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I am a preacher’s daughter, the youngest of seven children.

In the world I grew up in, the pastor and his family always had to be perfect.

Note that some will understandably ask why this is not the subject of legal action.

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When we got back from Australia he added counseling after-hours, at night. He gave me cash and told me to buy bras that pushed me up more; he wanted me to always wear them when I was around him. He would hold my hand and rub my leg and tell me not to tell anyone about what we did in his car. I was known as Bill’s “pet.” I loved the attention, but I felt dirty.

We would meet after dinner in his office around 7 or 8 p.m. But a part of me thought this was how I was to treat “godly” men. I was turned on by Bill, but I also felt terribly guilty.

He would pick me up in his blue classic car by a.m. There were others there, but they would leave, and he’d keep me with him to “talk.” It started out with him telling me how beautiful I was, how I inspired him, and how I made him feel alive. He would touch me and hug me after devotions and then take me to the eight o’clock staff meeting session. I began to have discord with my housemates, and I asked Bill to move me to a different house.

He said the woman in charge of housing wouldn’t “let” him.

My three brothers who were closest to me in age were attending college back in Indiana at the time, but my parents pulled them out of college when we joined ATI. I was in awe as I listened to the man whom I had been told was responsible for me being alive tell my parents that he wanted me to come to Headquarters. The youngest of seven children, a preacher’s daughter? I fussed so much about wanting to be outside that I became one of the first girls to work on the landscape crew. He pushed me to take a job near him, inside, but I wouldn’t.

One of my brothers went straight to the IBLP Headquarters in Oak Brook, Illinois, to help with landscaping. What did I have to offer him, this man whom my mother almost worshiped and my father would preach about in his sermons? By mid-August I was at IBLP Headquarters by his request. My parents had told Bill about my attitude, about the boy I was seeing, and about how immoral we were for simply kissing. He knew what my father had done to me, but he called me into repentance for my own sins without confronting my father or addressing his sin.He wanted me around him as much as possible, wanted me to be with him as much as he could get me.I started meeting with him in his office in the morning, every morning.We left that church when I was 13 years old, and we moved to Virginia when I was 15. He asked me a lot about how much I had let my boyfriend touch me, how we kissed— it went on and on. I wanted a relationship with a man that was like a relationship with a father.He seemed to get pleasure from pulling every detail out of me. Bill Gothard gave me that feeling of being worth something.He insisted that I go on the first IBLP trip to Australia that October and paid for me to go.

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