The assignments I was given when I was confined to the prayer room at the Indianapolis Training Center (ITC) were all intended to make me aware of my sin and failure. For example, I was to write a two-page description of my sins, how they affected others, and the specific ways that God was using my authorities to cleanse and make my heart right before Him. There were pages and pages of scripture to memorize — all one or two verses taken out of context from all over the Bible. Then I had to memorize the Character Qualities chart and the verse that went with each quality. There were 49 of those!

But I had a secret weapon that my instructor didn’t know about: I can memorize anything in an incredibly short period of time. Besides, I had been in ATI for almost a decade. I had already memorized most of those verses at some point in the past. I simply brushed up on them and wrote ferociously all afternoon.

Around dinner time, my roommate showed up at my door with a plate of food. She had been instructed to bring me only the plainest food. She looked stricken and in pain as she handed me my plate and mouthed an apology. I thanked her and she left.

Not long after that my instructor arrived again to check on my progress. I informed her I was done. She looked shocked. She sat down and listened as I recited the memory work, perfectly, and showed her my written assignments. She left somewhat sheepishly. I had to be the most compliant occupant of that prayer room ever!

As I expected, I slept fitfully that night. The next morning, after a simple breakfast delivered by my pale-faced roommate, someone arrived to take me to “counseling.” I met with the training center director and my instructor. It was a humiliating Jessica-bashing fest.

I was told that I was a chronic liar and manipulator. When I asked what they thought I had lied about, they recounted a story that I had told about my grandmother’s reason for cutting off the end of a ham. “Everyone knows that story, Jessica. Your grandmother didn’t really do that, but you told it like she did.” I was shocked! Seriously?! This was a joke! They didn’t have any other examples. I sat there trying not to laugh. Not surprisingly, my assignments that day centered around liars and deceivers.

The next day I was again escorted to counseling. This time I met with a local African-American pastor who kept a small office at the training center. When I arrived, he dismissed my escort and then sat there glaring at me, as if he were trying see right through me, into my very soul. I tried not to squirm at the strange silence. Finally, he chose a Bible from the bookshelf by his desk and pounded it down on the desk inches from me, spine facing me. “Look at this book!!” he thundered. Confused, I blinked at the King James Bible in front of me. “What is this? And think carefully before you answer!”

I was sure that this was some kind of trick question, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was. “Umm. The Bible?” I squeaked.

“Aha!” he shouted. I jumped. But he continued, “It is the Holy Bible! But you just said ‘the Bible.’ And even though I showed you the words right here on the spine — HOLY BIBLE — you don’t even realize it is the  HOOOOOOLLLYYY  Bible! And because you do not recognize it is the HOOOOOOLLLYYY Bible, it is clear that you have no respect for God as HOOOOOOLLLYYY!” he preached at the top of his lungs, pounding the desk to punctuate each word!

I nearly fell out of my seat. I couldn’t have said another word if my life depended on it! But turns out I didn’t need to. For the next 45 minutes he preached at me just like that about the holiness of the Bible and God, and the people He places in authority over us. It was like a horrific dream.

Numb, I was escorted back to the prayer room, where I collapsed onto the bed and laughed until I cried myself to sleep.

The next day I saw another counselor/training center staffer who spent the entire hour trying to get me to become “saved.” I knew I was already saved. I wouldn’t be bullied into doing it again! I stuck to my guns with everything I had. I did finally agree to pray to “recommit” my life to Christ. Nothing I was going to say would convince this person to let the matter rest until I did.

Later the next day I was unceremoniously returned to my room. My sentence had lasted four whole days.

Once released, I went straight to a phone to demand of my parents why they had approved this kind of treatment of me! They were relieved to hear from me and had been completely in the dark, wondering why I didn’t call. My instructor had not told them anything about the prayer room. They listened in stunned silence as I recounted the details of my nightmarish confinement, and they didn’t know what to say when I finished. I hung up even more confused than ever about what had happened to me and why.

Interestingly, nothing was ever again said about the incomplete homework, and I was never asked to turn in any of the work I had completed. Those days were so bizarre, that experience so surreal and inexplicable, that it still leaves me shaking my head in bewilderment.

Epilogue

I was embarrassed and sad that something I had said would cause Jessica so much humiliation. I blamed myself, thinking that I could have done something to prevent her confinement.

I thought she was in there for not being in her room after curfew and for visiting other people, and as the punishment seemed really harsh — especially for her, because she never meant to do the “wrong” things. So I wondered if I should have lied to protect her, to keep her punishment from being so severe.

While Jessica was confined to the prayer room, my instructions were to pick up her completed projects and give them to our instructor, and to make sure that she had food at each mealtime. She was allowed to eat whatever food I could put on one plate, but no dessert. This was supposed to be a form of discipline, after all! I was not supposed to converse with her while she was in the prayer room. I was to deliver food, pick up the projects and dirty dishes, and leave her alone.

Four days of this was so long. We had become very close, and it was lonely in our room without her. Jessica was a person you couldn’t help laughing with. When we were together, we discussed life in the fishbowl and encouraged each other to keep going.

When she left the prayer room, Jessica was a different person. I felt guilty because I believed that my words had caused her punishment. I don’t remember how long it took for me to tell her how bad I felt and to confess that I had something to do with what had happened. She saw my heart and forgave me willingly. We have remained good friends through the years, and I was even privileged to be in her wedding!

I don’t know how to express the torment that I experienced as I was being interrogated about her activities at the Indianapolis Training Center (ITC). I did not believe that she was doing anything wrong , but, by training center standards, she was not being “under authority.”

How do you reconcile conflicting thoughts and philosophies? The view of authority was different at the training center than it was in my home. At the training center we were to do everything our authorities told us, whether we understood or not, regardless of our age.  My parents taught me trust and honesty, but I still wish, when I look back, that I had lied when they questioned me. I had never before experienced a situation that would have been better had I lied.

The cosmetology course began my five-year stay at the training center — a time when I forgot who God was and became lost in the mire of being who I was “supposed” to be. I began following a list of standards in order to be approved by God and others. It took me a long time to overcome that training when I did leave the program.

I thank God that Jessica left when she did. It has been inspiring to watch her untangle her life and become an amazing woman who loves God and her family, and who strives to live each day in the fullness of who she was created to be!