A Cloud of Witnesses

We were still young and foolish when this happened. So deliriously in love with God; with each other; with our choice of Domestic Discipline as our lifestyle choice. I didn't count the cost of all those decisions we made until that day. .

I was eight months pregnant with our son and my Sir and I were content with life. That summer, we went to our church's annual camp in Northeastern Texas. Coming at the height of my pregnancy, it was suffocatingly hot and my disposition was blunted heavily and consistently in a funk. One night, Sir and I were talking about it and we both agreed that I needed to get spanked during the week we were at camp, to help keep me focused on spending time with the people we loved. Our tent was well surrounded by other people's tents, so spanking me there was not an option.

"Let's go for a walk," Sir suggested.

The walk was into the clearing between two stands of pine woods. As we walked I found a shrub branch and broke it off for a switch. I felt it in my hand; its thickness, its flexibility and satisfied that it would make a good, quiet implement and began to clean it for Sir.

I had the switch relatively smooth by the time we were about 150 yards from the camp. I handed him the switch and he swooshed it in the air, making that dread sound like a whip. He was pleased with it. Taking me by the elbow and we stepped out of the clearing and into the woods. We walked about six feet and he had me face a tree, step back and bend at the waist. I obeyed and felt Sir lift the skirt of my dress over my butt, bunching it around my waist. My underwear were tugged down. I heard the switch fly through the air. I had learned by that point not to clench, especially on what I would characterize as "stingy" disciplines like a switch. The discipline was actually quite brief, perhaps 20 quiet strokes, before Sir broke the branch and tossed it away. I was sobbing a little and soon received the catharsis of Sir's aftercare, pulling me close and securely hugging me.

"Good Girl, Juniper," he assured. His words were an elixir to the sharpness of the switching I just received. As he held me, I looked over his shoulder through my slowly clearing vision to see the shadowy figure of someone fixated on us. Someone small.

To my shock, I realized that it was the pastor's youngest daughter. She just stared in such a way that told me she had seen more than me hugging my husband. And she certainly didn't understand it

"Sir," I rasped into his ear. He turned instinctively and when he saw Paige Conroy as she darted away, leaving us staring in horror at what had just been let out of Pandora's box.

~~~

We should've gone back sooner, but we tarried out of our own fear of the reaction we would get, a process that only exacerbated the situation. When we finally got into the campsite, it was like we walked back to camp naked. I tried to not notice their measured gazes as we tried to putter around our own campsite. I saw Pastor Steve walking down the campsite road coming into the light of our own site.

There was a look of consternation on his face as he asked Sir if he could have 5 minutes of his time. He regarded me very carefully as he turned to leave with him. When they were about 20 yards down the path, three other women including Kelly Conroy, rushed over to come to my rescue.

"Are you alright?" they all seemed to ask in a jumble of rushed interrogation. I put my hand up, the other resting on the now grumpy baby girl who was playing soccer in my uterus.

"Yes, I'm fine." I almost instantly realized that making that statement was a de facto admission that something had happened that wasn't supposed to... at least, in their ears. Kelly came close, her familiar welcomed face now etched with graveness.

"You can come and stay at our house," she assured me. "That will never happen again."

Finally it was here. Our six years of practicing Christian Domestic Marital Discipline had now arrived at a crisis of belief. Did I really believe what we were doing was God's will for our marriage?

These women wanted me to curl up and say that I was abused. They wanted me to say that what they believed about Christian submission was a cornered market. I had a sad smile on my face as I craned my head back slightly and closed my eyes slowly. I drew a careful breath. They were continuing to whisper words of support before I raised my hand with emphasis.

"I asked him to do that," I said. "That's why we tried to get some privacy."

"Did he hurt you?" the pastor's wife asked pointedly.

"It hurts," I said, opening my eyes with a sudden rush of strength of spirit. "He didn't hurt me though."

"I don't think it's appropriate to let your sex life out for all to see..." The pastor's wife just pissed me off then.

"It wasn't sexual," I retorted. "I needed it. We didn't want to disturb anyone so we stepped away." The three women looked at me, marveling at Sir's level of brainwashing apparently. I could see their incredulity and I was already preparing to lay out how God had led us down this path.

"We practice Christian Marital Domestic Discipline." The women looked as if I had spoken Swahili. My Sir was walking back firmly and alone. He stood over me, I looked up at him with eyes of deep respect and appreciation, which led him to answer with a sad male version of Mona Lisa's smile.

"It's time for us to go,Juniper," he said to me as if we were alone.

"Yes Sir, it is," I agreed.

That was the last time we attended that church.

~~~