The Following is a beautiful story of God's Grace

From “killing fields”
to Pastor’s Wife….
The year was 1960. Tucked away in the tiny country of Cambodia, far from the eyes of most of the world, a Communist dictator named Pol Pot was slowly rising to power in the Khmer Rouge Party. He admired the simple life—one that didn’t rely on money, education, or capitalism—and believed that a new utopia could be created if all of Cambodia would revert to a primitive, farming lifestyle.

By 1975, the party had gained control of Cambodia's capital, Phnom Penh, and attempted to force this new way of life on the entire population. The Khmer Rouge leadership boasted that only one or two million people were needed to build the new utopia. As for the others, as their proverb put it, "To keep you is no benefit; to destroy you is no loss." Hundreds of thousands of teachers, government workers, non-Communist soldiers, and others were taken out in shackles to dig their own mass graves. Then the Khmer Rouge soldiers beat them to death with iron bars and hoes or buried them alive. These mass graves are referred to as “the Killing Fields.”

It is often easy to forget the teeming masses of nameless people who suffered torture and death at the hands of Pol Pot. Those who are old enough to have experienced the events of that period may wonder why God allowed those wicked things to happen to innocent people. What we must remember is that even through the carnage and suffering, God existed, and He had a purpose. His purpose for one young girl started long before she was born, as the political unrest in Cambodia formed and peaked.

She was born in Phnom Penh. Doctors and medicine were in short supply, and her older brother died at the age of two after a severe eye infection spread throughout his body. As the Khmer Rouge gained momentum, her family was forced to evacuate the city and flee to the countryside, where her grandfather was killed because of his high government position.

The long months wore on, and her parents fought and argued so much that her dad felt it best to leave the family. As a toddler, she was given to her grandmother and twelve-year-old uncle for safe-keeping. Unfortunately, her young uncle was soon captured by Communist soldiers. When they commanded him to dig a grave, he instinctively knew that they planned to kill him. After receiving permission to be excused for a restroom break, he quickly ran home and told his grandmother the story. Because the soldiers were pursuing him, the three were forced to flee. The safest place was the neighboring country of Thailand, so her family set out on foot for the closest border. Though none of them knew of God at that time, He knew of them, and provided for their safe journey. After traveling for an extended period of time through swamps and dangerous minefields, they arrived in Thailand.

God’s purpose for sparing their lives soon became evident. During the year spent at a Thailand refugee camp, they made the acquaintance of a Red Cross missionary. Her grandmother heard a clear presentation of the Gospel and accepted Christ as her Saviour! God continued to work in this remnant of a family, and each of them received a sponsorship to America in the early 1980s. This little girl was just four or five years old.

Living in the United States during her childhood and early teenage years, she quickly found reasons to harbor bitterness in her heart. After all, her parents had abandoned her, and God had seemingly not cared about the hardships she had endured. At the young age of twelve, she became involved with the wrong crowd, getting her first tattoos and even joining a gang. She decided to run away, but the police found her and returned her to her family.

By that time, her grandmother had found and started faithfully attending a Baptist church. In an effort to keep her from ruining her life, her grandmother enrolled her in a Christian school. Because she was unsaved, any changes for good in her life were simply outward appearances. Inside, the bitterness and rebellion still claimed her spirit. After just a couple of years, she decided she would run away again. When she was found and returned yet again, her grandmother and uncle counseled with their Pastor, who suggested that they take her to the Hephzibah House in Winona Lake, Indiana. After much prayer, they agreed that it was the right thing to do.

Just a short time later, she and her family went on a miniature golfing activity. When they loaded into the car for the short drive home, the girl noticed that they weren’t driving in the right direction. In fact, they kept driving—right out of their state. When she asked where they were going, she was told that they were driving to visit a friend in Indiana. Arriving at the Hephzibah House days later, she knew that they planned to leave her there.

During the girl’s first day at the girls’ home, one of the staff members asked her if she was saved. She said that she was, but knew inside that she was lying. Pride kept her from admitting her need for Christ. For two years she lived there, making all the outward behavioral changes that were expected. Years later, she would admit that the two years at Hephzibah House did much to prepare her for life. The staff members were loving and kind to even the toughest of girls. They prayed daily for each of the girls in their care, asking God to change their lives and use them in His work someday. Each day, she learned something about organization, cleaning, homemaking, sewing, or manners. For the first time, she began to develop a strong work ethic, something that would benefit her greatly in the coming years.

At the age of sixteen, the girl returned to her home church. She was able to live with her pastor and his family. Everyone she knew praised the changes in her life, and she became more and more miserable inside, knowing that everyone believed she was saved. Pride again kept her from accepting Christ. One night, she dreamed that persecution had come to her city. She knew that the Bible said that death without Christ means an eternity in Hell. In her dream, she accepted Christ. As she awoke early in the morning on August 20, 1994, she knew what she needed to do. She finally surrendered to God’s grace and asked Him to save her soul. Immediately—at four o’clock in the morning—she called her youth pastor and Pastor. When neither one answered her call, she phoned her aunt, who didn’t believe her story and hung up the phone! At the very next church service, she made her decision public, sparking a mini-revival in which several other people trusted Christ as well.

In time, the girl graduated from her Christian school. She earnestly looked forward to attending college that fall, but she soon became aware of a need that she could fill. In recent years, several girls’ and boys’ homes across America had closed for various reasons, leaving many troubled children without a place to learn to live a Christ-filled life. Her church followed the Lord’s leading in opening a new girls’ home in their city, and she agreed to supervise the home for the first few years. In just three years, she was able to influence almost twenty girls, many of them with a background similar to her own. God’s purpose for her life became more apparent, as she was able to minister to the young girls just as she had been ministered to years before.

She later had the privilege of attending a Baptist college for one semester, after which she returned home and served as an administrative assistant for her pastor. The girl--now a young woman--quickly resumed her ministries at the church, and set out to serve faithfully for as long as God wanted her there. Unbeknownst to her, God was preparing a man out of state to soon cross her path. He served as the Executive Director at a Baptist church. God in His providence saw fit to create a strong friendship between this man and the young woman’s long-time friend who had also escaped the same fate from Cambodia.

When this young man traveled with the girl’s close friend to a leadership conference, he invited him to visit his family. As they attended the services of the woman’s church, the men were met at the door by her, who cheerfully greeted the visitor. The young man was immediately curious to find out more about this woman. As it was, he returned home without much initial conversation with her. Just one week later, the woman’s close friend approached the young man to assure him that the woman was indeed a fine Christian lady. After much prayer and consideration by both her and the young man, and after the approval of their pastors, they started a long-distance courtship.

Believing that God had ordained them for one another, they were married in December 2003, and set up residence. This young lady worked along side her husband in the ministry of their local church, serving as a receptionist and logging financial contributions. Their daughter was born in 2005, and a son followed after in 2007. Though she works from home now, she still handles the contributions for the church and its ministries; and she also organizes the men’s division of the Pastor’s prayer team each month.

Because of the influence of Godly people in her life, this former student grew to accept Christ and to live as a child of God should live. The staff members of the Hephzibah House were instrumental in teaching her God’s plan and purpose for her life, and helping her to realize that He will work “all things together for good” to those who trust Him with their lives. It has been said that God always chooses his best for those who leave the choice with Him.


For more of these type of testimonies:

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Everyone wishes to have truth on his side, but it is not everyone that sincerely wishes to be on the side of truth. -Whately

Quote: I want everyone to know that what I am about to write is one of the hardest things I have ever written in my life. There are people on here that I know in my current life and from my past. The idea of my words being on here for all to see is so incredibly painful to me. That said I am so tired of dodging and fighting and than dodging again out of pain. As a dear friend recently said to me...'they meant it when they said that doing the right thing is never easy and usually hurts.

I wet my bed at HH ...only one time and the mental and physical fall out from the staff response has followed me throughout my life. I had never wet my bed before HH and I have never done it since. It happened just that once. (That is so hard for me to believe actually)

One night, in my sleep, I dreamed I was trying to hold my bladder until the BR break. We were all lined up outside the restrooms and though girls kept coming out, the line never moved. In my dream I was hurting badly in my stomach and back because I had to go so bad... and in my dream I made it in time to the restroom. Unfortunately in real life I wet the bed instead.

I woke as soon as it happened and lay there for a few moments trying to figure out what to do. No one had wet their beds while I was there to that point, but I didn't need an example to know the response would be bad. Finally I got up, because I didn't know what else to do. I was soaked through and through and so I wrapped my blanket around me and tip toed over to Sharron Sailor, who's bunk was next to mine...I didn't want to draw attention to myself, because I was mortified. I said her name several times, before she woke up and then I whispered to her what I'd done, but she couldn't hear me, so I repeated myself a little louder. “I wet my bed Ms Sailor.” She looked surprised at first and then disgusted and then she frowned and said, “Yes you did. Do you know how I know that you did?” I shook my head no. I was terrified at this point and so didn't speak. She replied “Because I can smell it and soon everyone in the dorm will be forced to smell it as well.”

Sharron was so mad, but oddly methodical, which was somewhat of a relief. I always knew pretty much what to expect from Sharron. Sometimes she surprised us, but not often. She told me I was filthy and needed to clean myself up. I nodded and started for the bathroom when she whispered my name loudly, and told me to drop the blanket on my bed and strip everything off the mattress and go put it in the washer, but not to start it yet. I nodded again to which, Arnette Bronsing said loudly from just behind me, “You were too lazy to get up and ask to go to the bathroom and now you are to lazy to speak?” Her voice carried, slowly waking up the other girls and Jennie Hoke. I just stared at her. I was not being rebellious at all I promise. I was just terrified. At HH and only at HH for some reason my fear translated sometimes into silence, well fearful silence. I couldn't speak even if I wanted and so I looked at Arnette helplessly. I remember trying very hard to answer her, but kept stumbling over my words until she gave up and pointed down at the bed. “Strip...the ...bed ...Amy” she slowed her speech down and enunciated each word. This was really embarrassing for some reason. I was shaking so bad I'm surprised I was able to stand, but I stammered out a “Yes- mam.” and reached down to pull the corner of sheets closest to me. I think this is when Sharron or Arnette noticed that I was dripping on the floor. They both started talking at once very loudly...and then Jennie Hoke shoved a few towels into my chest and literally shouted at me to wash the floor as I went into bathroom. I started sobbing at this point, something I had not allowed myself to do in front of them since first arriving, but this moment was just too shocking to my mind and I couldn't control my emotions like I normally could. I had leaned down to the floor, when Jennie pushed me on my shoulder down to my knees, telling me that I was filthy and lazy. She said I needed to crawl on the floor backwards while scrubbing with a towel before me, so I didn't miss anything. (She demonstrated while standing beside me.) I did this all the way into the shower, with staff following along with me. I could barely see anything because I was crying so hard and I kept looking behind me so I wouldn't run into anything, but I couldn't see! Every time I bumped into something one of staff would make some comment about how nasty or lazy or filthy I was. I just wanted to die. Honestly I cannot remember every detail of their comments to me and that's probably a good thing. When I made it to the shower, one of the staff reached in and turned the water on. There were I believe 5 or six showers, but only one with a tub. Jennie stopped up the tub and told me to strip everything off and soak it in the tub as I showered. Arnette had left to wake up the girls and Sharron told Jennie to go and help (I thought this a relief, because Jennie could be quite mean with her words.)

I started crying harder in embarrassment as I heard the soft movements and rustling of fabric as a few girls at a time came in to brush their teeth and hair and use the restroom. Sharron walked out of the stall and told me I had three minutes. I jumped into gear and climbed into the tub as I stripped and tried to scrub all of me and wash my hair before Sharron's pocket timer went off. I was afraid of not finishing my shower in time, but I was always afraid of that...we all were. I think this is somewhat humorous under the circumstances actually, because there wasn't much more of a humiliating punishment they could have inflicted on me at the time then what they were doing. I guess I was just so used to things being a certain way and always fearing the same things that it didn't even occur to me to take a minute longer in that shower. I finished on time and Sharron threw my uniform over the stall at me. This was unusual because in general the staff never touched us or our clothes ...unless we were being shoved somewhere. But even that was not common. I was never physically abused in the traditional sense.

I was getting dressed when I noticed I had no underwear. I somehow got up the guts to ask Sharron about it...she threw a diaper over the stall at me...well a depends I guess. They were like the training pants you see today, where you just slip them on. Mine didn't fit though, because I was fat. The minute I put them on the left side split down the middle. Sharron sighed in irritation, when I told her this. She didn't say anything really, but a moment later some duct tape( the silver tape) was handed to me under the stall door. She told me to pull off what I needed in length, long enough to wrap around my waist and then hold it under the door so she could cut it with scissors. ...So I wore a diaper.

I came out of the bathroom and the dorm was so quiet. No one was looking at anyone, well we weren't allowed to look at each other too much anyway. I wanted to die. I put gloves on and stripped my sheets as the girls filed down the hall to eat. Later I dragged the mattress out into the courtyard and scrubbed it and then towel dried it as best as I could. It was then left out there to air dry. Sharron told me that because I couldn't get my bed done in time I was going to miss breakfast. So I went back in with her and put everything on to wash and then followed Sharron into the living/eating/kitchen area and sat down in the chair against the wall, the one on the right side near the door to the patio. I was in such a state of shock it wasn't funny. I kept thinking it would get better. Jennie handed me my protein shake and walked away. I tossed it back as quickly as I could, so as not to throw it back up. (It tasted really nasty with lots of lumps that were not mixed in that well.)

At this time one of the Williams son's came down (can't remember who) with Naomi and they stood in the kitchen/living area doorway, maybe 10 to 15 feet away from me and started talking about me. The son wanted to know who had wet the bed this time...Naomi giggled just a little and then Jennie pointed over at me and said “Amy” I looked down and started crying again. Three times that day my diaper was changed. I had to take it off and then show it to a member of staff before throwing it away. Then I would tape another Depends onto myself all over again. The third time I did this Jennie was the staff who went with me and she told me that If I wasn't so lazy and slow all the time maybe those diapers would actually fit. (I am going to honest I pretty much hate this woman to this day.) That wasn't the only time Jennie picked on my weight. They all did to a degree, but Jennie seemed to enjoy it. I lost all my meals that day, not just breakfast. Fortunately though, the diaper thing only lasted that day. I did however have to take my mattress with me from that point on whenever we switched beds. But just as a side? What they did to me that day...well it worked. I never wet the bed again. I still dream about it sometimes... that I have had an accident and will wake up so scared and frightened, madly feeling about me to see if I have had another accident. Then I wake up and I am me... an adult and they can't do anything to me anymore even if I did wet my bed. I told this story because it is important to understand the emotional pain, behind the short descriptions of such treatment that you read here. And I told my story at great mental and personal cost to myself...so don't forget about what they did to me when you sign off your computer tonight, because I and other girls never forget. It is always there. These things DID happen and there is such pain and hurt left behind. Try and remember that when you see these descriptions of abuse. END QUOTE


This was just one day of my life at Hephzibah House.

Very moving Amy, you have an incredible writing ability to move people. Perhaps it was not handled properly, I don't know, but you cannot deny there are girls who lived there at the same place who have a far different story. Knowing the types of books you author, it is hard for me to believe every word of your story. You write fiction in the books you sell. I am not saying this incident did not happen, however, it is possible with your writing ability, you have stretched the story. Of course that is only my opinion and you will probably not like it. I am sorrry. I do hope you find peace and forgiveness and let Jesus be the Lord of your life.

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Everyone wishes to have truth on his side, but it is not everyone that sincerely wishes to be on the side of truth. -Whately

I write fiction…so I must be writing fiction now? Not to be rude…but are you joking? Come on FS! Is this really the best you can come up with? I have been called a whore, a liar, and a delinquent and yet no one has produced a single shred of evidence to prove those allegations.

No, I did not say it was fiction, but there are always 2 sides to a story.


Here is another testimony...I am writing on behalf of Hephzibah House. I went to Hephzibah House and was there for about three and a half years. I was sent to the girls home because my family situation was not very good. My parents were good people, but they knew they did not have what it took for me to be raised in the Godly home that they wanted for my life. So they talked to my pastor about Hephzibah House. They had heard only good things about the place and knew that I could be given what they so desired for me to have– a loving and stable home.

Upon arriving at Hephzibah House, I was nervous, scared, and excited all at the same time. When my dad and I pulled up, several people came out and helped us unload all the luggage. Then my dad was given a tour of the place and talked to the Director for a little while, and then we said our good-byes and he left. I was then introduced to all the girls, and the staff ladies, and later was helped on starting my school work.

I loved everything about the place. It had a big open yard where we could play volley ball and kick ball, or just sit out there on Sundays on these huge bean bags and write letters to our parents. The staff was so kind! They were always there to help you through any problem you had. You learned to trust the Godly counsel that they offered you.


What I liked most about Hephzibah House was that they became family to me. I can remember going to sleep at night thanking God for how good he was to me. He had given me a second “family” and another place to call home! The good thing about the girl’s home was that no one was singled out and treated above anyone else! Those whose parents had money were not given extra privileges than those who did not have money. I would know because I was one of the girls without money. Everyone was treated with such kindness and love. This is not to say that there were no rules or guidelines in the home, but with them came the understanding of why we needed to obey rules. It would make us better people. It would help us later in life when we would work jobs. And if anything, it would just give us character!

I was fifteen years old when I went there. Of course I did not comprehend some of the rules that were given. No one at that age even thinks they need rules! I needed to obey them anyway. We were never beaten into submission. I was never hit or abused in any way, or saw anyone else being abused. They never forced anything upon us, not even their religion. They were Christians through and through and we all knew that, but it was never forced upon us. But after seeing the daily peace and joy that they had, I knew I wanted the same thing in my life. Their main goal was to teach us to be respectable human beings and to have character to get through the hard times in life. I felt like they were always preparing me for something that I would need later on in life. They taught us not to be lazy, to get up early, to work hard and have fun in it, and to just enjoy living! So many teenagers these days talk about how they want to commit suicide. We never had thoughts like that. We were excited for a new day because we never knew what it held. It could be a day out for pizza, or working in the garden, or a fun filled day washing cars and spraying water on each other. They pushed us to be more than we ever thought we could be. We pretty much had everything available at our fingertips. I taught myself to play the piano because they had three of them there. I fell in love with the guitar because one of the staff let me play on hers, and now I have my own guitar and can play it well. They sacrificed so much to try and meet our needs. We were truly loved; truly cared for.

In closing I would like to say that I would not trade my experience at Hephzibah House for the world! I can remember crying when it was time for me to go home. I was going to miss the girls home so much! It was a safe haven. I learned so many great things during my stay and also received an added plus... I accepted the God who made them the loving and caring people that they were! I now have the same joy and peace that they displayed every day to each one of us girls. I can honestly say that Hephzibah House was the best thing that ever happened to me!!

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Everyone wishes to have truth on his side, but it is not everyone that sincerely wishes to be on the side of truth. -Whately

Surely you must comprehend FS that continuing to post the same few positive testimonies will not sway or change any minds here. You "may" not be Michele, (though most believe you are), but you post the same stories Michele posted, to no effect.

I've been following this tragic story on the FFF since last summer. To my knowledge, there has not been a single conversion from EITHER side, either for or against the methods used at HH.

The only vocal ones FOR the HH "ministry" and Ron Williams have been you, Just a Fragment, Shiloh, Michele Dickey in her various incarnations, and Ebenezer. You haven't gained a single supporter that wasn't already a supporter.

We know who the three men in your little HH support group are, so that's why most everyone here thinks you are Michele. Because you are the only female who has ever supported HH on the FFF.

Maybe you should tag team with Michele on the issue. You could form a new group called "Sending Youth Back Into Laborcamps" or SYBIL for short.

I can produce statements as well FS. The following is my own statement written back in October, before my heart and mind were opened to Christ once more. Note that I signed my name FS. I HAVE NOTHING TO HIDE!

Hi, my name is Amy and I attended Hephzibah House from June of 92 through December of that same year. The choice to go to HH was mine, a decision based in part on the lies I was given by pastor Williams, who was visiting our church at the time. I was shown pictures of girls braiding each other's hair or sitting around a bonfire singing. I was told that HH was a structured, but loving environment for teen girls. Based upon these lies, my pastor encouraged my mom to take me to HH. I was desperate to get away from everything. I was fighting with my mom constantly and my father had moved back in with us, which didn’t help the situation at all. There were issues of abuse and emotional pain that I was unable to deal with. My mom tried to help, but was just as lost as I was. She simply didn’t know how to handle me and Pastor Williams played right into her emotional fears. In June of 1992 we made the trip from South Carolina to Winona Lake, Indiana in two days. Upon arriving I was separated from my family and treated to a humiliating strip search and shower where every inch of me was inspected and scrubbed. I was wearing makeup at the time and I remember someone scrubbing my face until it was bright red and stinging. Everything I was wearing was taken away from me and I was given a navy blue jumpsuit and red shirt made from polyester.

My hair was short at the time and I remember this woman telling me I would be growing it out, because harlots wear their hair short.

Later I was brought down into the dormitory and told to sit quietly and wait for dinner. I was not allowed to speak to anyone until I made a profession of faith. I told them repeatedly that I was saved, but it didn't matter. A couple days later a girl was taken upstairs and a few minutes later I heard her start crying and yelling. I looked around the room and was stunned to see the staff and all the girls sitting in silence through the noise of an obvious beating that went on and on. I’d never heard anything like it. The girls were sitting in silence yes, but it was the visible emotion in their eyes that made me really understand what was going on. The beating was a form of control the staff used to keep us all in line. They knew we could hear everything and they counted on our fears to make us conform to the outrageous rules.

HH used various forms of abuse to keep us in line, but the most damaging was the psychological attack on our minds. Staff members excelled in making life miserable for the girls who didn't follow the rules. These rules were not just 'keep your bed made' or 'be polite'. We had to curl our hair every night with sponge rollers and they had to be placed perfectly, or we were punished. We were not allowed to speak to just anyone, even when we were finally allowed to start talking. If we were caught talking to another girl who was not on our talking list, even if it was just 'excuse me' we were punished. Simple chores done wrong, such as dusting could ruin your entire day.

My point is that these were not rules broken out of spite or disobedience. They were accidents or mistakes that anyone could have made, but the price we paid for even minor infractions was beyond high, they were ridiculous to the extreme. One method of punishment was isolation and not in the traditional sense, though that was used as well. I am referring to the isolation of human contact in its most basic form. Imagine sitting in a room full of people, but being unable to communicate. I know this doesn't sound that bad, but imagine this occurring day after day, week after week, forever sitting in the silence of your own thoughts. Another method of punishment was humiliation. We were constantly assaulted mentally and physically from every direction. There was no reprieve or break from the abuse. The dead of night brought only partial relief, but it was a sense of relief that didn't quite follow into our dreams. We woke in the morning with a startled and fearful awareness of wondering what came next. The emotional toll of being in a constant state of fear began to affect us physically. Some girls began 'adolescent bed wetting' …I will admit that I was one of those girls. The details of what happened next, is something I have never discussed with anyone…ever. The staff's response to wetting my bed was the most humiliating moment of my life. I was forced to wear a Depends, basically a diaper, which didn’t quite fit, because I was somewhat chunky. Periodically throughout the day, my diaper was ‘checked’ to see if I’d had an accident. I had to strip my sheets and get them cleaned before breakfast, which was impossible. As punishment for not getting this done in time my meals were taken away. My mattress was pulled out into the fenced in courtyard to air dry. Everyone knew the mattress was mine. I just wanted to die. I never slept a night through again while I was at HH. I would wake myself up terrified and shaking. Sometimes I would dream that I had wet my bed and wake up crying and soaked with sweat. Another side affect of being in a constant state of terror was that I had almost no periods for six months.

Another method of punishment was starvation. Okay so they fed us protein drinks, but these were not the protein drinks you buy at the health store. These tasted awful, to the point of gagging, which was also punished by the way. It should also be noted that we were fed these shakes when we were too sick to do chores or school work. Well obviously death was preferred over these shakes. No one ever complained of being sick…even when we were. Starvation was used to punish a number of offenses, but for me, in the beginning, it was mostly used because I had trouble memorizing the huge amounts of scripture required each week. There were just plain vindictive punishments given as well. I remember one time I forgot my rubber gloves to wash the dishes. Instead of letting me go get them, I was made to wash those dishes bare handed. The water was really, really hot and burned my hands to a bright angry red. My hands stayed bright red and burned for several hours' afterword, but it could have been worse. There was a girl there, I think her name was Marcy or Melody or something like that. Anyway every time Ms. Hoke walked away, she washed the dishes for me. I don't think I ever spoke a word to this girl the entire time I was at HH and yet she was willing to put herself on the line for me. There were a few brave girls who never conformed, no matter what the staff did to them, but I wasn't one of them. I am ashamed to admit that In order to survive my stay at HH; I sacrificed my identity and conformed to the rules. I conformed so well in fact that I was given a spot on the garden crew. This was good, because the garden crew almost always got to eat. The price of getting to eat was steep though. They worked us from sun up to sundown, doing back breaking labor. Many times we would shower and crawl into bed long after the other girls went to bed, only to awakened a few hours later. The upside was that I had little time to think about where I was. I swore I would never forget who I was and that when I got out, I'd find the girl I left behind and get to know her again. This was not as easy as I once assumed it would be, as young teenage girl. The process of finding Amy took years, but I did get her back...eventually.

One thing I never fully got back was my belief in God. I am putting this in here, because I believe it needs to be said, as controversial as it may be. I came to Hephzibah House with a firm belief in God and Christianity and I left questioning everything I thought I knew. I have not been able to step foot inside a church since I left without having a panic attack. I will never allow anyone, not even God to have such control over me ever again. Seventeen years later, the lessons I have taken from Hephzibah House are this...Even in the silence and the remembered humiliations I went through, I find myself remembering that girl who did the dishes for me, while never saying a word. I remember the looks of sympathy or the casual smiles passed in secret that helped me get through the day. I remember those girls, who were for a time, in hell right along with me and I wonder how they are. They broke us down and humiliated us at every turn, but they never managed to touch our souls…the very thing they wanted more than anything else. In the end we were stronger.

This was my story, but there are literally hundreds of others who have gone through the same if not worse, humiliating and abusive conditions at HH. Our parents never knew of the countless times we were referred to as worthless or harlots, who lead men into the sin of lust. Knowing nothing of these things, our parent were stunned when we came home as shells of ourselves, silent and fearful of everything, because now we believed we were worthless. Writing this was incredibly painful and brought back nightmares I hadn’t had in years. But after seventeen years…it was time. Many of the girls who have come forward about the abuse at Hephzibah House have been slandered and told that things are not as bad as they are saying. So I am including an excerpt about Pastor William’s views on discipline in his own words.

http://www.isaccorp.org/hephzibah/ro...g-infants.html

In this he discusses breaking the spirit of infants. Yes, spanking babies. You don’t believe me? Read it and then we’ll talk. He also discusses the ‘correction sessions’ some lasting several hours. For more information on Hephzibah House and to read other testimonials from survivors spanning thirty years visit the following web site … http://www.formerhephzibahgirls.webs.com

I am writing on behalf of the Hephzibah House ministry. I was brought to the school at 16 years of age.

When I entered their doors, I was experiencing deep problems and severe emotional pain. I was incredibly unstable and unable to control my emotions.

Over the two and a half year time span, I truly believe I received a wealth of help. I was given practical tools in helping me to gain control of my emotions. I was taught a strong work ethic and time management skills. During the time I was there, I earned a college preparatory diploma and took many college classes as well. When I left Hephzibah House, I was no longer a scared, unstable, frightened little girl. Instead I was a strong, confident hard working young woman.

As I write this letter, I am nearing my 40th birthday. I have a bachelors degree in education and a business degree as well. For 17 years, I have been married and my husband and I have three children. Although I grew up around alcoholism, alcohol has no part in my life today whatsoever. I truly attribute this great success to the tools so diligently instilled in me as a teenager at Hephzibah House.

Never in the two and a half year time span did I ever witness or experience any sort of abuse whatsoever. I was well-cared for and well-provided for. From everything I could see or hear, my fellow students were given the same fine care.

I am writing this today both to commend this ministry and also to shed some light on the positive impact they have made on my life and those lives I now touch. I will never be the same for having known them and for having been under their care.

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Everyone wishes to have truth on his side, but it is not everyone that sincerely wishes to be on the side of truth. -Whately

Dear God,
bless Hephzibah House and protect them as you have done for so many years. AMEN

Because of your lazy method of quoting, your comment doesn't show up. Name one female other than you and/or Michele Hickey that have defended HH on the FFF, You asked if I was sure about that.

I am. Prove me wrong.

And sockpuppets of Michele don't count, ie Kaylan.