ALL can come.  Not just those that are clean.  He is the one that would cleanse the new believer anyway.  This is the same argument that started me down the path of rejecting Bill Gothard.  His 13 step process to cleansing the reprobate mind and then his follow-up commentary that said we could then be saved.  That was the antithesis of what I knew as the biblical message of salvation.

Ray Comfort is bad for Christians.  He will cause you to feel guilty every second of every day.  And, if you don't fit into what he considers the right Christian mold, he will force you to doubt your status as a Christian. 

For the skeptic:
Um...the queen I can see.  God I cannot.  I don't need the queen to reveal herself to me as actually existing because I can reach out and pinch her as she passes by in her carriage.  On the other hand, the only revelation I have seen of God is my neighbor's burnt toast the other day.  In it, I saw the Holy Grail and it looked exactly like the real one in that Monty Python epic.  I even heard the choir.

When are people going to stop listening to Banana Boy?  He's bad for Christians and good for skeptics.

Kirk Cameron has No Clue About Biblical Marriage

While on Piers Morgan's show on CNN (yeah, as usual, I'm late to the party), Kirk Cameron said that homosexuality is against what God created as perfect in the Bible with Adam and Eve, in Genesis.

Unfortunately for Kirk, he seems to be parroting right wing talking points without having actually read the Bible from cover to cover, which I have done myself, at least twenty times.  This should actually surprise many people who have heard Kirk's conversion story, where he says that, from that day forward, the Scriptures came alive to him.  It would seem that only a few select Scriptures came alive.  The rest he conveniently ignored.

You see, Adam and Eve were not married.  According to the book of Genesis, they were a man and a woman, but they weren't married.  There was no marriage.  No marriage license was issued to them.  God did not perform a marriage ceremony in a church with a hallowed vow that the Eve would forever obey Adam and Adam would throw his dirty socks on the table and Even would have to smile sweetly, kneel down, and rub his feet.  There wasn't even a law that gave Adam and Eve the right to get married.  Also, because there wasn't a law that Adam and Eve could be married, there was also no implied principle that Adam couldn't marry another man.

Wait...there wasn't another man he could marry anyway?  Oh...riiiight.  Which brings me to the reason why Kirk Cameron has obviously not read the Bible thoroughly.

In the beginning, there was Adam and Eve.  Adam and Eve had kids the old fashioned way.  No artificial means were necessary, no adoptions available.  No, they simply "knew" each other.  But their generations carried on, correct?  Yep.  Kirk, brothers and sisters got busy with each other in Genesis.  They had kids and cousins had kids and uncles and nieces had kids.  All kinds of relatives had relations with relatives near and far and they all had kids together.  It was all one big, happy family there for a while.

Then God does weird things in his inerrant and completely inspired word (Kirk Cameron's assumption).  He orders a prophet of his to buy a prostitute and take her for his wife.  His own blessed people get pissed at a foreigner who slept with one of their women, so they circumcise all the foreigners of the land, then murder them - then they steal their wives and daughters for themselves.  One of God's tribes were short on estrogen so they lay in wait, at God's command, for women to come out and dance, then they kidnapped them and took them for their own wives (You can watch this live in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers).

Many men of renown, godly men, men after God's own heart, had many wives.  The stories around these women were beautiful (especially David's women) and not once was it condemned by God.  He had many an opportunity to ridicule David for his polygamous practices but nary a word.  None.  In the case of Solomon, God only cared that he married foreign wives.  Yes, God would be considered racist if he wasn't so perfect and holy that we don't get to pick on him for doing everything he tells us not to do.

Kirk, there are many more stories of all shapes and sizes about marriages in the Bible.  Only, they were never called "marriages".  Unfortunately for your rhetoric, the Bible never says that marriage should be between a man and a woman.  Right wing leaders would want you to think that the Bible says that.  But it doesn't.

Rather than looking at all the cool ways one can get married if they follow the literal Bible, why not adopt the REAL talking points between those covers.  Like the fact that homosexuals need to die, right along with rebellious children.  The fact that destruction of civilization pointed to the sexual deviancy of the people in those societies that were destroyed.  Those are the real principles on homosexuality in the Bible.

Don't look to the Bible to define other's lives, Kirk.  It gets messy in a hurry.  That's simply because you're relying on sheepherders and camel riders who thoughts that a whisper of wind was the breath of the gods.  Let's progress together and accept the reality that people are people and they deserve the same love and respect as those you claim should be the picture of a great society.  In the arena of ideas, your arguments have no basis and you will lose.  It's inevitable.


I. C.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Same Sex Marriage is a Vile Concept

I have been married to my beautiful wife, Kristine, for nearly eleven years and if I had to point to one truth in marriage that makes those eleven years worth it, it would be that having the same sex, over and over again, would become unbearably tedious...wait...What!?  That's not what it means?

Oops...nevermind then.  Carry on.

God Approves of Birth Control

Ray Comfort, aka, Banana Man, put out a video a long time ago about how a banana proves the perfection of God's creation.  I keep going back to this video to get a hearty laugh whenever Comfort Boy begins to make sense - er - okay...he never makes sense.  He's as dishonest as a used car salesman.  Snake oil would be too good for him.

Aside from the easy refutations of his banana argument (which have been around for many years on the interwebs), I realized a key principle that he missed:

If the banana is a perfect example of God's creation and it is the primary tool used for teaching men and women how to slip on a condom correctly because of it's perfect size, shape, texture, taste, and smell (okay okay, not texture, taste, and smell...I just got carried away with copious lists like Ray does, which does nothing more than show his irritated audience that he knows how to barf out words to cause your eyes to glaze over), then God approves of birth control.

Who knew?!

P.S. Not to mention, if God's creation is so perfect, what's up with the orange!?  And why can't I suck on a porcupine!?

Sunday, June 10, 2012

I Would Hate to Be "Pastor" Creflo Dollar's Daughter

As everyone who reads sensational news knows, the "pastor" of World Changers Church International in Atlanta was recently arrested for allegedly choking his 15-year old daughter and beating her with his shoe.

According to the daughter's testimony, she was attempting to leave for a party and Dollar was adamantly against it.  He attacked her and choked her for about five seconds, then wrestled her to the ground and started beating her with the said shoe.

If this is true, that's really bad, in itself.  But, even worse, if I were his 15-year-old daughter, I would be crawling into a hole right now or quickly packing my bags to leave my father and his life - forever.

Picture yourself, Dollar's daughter, sitting in a pew at your dad's church the Sunday after the attack.  You know what really happened and told the police the truth.  Now, you watch and listen as words start to flow out of daddy's mouth and the congregation starts yelling "Amen!" and "Case dismissed!" and other loud murmurings of praise and adoration.

Then your father says that he didn't choke you.  He says he never punched you.  But, he says that he wrestled you to the ground and spanked you.

Really?  At 15?  This is an alternative story to attempted murder that would be acceptable?  Sadly, yes.  Hitting a 15-year old girl anywhere on her body - except her rear end - and choking her is taboo, but heck, beating her on the arse is fair game!  Does anyone not see the mind game here?

Then, dear old daddy begins to feel the spirit.  You listen as he blames the devil for causing this sensational controversy.  You watch him flip open to a verse in Psalms that says that the enemy attacks a good man to silence truth.  He parades himself around the stage as a martyr for a cause that you have lost all faith in.

"I was a religious man sent to jail!  I have upped my resume, if you know what I mean.  I am now on the same level as Paul and Jesus!"

The crowd goes wild.  You shrink down smaller into the cushioned pew that is beginning to feel like a board with spikes on it.  You can feel every thread of the seat - and it hurts inside.

"You know how I love my pinstriped suits.  Well, picture me in a yellow jumpsuit and sandals while being cuffed."

Laughter rattles throughout the auditorium.

"No weapon that forms against you shall prosper!"

You realize daddy dearest is referring to you as the weapon that is trying to bring him down.  Witness intimidation?  No.  It can't be.  This is just a sermon.  But it sure feels like a heavy-handed blackmailing attempt to you.  You wonder if you have a friend in the room.  All your being desires to just reach out and grab the hand of someone next to you...for support.  Then your daddy unloads...

"And we couldn't do it without the love of you brothers and sisters."

Cheering.  "Amen's!"  Murmurs of affirmation.

And that was it.  The nail in the coffin.  You realize you are now completely alone in a sea of humanity.  You close your eyes to block out reality and feel the burning sensation of thousands of eyes focused on the back of your neck, straining to "see the blood" with presuppositions of guilt.  You cannot weep.  The hurt is too much.  Rejection is full and final.


Shame on you Creflo Dollar.  You made this issue about yourself and your perceived piety and humility.  All you ended up doing was to make yourself look like an ass of a father.  You have no business parading her around like this in front of people you know you control.  Shame on you.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Bested by My Own Son

The couch felt warm and comfortable with the air conditioning blowing straight over my toes, cooling the air around my glass of Jim Beam, Coke, and ice, and a tall brown can of Monster Kona Coffee energy drink.  I had never had an energy drink before.  Something about a study that concluded your blood after downing an energy drink mirrored that of blood after a heart-attack pretty much scared me away - until now.  This didn't even taste like taurine...and I got in on sale!

Truthfully, though, I was building up energy for yard work.  That was what I claimed on the record but, subconsciously, I might have been attempting to end it all rather than pick up the bush trimmer and go to work.

Right.  The bush trimmer.  A few weeks ago, I was on one of my spending whims and decided we needed a bush trimmer for the two bushes at the end of our front sidewalk.  It was only $69.99 at The Home Depot.  Or was it $49.99?  Who cares!  It went onto a credit card at zero percent for 18 months.   At least I get to play with a toy a few times a year.  So we took it home.

(I must inform my readers, at this point, that I'm onto Kristine.  I know she bides her time, spending little to no money, until I hit my above famous spending sprees.  Then, giddily, she jumps at the chance and we blow our money together.  Who am I kidding?  I love it.  Those are some of our happiest times.  Heck, she got a new grill out of the last one.)

The trimmer sat in the garage, waiting for me to work up the motivation to remove it from the box and try as hard as I could to clip my fingers off at the second knuckle.  Now, with a concoction of ginseng, caffeine, caramel color, and whiskey, I was ready.  I burst out of the house in a dead run, headed for the detached garage, dodging tools, bike wheels and handles and bolts and nuts was out there fixing all of our bikes, readying them for summer biking trips.

I shrugged, knowing she's better at that "man's" work anyway.  She has singlehandedly re-claimed auto repair and welding into the female column of society.  I'm not exactly the best ambassador to the male persuasion.  Stack me up against her and I lose in a black belt fight every day and twice on Sunday.

But I have a bush trimmer!

Entering the garage, I leapt a stack of firewood and landed in a group of mud pies with a stuffed animal's tail sticking out of one of them.  Shaking the goo off my slippers, I opened a cupboard and pulled out the coolest utility knife known to man.  Then, I sliced open the trimmer box and pulled the slice of heaven out.

The trimmer was in two pieces.  The trimmer and then some sort of yellow something or other with a stamp on it that said it helped swipe away debris while you trimmed.  By this time, I had an audience of six lively children.  I took the yellow thingy in my right hand, and the trimmer in my left and looked at the set for a minute.  Then, I attempted to slide it onto the blade, where I thought it went.

"No Daddy!  Not like that."

The voice came from Frederic (7). 

"Oh?  But, it looks like it's supposed to slide on like this," I said as I tried to slide the yellow plastic cheap thingy on, ending up bouncing the ball of my right hand off the blade as the yellow plastic slid off of the nonexistent slot I was searching for.

"No Daddy!  Here..."

And with one swift motion, Frederic grabbed the trimmer and the plastic piece out of my hands and slid it together.  It was now obvious what needed to have been done - and I was incredulous.  All I could do was laugh.

Frederic's chest visibly doubled in size and his lips burst into one of his beautiful smiles.  I giggled some more.

"How the heck did you know how to do that?!," I asked.

"The picture on the box!"

Of course.

Introducing Jacqueline the Great! - Girls Can Do Anything

My good friend and fellow writer, Christin Berger, is completing the final touches on a project she has titled "Jacqueline the Great!"  This project has been in production for nearly two years. Jacqueline the Great! will be a series of books, starting with "The Pirate Captain" where a young girl named Jacqueline lives her favorite phrase, "Girls can do anything they want to do!"

As Berger puts it:

"This series of children’s books is about empowering our girls, celebrating a child’s imagination, and highlighting the importance of play, especially outside play.

Jacqueline’s favorite thing to say is, “Girls can do anything they want to do!”  And, she means it!  She embarks on a series of adventures, fueled by a very active imagination, that explore many, varied fields and moments in history.  She is undeterred when someone tells her that girls can’t or girls didn’t do something.

Her imaginative play is an integral part of these stories as well because it is undervalued by our society.  This creative force is responsible for much, if not all, of our advances yet we do our best to discourage it in our children.

I created this character to give my daughter and other girls someone who is not afraid to be strong and say that "girls can do anything they want to do!" Too many young girls start to minimize their strengths before they get to middle school, even when they have strong capable mothers. I hope that these stories will help girls to have the strength to be themselves and stop hiding their power."

This series aligns with what Incongruous Circumspection is all about - letting girls and women know that nothing should or can hold them back from pushing forward to be who they desire to be - and to have an unfettered blast getting there.

The author, Christin Berger, is self-publishing this series and has opened a Kickstarter campaign to raise the necessary $2500.00.  The Jacqueline the Great! Kickstarter campaign page embeds a video about the project where Berger gives a four minute introduction to the series.  The video was not produced by a Hollywood team and is thus lacking a bit in sharp quality, but that isn't its point.  Berger does a fine job of articulating the purpose of the series.

Needless to say, I am excited about this!  Show Christin Berger some love and back this project with as little as $5.00.  Of course, $1000 will give you all the awards of the $500 level and also the opportunity to name one of the characters in the series.  You get a dedication in all the books too, at that level.

Feel free to "like" the Jacqueline the Great! Facebook page, as well, where you will receive updates on the project.

Again, here is the link to the Kickstarter campaign.

Thanks for your support,

I. C.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Introducing the Spiritual Abuse Survivor Blog Network

Vyckie Garrison of No Longer Qivering (no 'u') has just launched a network for bloggers that have escaped spiritual abuse.  You can view the list of blogs here.

Also, consider joining the network and add your voice to our voices.   You can join here.

As the network grows, you can finally leave these boring old pages behind and get your fill of superior writing and thought.  (Shameless request for "you da bomb!" comments.)  Crap, that just showed my age.


I. C.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley No Longer Employed

A friend of Incongruous Circumspection sent an email to Brownburg Baptist Church in Brownburg, Indiana, requesting that the church look into the allegations against Dr. Kenneth Copley by his adopted daughter, Ruth Esther (Copley) Burger.  This friend of the blog received the following communication from the pastor's wife, Diana Abbott.


Thank you for your concern. Dr. Copley is no longer on staff or our church membership as of May 20, and our web site is being updated. We were not aware of these accusations, but do take such things very seriously. We share your desire for the truth to be brought to light for the sake of all involved.

Diana Abbott


Ruth's story was posted on this blog on June 3, 2012, which means that Dr. Kenneth Copley had already left Brownburg Baptist Church prior to its release. 

Take away what you will from this correspondence.  At this point, Incongruous Circumpection is not aware of Dr. Kenneth Copley being employed where there are minors under his care or in any position of authority over another person.  If it is discovered that he is, I will keep you posted.

Thank you,

I. C.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

I Hate Cats With a Passion

Growing up with six siblings, we had a cat once.  Her name was Cleo Jane.  Mama told me millions of times during my formative years that she had to get rid of the cat because all of us loved to carry it around by the tail and it just wasn't built for that.  I'm sure it hurt the good feline judging by pictures of her with her new owners.  A Siberian Tiger was smaller than she was, fully grown.

But that wasn't Mama's real reason.  I know that because I am just like her.  She hated the smell of cat.  Everything about it.  The litter, the way the coat smells, everything.  In fact, Mama gave Cleo Jane a bath twice a day.  That cat became so used to water that she would jump into the tub and stare up at you with a pleading look on her face, begging for a scrub.  But, being that Mama was a single mother with seven children under seven years old, with a cat that she felt needed to be cleaner than Queen Elizabeth II's wine glass, the work was just too much and we gave the cat away.

Kristine, my wife, had grown up on a farm where owning a cat was like brushing your teeth in the morning - a bygone conclusion.  After ten years of marriage, we had tried a few times, but I always struck out with my keen sense of smell.  I didn't like the litter and I could smell it from the street.  I also didn't like cats crawling all over me.  So, we tried and failed.

Until a few weeks ago.

I arrived home to two litter-trained kittens.  Kristine and Renaya (10) both assured me that I would never have to clean the litter box or feed the cats.  For the most part, they have stuck to the deal though the first week was really hard on me.  But, I'm one out of eight and I am seriously outvoted, which is good, because the entertainment is now priceless.

The other night, I was sitting on the couch, doing computer-y stuff, minding my own business, when I felt Scratchy (yes, I named them Itchy and Scratchy) jump up on the back of the couch.  I hear him purring loudly and look behind me, right into his face.  He's staring at me inquisitively.  I turned away.  Then, I felt his sandpaper tongue start licking my neck.  He did that for about ten minutes, then settled down and fell asleep. 

Analisse (2) carries a cat around, hugging it's neck, with the body of the cat swinging back and forth below her folded arms.  They love her to death.

Then, this morning, Felicity (5) burst into the dining room yelling, "Mommy!  Mommy!  Look at this squeaky toy!"  Kristine turned around and saw that she was holding Tom (Itchy...yes, their real names are Tom and Jerry).  Then, Felicity laid Itchy on his back and with both hands, pushed down on his belly and chest.  Sure enough, Tom squeaked like a squeaky toy.

Yep.  I think the cats are growing on me.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

I Miss My Wife

She has only been gone for four days.  Sure, she's flying in tonight from her whirlwind gallivant across the western United States, but I still miss her terribly.

I miss her mere presence in the evening when it's just her and I.  I miss her smile and her non-cell phone garbled laughter.  I miss the feeling I get when she sits beside me on the couch.  I missed watching America's Got Talent and the Bachelorette on Monday night while irritating her, flipping back to the Twins game every few minutes.  I miss her cooking.  I cannot see her eyes roll back into her head at everything I say while talking to her on the phone - not to mention Verizon lies when they say you get good service everywhere.

I just miss my wife.

I hope I don't crush her at the airport when I give her a "welcome back" hug and a passionate kiss.

I'll catch y'all later while I make lunch for the kiddos and call the florist.


I. C.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

The Hammer Drops: Ruth Burger's (Copley) Letter to Governor Mitch Daniels

Since I posted this series earlier today, there has been a heavy response to it.  Many people have now seen this story and have commented on the blog, as well as spoken to me personally.  Some have even spoken to the victim who was named in the series.  Her name in the series in Ruth Esther Copley, but her married name now is Ruth Burger.

She has been getting inquiries as to how her case is going due to her quick mention of the non-status in the Unfinished Justice post. Rather than answering each person individually, she has elected to post a letter she wrote to the Indiana Governor, Mitch Daniels in April 2012, detailing her case, inquiring of him to step in and do the right thing.  You will see, in the text of the letter that I have copied here, the legal shenanigans that have been going on behind the scenes.

This will put her case in perspective for everyone and maybe for Governor Mitch Daniels, who has not responded at all.

Thank you,

I. C.


Ruth Burger
[Address Redacted]
[Email Address Redacted]
[Phone Number Redacted]

10 April 2012

Dear Governor Mitch Daniels,

My name is Ruth Burger.  I am a former Indiana resident and an Army Veteran of the Iraq War.  In March 2004, I was admitted to Community North Hospital for suicide prevention.  During my week-long stay, I informed the mental health staff of sexual abuse committed against me by my father.  I also reported minors living within the home.  In September of the same year, I was re-admitted for a two-week stay at Community North.  While there, I once again relayed my story of physical and sexual abuse.

After moving to Colorado in 2006, I suffered yet another mental health relapse.  Cedar Springs accepted me into their mental health facility for a week-long stay.

During my hospitalization, I once again shared my history.  This time, Cedar Springs mental health professionals contacted the Indiana Hamilton County Police and filed an official report on my behalf.

Upon release from Cedar Springs, I was instructed to participate in a video interview for Hamilton County.  House of Hope conducted the interview and forwarded the information back to Hamilton County Police.

I was never again contacted by Hamilton County and simply assumed my statute of limitations had run out. 

In January 2012, I was informed my statute of limitations had not expired; I have until I am thirty/thirty-one to press charges.  I immediately contacted Detective Lana Howard of the Hamilton PD and informed her I was interested in pursuing my case.

Detective Howard forwarded my information and details of my case to the District Attorney.  In mid-February 2012, she informed me the District Attorney has not only refused to prosecute, but has refused to further investigate my case.  She also informed me in August 2011, they [the police] destroyed my evidence and interview(s) due to “lack of interest.”  She said the investigation she conducted in 2006 included my video interview and an interview with each of my younger siblings.  It was these interviews that were destroyed by the Carmel Police.  To my knowledge, no one else has been questioned personally, including my older siblings, my mother, or me.

I have contacted the Indiana Coalition of Sexual Abuse.  ICSA is currently advocating on my behalf.  Nearly four weeks ago, I asked permission to speak with the District Attorney personally so I may hear his thoughts and express my concerns.  My request has been blatantly ignored.  ICSA has also requested to speak with the Hamilton District Attorney.  As of today, none of her emails or phone calls has been returned.

Governor Daniels, gross negligence has occurred regarding the reporting, investigation, and handling of evidence in my case.  I am appalled that Indiana would move to destroy evidence and interviews before the statute of limitations passed.  It is distressing to know that my right to justice has been so severely stymied from the day I first sought help.  It is completely unacceptable that Community North mental health counselors, doctors, nurses and other professionals fully abdicated their legal obligations to file and further protect other minors from my perpetrator. 

I feel Indiana has handled my case with carelessness, neglect, and disrespect.  Is this the message Indiana wants to pass on to every woman who finds the strength and courage to speak out about their abuse?  Why would Indiana destroy evidence prior to the statute of limitations being passed?  Is this how Indiana routinely handles sexual abuse cases?   How can Community North get away with gross negligence regarding the handling and obligatory reporting of sexual abuse with full knowledge of minors still living within the home?  How many more patients have passed through Community North with unreported abuse?

Please encourage the Hamilton County District Attorney to re-open and conduct a thorough investigation into my claims.  Because my perpetrator has moved himself into a position of authority as a religious leader and counselor within Indiana, I strongly urge you to take action on my part.  He is a danger to society, a danger to the community, and a danger to every child he comes into contact with.

I eagerly look forward and expect to hear from you in the immediate future.


Ruth Burger

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - Unfinished Justice

Begin reading the series here.  Or, go back to Exposing the Hypocrite.

Eventually, I was able to get away completely from my parents, but not from my past.  I was a full-fledged cutter by the time I reached adulthood and suicidal thoughts and idealizations were never far from my mind. 

Finally after three hospitalizations for suicide prevention, law enforcement was contacted in November 2006 and a minor investigation ensued to make sure my younger siblings weren’t being molested.  I made the mistake of calling my dad to warn him he was under investigation.  Here is the conversation we had.

Me: “Hey dad, I’m out of the hospital again.  Ummm….I don’t know how to say this, but do you remember what you used to do to me?”

Dad: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, I told them about it and they filed a report.”

Dad: “Why would you do something like that!  Do you want the kids to grow up without a father?  I should’ve seen this coming.  I should’ve known you would do this to me too.  I should’ve known you would seek to destroy me.”

Me:  “Why did you molest me?  Why did you touch me when you punished me for doing less than that with the kids?”

Dad: “I molested you because you molested my children.  But in my defense, I never inserted my finger into your vagina.  I NEVER took your virginity.  And besides, I prayed and confessed to God.  It’s your sin for not forgiving me now.”

Me: “Well, I just wanted you to know.  Goodbye.”

Indiana CPS and police moved against my dad and interviewed my younger siblings.   Although I am within my statute of limitations to press charges,   Indiana has declined to even conduct an investigation into my claims based on destruction of evidence and passage of time. 

Dr. Kenneth Copley is now serving on the Pastoral Staff at Brownsburg Baptist Church as their counselor.  I have decided it is up to me and me alone to tell the truth about Dr. Kenneth Copley and his wife Elizabeth.  They beat and abused their children.  Dr. Kenneth Copley molested his adopted daughter and claims God’s forgiveness as reason to not confess and make this right.  He is the biggest Christian hypocrite I know.  He has tricked thousands of people all over this country into believing he is a “good, godly man” with a desire to help others.  I won’t deny he hasn’t helped people, but the man I know behind the mask is an unrepentant pedophile who continues to hide his wrongs behind “godly ministries.”   This is the first time I have come out publicly and denounced him, his “godly” testimony, and reputation. 

Read Ruth's Letter to Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels, detailing the case and the legal shenanigans.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - Exposing the Hypocrite

Begin reading the series here.  Or, go back to Pushed to Suicide.

Of course my parents found the note and woke me instantly.  Instead of taking me to the hospital and admitting I had a serious problem, they decided to handle it themselves.  That night they poured an entire bottle of Ipecac syrup down my throat and sent me off to work with my dad the next day.  Even his coworkers were concerned as they could hear me continuously vomiting all day long and my dad refused to send me home because I was sick.  I called my Youth Pastor’s wife from work and told her the story.   She told her husband and he called my dad that evening with the request to bring me in for counseling.  My dad refused and forced me to admit to my Youth Pastor that I “hadn’t tried to commit suicide.  I was only trying to get attention. Nothing is wrong with me.”  Afterwards, my dad informed me I was being sent away to Northland Baptist Bible College (NBBC) in two weeks.  I was 16.

I enrolled at NBBC one month shy of my 17th birthday.  Once my roommate walked in and found me counting pills and laying them out so I could swallow them.  I eventually told a couple of students in whispers that I believe I had been molested and told them about my dad.  This was the first time I found the courage to say, “Something bad happened to me.” 

By this age, I knew something of sexual sins.  I was aware of the term rape, but I was bit uncertain about molestation and abuse.  To me, abuse was when you had black eyes and your parents weren’t Christians.  I thought beating meant you had marks everywhere on your body when of course, under Biblical spanking, you should only mark the butt.  I believed molestation to be an act of violence ending in rape.  It took me several years to accept the fact I was molested and not every child molester leaves marks or rapes their victims.  I didn’t understand that pedophiles and their victims can actually have a “good” relationship.  It took me several more years to recognize the fact my parents didn’t “spank”, they beat me brutally and just because you strike a child on the butt instead of the face or arms doesn’t mean there isn’t abuse taking place.

College money ran out and I returned home to live as an adult in my parent’s home.  My mom and I had an unspoken agreement to simply stay out of each others’ way and it worked.  We became…very civil and polite, like strangers.  My dad and I were still close.  However, hearing his porn through my door each night (I lived in the basement now) and seeing his girlfriend (whom I knew as one of his counselee’s from ICBCI days) riding in the car each night my dad came and picked me up from work was too stressful.  So after a year at age 19, I moved out.  The affair was discovered several months later and Ken Copley resigned from ICBCI.

Read the Final Part, Part Nine - Unfinished Justice.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - Pushed to Suicide

Begin reading the series here.  Or, go back to Everything but Rape.

Naturally, my day-to-day behavior was getting worse.  I was stealing from gas stations, libraries, parents, siblings, etc. etc.  I was lying a lot too and home-life was splintering quickly.  For whatever reason known only to him, my dad abruptly stopped coming into my room and molesting me once I began working for him at age 15 as a secretary at ICBCI.

Even with my dad’s lessons of orgasm and masturbation and R-rated sex-filled movies, I still had questions.  I knew I couldn’t ask anyone so I decided one afternoon to Google “sex” on the computer at work.  I learned a lot that day.  I had heard the terminology “oral sex” and “homosexuality”, so it was mainly these terms I searched for.

In January 2000, my dad found out because a coworker had checked the internet history and discovered my searches.  I denied this vehemently and that night he declared there would never be any hope for me or my future.  My mom had been telling me this for years, but my dad and I were strangely close and I trusted him, even with the molestation.  I mainly trusted him because he always made himself available to me and paid me positive attention. He had never fully verbally belittled me, or at least it was very mild compared to my mom’s verbal abuse.   He was the only adult in my home-life that was nice to me and listened when I needed someone to listen to me.  He was like two different people.  “Night time dad” was bad but “daytime dad” was a safe rock and refuge.  But knowing that BOTH my parents were in agreement and believed there was no hope for me, I swallowed a whole bottle of Tylenol and left a suicide note.

Read Part Eight - Exposing the Hypocrite.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - Everything but Rape

Begin reading the series here.  Or, go back to The Pedophile Begins to Groom.

Because of my stealing and lying tendencies, my dad decided I shouldn’t even live with them anymore and while traveling on the weekends to different churches all over the country, began to ask people if they would give me a new home.  He even told me he asked from the pulpit if anyone could take me in that didn’t have any children since I was dangerous to them.  At one point, it almost became reality as I was sent to stay with another family as a “test trial” run.  It didn’t work out.

My parents decided to leave ATI and the ITC in September 1995.  We moved to West Baden Springs, Indiana and stayed there for a few months.  My dad was constantly traveling to find a new position for himself so I erroneously thought the worst was over and he would leave me alone.

He received the opportunity to join with Jim Logan and Mark Bubeck and open a non-profit Biblical Counseling Center in Carmel, Indiana.  He named it the International Center for Biblical Counseling of Indiana (ICBCI) and we moved to Carmel in December of 1995.  We had a large house and I was given my own room since I still wasn’t allowed to even speak to my siblings without a parent present.

He began “grooming” me again a few months later.  He used forbidden movies as one way to attract me.  Nearly any movie was “bad” so the opportunity to get around my mom’s rules and watch PG-13 movies was too much for a 13 year-old.  He would go out and rent movies like Terminator (my first R-rated movie), Grease, and the Highlander.  He would come to my room after my mom was asleep and tell me to meet him in the basement because he had a special movie to watch with me.  I’d go down to the basement and he’d have me cuddle up to him.  This was the only “positive” attention I received, and I went gladly. 

Eventually, he’d begin to move me closer and closer, rubbing my leg and moving his hand up my thigh.  Eventually, he would start to play with my breasts and developed the courage to touch my vaginal area.  He would ask me things like, “Does this feel good?”  And would continue to rub and touch till I came to an orgasm.  Then he would say, “Oh, that was nice!  I’m so glad you did that for me.  That was really special.”  Then he’d feel guilty and force me to pray with him.  He would “confess” his sin to God and ask forgiveness.  Then he’d send me off to bed.

His prayers never seemed to work.  Every night at two o’clock he would enter my bedroom.  I would be wrapped in my blankets and I would fake sleeping hoping and praying he would go away.  He never did.  He would pull the blankets off me, remove my clothes, suck on my nipples, and stick his tongue down my ear.  He never tried to force himself on me and never actually raped me, but by this point, it didn’t matter.  The damage was done.

Read Part Seven - Pushed to Suicide.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - The Pedophile Begins to Groom

Begin reading the series here.  Or, go back to A Curious Child.

During this time at the ITC, my dad started exhibiting strange behavior.  First it was simply cuddling while he cupped my butt.  Then he would hold me and rub himself against me over and over and over again.  He’d make me stand up and wrap my arms around his waist while he held me close and gyrated against me.  Then he received keys that allowed him access to any empty room at the ITC. 

Occasionally, he would enter the room and have me follow him down the hall to a separate, locked room.  Once my older sibling asked him what he needed me for and he said he was praying with me down the hall.  He wasn’t praying, he was holding and groping me through my clothes.  But he insisted he was counseling and praying over me to anyone who asked.

Once, he woke me up in the middle of the night, took me across the hall to an empty room that only he had access too.  He sat down in the chair and begged to see me naked.  He promised he wouldn’t touch; he would only “look.”  I started crying and refused.  He took me back to my room and had me lay spread eagled on my back while he pulled my underwear down and caressed my pubic area while murmuring, “You’re so beautiful.”

I didn’t know this was molestation.  I didn’t know this was sexual abuse.  I didn’t know I was being groomed by a pedophile.  I didn’t even know for sure if what he was doing was WRONG since HE was the one who beat me and separated me for doing far LESS than what he was doing now.  All I knew was that I wanted to kill myself.  I didn’t want to live separated from the family for the rest of my life and I didn’t want my dad touching me.  So I started to fantasize about cutting my wrists, overdosing, or throwing myself off the thirteenth story of the ITC.

During this time, I began to over eat and steal from family members.  This made my mom hate me even more.  She told me things like, “You should never have been born.  I wish I had never laid eyes on you.”  Then of course, to make everything she said “godly,” she would iterate, “And if you lived in the Bible times, we’d have you stoned to death.”  Great.  So on one hand my dad is molesting me while my mother is saying that by God’s mouth and if it was legally possible, I would be put to death at age 11 and 12.  Nice.  In the meantime, my dad was leading me in all sorts of prayers for demonization, giving ground to Satan, and generational curses as means to stop behavior that resulted from his hand. 

Read Part Six - Everything but Rape.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - A Curious Child

Begin reading the series here.  Or, go back to Severe Homeschooling.


Fast forward several years to age 9 and 10.  At this age, I was undergoing Copley-forced separation from my younger siblings; my older siblings were “serving God” at Bill Gothard’s Indianapolis Training Center, (ITC).  By this time, I had three younger siblings and I shared my room with one of them. I taught her to shoplift and eventually my parents found out and decided I wasn’t fit company for them.  Ken Copley jerked me out of bed one night and told me I was never to be alone with my younger siblings and unless my parents were in the room, I was to always leave.

“Sex”, and anything about my sexuality were “bad” words never to be uttered.  No one bothered to teach me anything about myself; I guess they figured if they never said anything, I would never DO anything or wonder about anything. WRONG!  Curiosity got the better of me and before my parents separated me from the younger ones, my younger sibling and I had started experimenting and looking at each other’s bodies and private areas.  I’ve since been informed by multiple friends and therapists that what my sibling and I engaged in was “normal childhood behavior.”  In my parents’ eyes, I was now a child molester.

Although I was already separated by the time my parents discovered this and the activity had already stopped, my dad gave me fifty swats with the wooden spoon and promised me 100 swats if experimenting ever occurred again.

Eventually, the ban was lifted and I was allowed to play with siblings again.  This only came about AFTER I made a second confession of “faith.”  Apparently, accepting Jesus as Savior was the missing link and now that I was “saved” I was fit for fellowship. 

My dad accepted a position as Staff Counselor with the Indianapolis Training Center and we moved in March of 1994.  The first few months were good, but I messed up again.  I was 11 and still no one had talked to me about puberty and sex.  The only thing I knew from my mother was “bleeding from ‘down there’ will start someday and I will grow hair.”  That was it.  So when the sexual urges started in, I groped a different sibling through her diaper and slapped her bottom. 

My parents found out and I was given 100 swats and separated once again from siblings AND the rest of the family.  We lived in an apartment but the ITC gave my parents two extra rooms across the hall.  The first room was where I spent a year alone.  They would send my older siblings to me with a plate of food.  I ate alone.  I played alone.  I wasn’t permitted to go outside.  The only “outside” activity I saw was through the window and walking to the car on Sunday mornings.

Read Part Five - The Pedophile Begins to Groom.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - Severe Homeschooling

Begin reading the series here.  Or, go back to Severe Physical Abuse.

During this time my parents were also homeschoolers which meant I was taught at home by my mom.  I was absolutely terrified.   I wanted to vomit the day she announced I was to start my homeschooling with her the next day.  By this time, I was so terrified of her that whenever she would ask me any sort of question, I would completely freeze up.  Concepts I understood just moments before would escape my mind as she would relentlessly hammer problem after problem into my head.  And yes, I got spanked my first day of school for not being able to find and circle every “A” on the page. 

By this age, the spanking implements my parents used had advanced.  At first, it was just the wooden spoon.  We had a running joke in the home that my mom couldn’t keep wooden spoons around because my dad would often break the wooden spoon across any child’s bare butt in two swats.  Then, my mom broke a wooden pant hanger on me.  They used metal kitchen spoons, belts of various sizes and thicknesses, and eventually, my dad settled on 1x2, about three feet long.  This became the spanking implement of choice.  It’s also interesting to note my siblings were never struck with anything more than a hand or a wooden spoon.  Not to belittle their experiences, but I’m simply stating the fact my parents utilized measures with me far beyond anything they tried with their biological children.

School became a nightmare.  Flashcards scared me the absolute worst.  It became the norm on a daily basis that for each missed wrong answer, I would be spanked.  If I got the answer wrong, I was to immediately stand up, pull down my pants and underwear, and bend over the arm of the living room chair.  Each subsequent wrong answer was met with another spanking.  And another.  And another.  Eventually, I became so terrified I couldn’t retain anything taught from the day before and everything felt out of control.

One afternoon, my mom asked me to read an analog clock.  I looked up and answered “1:00.”  “No.  It’s one minute before 1:00.  What’s one minute before 1:00?”  Because I had gotten the answer wrong, I went into instant freeze mode and couldn’t come up with the correct answer.  And thus began my afternoon from hell.

From 1:00 until nearly 4:30, my mom beat me with the 1x2 until I finally came up with the right answer.  For those skeptics who say it couldn’t have gone on that long, just know this:  my mom developed such deep splinters from the wood that she had to wrap her end of the stick in a towel because she couldn’t grip the wood anymore.  Eventually, I was forbidden to even pull up my pants after each spanking and thus stood, pants and underwear around my ankles as I shook and gave random, wrong answers.  At one point, I must have guessed the right answer because suddenly she grabbed me and pulled me out to the living room.  She called an older sibling into the room and asked me, “What is one minute before 1:00?”  I couldn’t remember.  Back to the bedroom until I finally guessed the right answer, and this time, I made SURE I ALWAYS knew what one minute before 1:00 was.   I remember her having me show my butt to Ken Copley the next day and having her proudly comment on all the coloring and deep bruising going on.  My dad praised her for “hanging in there” with me and my mom noted she “should’ve called [my dad] home so he could’ve taken over the spankings for her.”  She was exhausted, but pleased she had driven “rebellion” from my heart. 

After this incident, this treatment translated into nearly every single aspect of my life.  Failure to be able to make a complete round on the monkey bars resulted in me going outside every night and getting a spanking each time I fell off until I finally learned how to be able to go BOTH ways on the monkey bars. It became part of my daily routine to go outside after supper and spend the entire evening getting spanked until bedtime. I learned how to ride my bike in this exact same manner.  At each meal, I had twenty minutes to clean my plate.  If my plate wasn’t empty after twenty minutes, the clock was set to five minute increments and I was spanked every five minutes till the plate was empty.  I learned how to clip my fingernails using the beat-until-learned method.  My parents made it very clear they both supported each other with these methods because the Bible told them I was rebellious and God promised spanking would fix me.

Read Part Four - A Curious Child.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - Severe Physical Abuse

Begin reading the series here.


Not surprisingly, my behavioral problems did NOT stop with my second adoption, but rather increased ten-fold.  Both of my parents were extremely demanding and expected instantaneous, unquestioning, complete, obedience.  For me, in particular, this type of exactness was a far cry from what I experienced in the Bible’s home.  My parents believed the “rod” was the ONLY form of correction and they used it often throughout the day.

My first spanking I can remember was for dancing at age four.  I wasn’t even dancing, per se, I was sitting on my knees and wiggling in time to music on the radio.  My mom grabbed me and beat me for disobedience.  I supposedly understood CLEARLY at age four that dancing was a forbidden, evil activity spawned from the depths of hell itself.  I never danced again.

My parents decided I needed even MORE discipline in my life, so they gave my two older siblings age 9 and 7 full parental rights over me.  This meant if they saw me doing anything or “disobeying” rules, they had the right – no, the obligation - to beat me, as well.  And if THEY decided to beat me, they had to report to my parents so I could undergo a second parental beating as well.  If my parents went out for the evening together, my sisters would conjure any reason to spank me and then my parents would return home late, yank me out of bed and sleep, to reinforce a nine-year-old’s call to spank.  I do not blame my siblings for their behaviors as they too were simply following the rules and they would have faced the same discipline if they HADN’T followed through on my parent’s guidance.  They are not responsible and once they reached an age where they realized they were wrong, they stopped their behavior and later apologized voluntarily to me. 

My parent’s fully believed that spanking would fix any and all problems with me.  As I grew older, the spankings became longer and more brutal.  While they spanked each of my siblings, (eventually they had seven biological children) I underwent the worst and cruelest of them all.  It was my father who decided bare-butt spankings was the most effective way to spank.  He also began to pray before each spanking asking God to “give him strength.”  My parents also believed spanking should continue INDEFINITELY until the child “cried softly” and the cry itself had “changed” to prove “brokenness of spirit and a genuine desire to repent.”  This meant I was routinely given 30-50 swats.  Sometimes, I was given two spankings back-to-back.  The first spanking was for the infraction, the second spanking was to reiterate the fact I was NOT TO CRY LOUDLY and they would continue to the second spanking to make their point.  On two separate occasions, my mom bloodied my mouth by striking me across the face mid-spanking to make me stop crying.

Read Part Three - Severe Homeschooling.

The Hammer Drops: Dr. Kenneth Copley Exposed - Adoption into a Family

This is the long-promised, nine-part series that will expose the evils perpetrated by Dr. Kenneth Copley.  While you read, keep in mind that this man is still serving as a staff member of Brownburg Baptist Church in Brownburg, Indiana as a Pastor of Discipleship.

This series is written by the victim in the first person.  Many of the details are very graphic.  You have been warned.


Sometimes, good people do bad things.  Sometimes, evil people pretend they are good while fooling everyone around them.  Some have experience with the former; I have personal experience with the latter.

On the surface level, most believed my family epitomized the ideal Christian family.  Over the years, we never missed a service.  My dad was a pastor and later became a well-known name in Biblical Counseling.  He specialized in family and marital counseling.  He led the largest Sunday school class in our church.  He became a published author  and was invited to Kenya, Africa to teach pastors.  My mom was an Awana leader and a church choir member.  Nearly all of us kids took yearly awards in Awana and other activities.  I personally joined the Awana Bible quiz team as a child and took multiple awards for Christian Service and Bible Memory as a teen.  I became one of the church pianists. I also sang in the church choir and was the youth group pianist.  We had family Bible reading every day followed with prayer.  Bible memory was a daily activity.  We stayed away from movie theaters, refused to listen to rock music, and watched ourselves carefully for modesty.  Anywhere we went, people knew our name.  So surely, my parents desired to follow the Lord in all areas and desired the same for the children, right?

I was born in Seoul, Korea as Su-Yong Park.  My family lived in extreme poverty and at one month of age, my father placed me into Korea’s adoption system.  Five months later my overseas adoption was approved and I was placed with a family who last name was Bible, in Minneapolis, Minnesota.  They decided to re-christian me as Julie Anna Marie Bible and I became part of their family.  While I could spend hours dissecting what went wrong within their home, it’s easiest to simply state I had behavioral problems and they decided they couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with them.  From what I’ve been able to piece together of my earliest years, eventually the Bible’s contacted the State and asked to have me temporarily placed with another family when I was around three years of age.

Kenneth Copley, an Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) Pastor at Normandale Baptist Church, in Bloomington, Minnesota, and his wife Elizabeth, a stay-at-home mother to their three biological children, were part of a new religious movement called The Advanced Training Institute of America. Incongruous Circumspection has written copious articles about this program so I will not go into great detail about ATI and Bill Gothard.  For reasons beyond my understanding and knowledge, they were also approved as foster parents by Minnesota and it was to their home I was redirected.

For some reason, everyone involved decided I was better off staying with the Copley’s than the Bible’s, so after months of being moved back and forth between their homes, the Copley’s were awarded full guardianship and my second adoption was finalized when I was five.  Once Ken Copley told me I had run to the Bible’s and told them, “They pull off my pants and underwear and spank me on my bare butt,” which was true.  How I wish someone had listened instead of blowing it off as a “good thing” to happen to me.  I was terribly confused and frightened during those days.  I remember each night asking myself, “Who is my mom?  Do I even HAVE a mom?  Who’s gonna be my mom tomorrow?  I thought mom was “forever” but now they’re telling me that my old mom is NOT my mom and this new woman is my mom.”  I was a very scared and uncertain little girl.

Once my adoption was final, my name was changed a third time to Ruth Esther Copley.  And thus began a nightmare from hell over the next twelve years. 

Read Part Two - Severe Physical Abuse

The Hammer is Dropping Later Today

I have received the testimony from the victim and am now editing it for clarity sake.  Really, just grammar, if it even needs it.  All the words will be the victim's words.  The victim identifies themselves in this testimony.  Hold your breath.


I. C.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Fred Phelps Clan Caught in an Hypocritical Trap

Don't go to any of their websites.  Anything I cite, I'll print out here so they don't see a traffic bump and have an orgasm. 

On June 3, 2012, at 8:45 AM in the morning, the hateful Fred Phelps clan will be picketing the College Church of the Nazarene in Olathe, Kansas.  Why, you might ask?  Does this Olathe church preach that it's okay to be gay?  You would think so, with all the focus on Westboro Baptist Church's own addiction to gay sex.  They love it.  They have to print pictures on placards so they can look at it.  They show it to their children from the day they come out of the womb.  (Yeah...that was allegorical.  How would I know.  But, you can see plenty of pictures of their babies and little children on the curbs where they are protesting, to jump to that conclusion).

No.  Not because this church preaches love.  Not remotely.  In their own words, Westboro Baptist Church is picketing this church because:

"...[the church] tells the people that they have a free will to accept Jesus as their savior, thereby giving the power over salvation to the creature."

That's it.  Yep.  They are picketing this poor church because the people of WBC are strict neo-Calvanists!

But wait.  Something is wrong here.  If you watch this story of Lauren Drain
, daughter of Steve Drain, member of WBC, you'll see a curious contradiction at work. 

Lauren was excommunicated from the church and begged her parents to forgive her.  She said she would do anything to stay. (The reader might wonder why a grown woman would beg to stay in such filthy hatred and a commune environment that caused her to be ostracized by the most people that would otherwise want to love her.  I know this feeling.  When it is all you know, leaving it is very fearful - especially when you have been told that you will burn in hell if you do leave.) When the reporter asked Steve Drain about his daughter, Steve acted completely indifferent and actually mocked her on camera.  He said that they gave her over to Satan.

Then, on camera, Steve Drain tells Louis Theroux that the members of WBC are the only elect (chosen by god to be in heaven, granted salvation through no power of their own).  How does he know?  He answers that question with a question:

"Do you see anyone else obeying the commands of the Lord and doing what we do?"

The question was rhetorical and he knew it.  He followed it up with a "that's how we know" and a confident fist bump to his god - a figment of his imagination.

Um...Steve?  Are you saying that you are the elect because you obey the commands of the Lord?  Are you not picketing a church tomorrow because they make "the blood of Jesus to no effect (sorry..the Bible uses a lot of Yoda-speak...bear with me)" by "giving the power of salvation over to the creature"?  Didn't you say on camera that, should Lauren ever come back and prove that she is one of the elect, you would accept her as the elect?  Wouldn't she be proving that of her own power, making election a fancy and useless misnomer?  Are you not concluding that you are the elect because you are the only blokes on this evil planet doing what the Lord commanded, thereby putting the power of salvation back into the hands of the creature?

I wouldn't expect the people of WBC - especially Steve Drain, who barfs out words that make no sense, designs placards that are simply stupid and meaningless (like his "Bitch Burger" sign), and puts together videos of random cartoons and faces of people and imagery that make no sense, even when he tries to explain them - to think long enough to try and refute me.  They'll throw out something like "you reject the word of the Lord and you're going to hell!"  More than likely, they'll have one of their kids do the deed.  But, there you have it (as if you really needed a reason). 

You can now reject Westboro Baptist Church and all their members as hypocrites.  Vile ones at that.  But don't tell them that.  They'll throw it back in your face, pretending that it actually means something.  Just go about your merry way and feel smug.