(2021 Moderator’s Note: Allie’s Story is part of The Vault, a series of drafts that were discovered in a backup file from 2011. These posts were not published for some reason but are now being published. If you are Allie and do not want your story to remain published, please email me at recoveringalumni at recoveringalumni dot blog.)
Not long after that, I dropped in on an ATF. I can’t remember why I was there, although I do remember not particularly wanting to be. I heard Ron spouting off about Columbine victim Rachel Scott, making a very big fuss over the fact that she had been accepted to go on a Teen Mania trip, and “which of you will go in her place?” I was disgusted by such a blatant bid to cash in on the tragedy of this poor girl and her family. And what about the other Columbine kids? Did they matter less because they weren’t planning a summer Teen Mania trip? Apparently so.
Then he started in on the Teenage Bill of Rights. It wasn’t the same one that’s gotten so much press, it was a more basic thing that talked about teenagers having a right to personal dignity. To using their voices and being heard. To respect. A whole slew of things like that. I tried to find a copy of it, but I came up dry…does anyone remember this segment?
As I listened, I felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. I had to leave the arena, because right then, it hit me: Every single thing that Ron was telling those kids they were entitled to, Teen Mania had stripped me of. Point for point. Every one. The absolute hypocrisy of it blew me away.
That was the moment I let go of my guilt and my shame. I didn’t abdicate my responsibility…I had, after all, made that phone call. But I also knew that I hadn’t deserved what I’d gotten, and that most of what had hurt me so much had nothing to do with that situation. That was the culmination, not the actual issue.
I’ve come to believe that dismissing me was the best thing Teen Mania did for me. I’m not sure I ever would have fully opened my eyes, seen them for what they were, and gotten rid of those niggling doubts if they hadn’t. The worst damage was to come, though.
I heard through the grapevine that one of the girls in my aunt’s youth group was seriously considering joining the HA. For a few sleepless nights, I wondered what to do. I decided that if she did and something happened to her, it would be on me if I stayed quiet. By then, I was living several states away. I needed to talk to my aunt, and I thought it needed to be in person.
Since my first mission trip years before, Teen Mania and my former church had become closely allied. My aunt was responsible for almost singlehandedly bringing ATF to my hometown, and several kids had gone on mission trips. I knew there wasn’t a bigger advocate for Teen Mania anywhere than my aunt. I also knew that there was a strong possibility she would ignore what I was going to tell her, thinking it was just bitterness for being kicked out rather than genuine concern for C (the potential HA recruit). I was not prepared at all for her reaction.
She must have guessed what I wanted to talk to her about. She was noticeably cold toward me from the minute I arrived, and refused to meet up with me, insisting that anything I had to say could be said over the phone. I thought briefly about the lost time and gas money, but went with it and started telling her my experience. I strongly emphasized the lack of regard for safety, which was truly my main concern…it twisted my gut to think of C being dropped off somewhere and told to hitchhike back. I was also uncomfortable with the increased isolation of Garden Valley, the mindless obedience and…well, everything else that gets talked about here.
My aunt launched into full-blown attack mode. I must have backslid horribly to be able to spread such trash about such a wonderful organization. After all they had done for me(!). After all they had done for our youth. I needed to shut my mouth and get right again with God. “Answer me this!” she screamed at me at one point. “Are you involved in a church where you live? You say you are, but I’ll bet your pastor doesn’t even know your name!” As a matter of fact I was and he did, but by then I was crying too hard to choke out that fact to her. She continued yelling at me, condemning me, reopening all of the old feelings of failure and shame, never considering for a moment that I might simply be trying to protect C. This was a woman that I had considered my best friend. I had trusted her completely. I had thought she would always love me, always trust me, always understand me, always know that I had the best interests of her and her youth at heart. But she had clearly chosen the Teen Mania rhetoric over me. Ultimately, C decided not to go to HA, but my relationship with my aunt is damaged beyond repair. She and I will never be the same.
My single biggest regret is when I think about how instrumental I was to Teen Mania, and how many people might have become involved, and later hurt, because of my promotion of them. How many of the youth of my church, following in my footsteps, had something bad happen to them on a mission trip? How many ATF attendees went into HA and came out broken because I encouraged them to? How many were exposed to Teen Mania, and ultimately got used up and discarded by them, because they went to an ATF that I promoted, helped publicize, helped make happen? I believe there are probably many, many people I owe an apology to.
I’ll be ok. I might even be better for the experience. Certainly not in the way I thought I would be, though, when I arrived at Teen Mania headquarters all excited and wide-eyed, thinking that I was about to do something truly worthwhile. I believe God recognizes my intentions and my efforts. I believe that He recognizes the gift of my time, my money, my blood, sweat and many, many tears. I believe that He sees the imperfections that Teen Mania exploited even while they condemned me for being imperfect. And I believe that God loves me, not in spite of my weaknesses and flaws, real or perceived, but also because of them.