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HEAVEN'S HARLOTS:  MY FIFTEEN YEARS AS A SACRED PROSTITUTE IN THE CHILDREN OF GOD CULT

4.  Sharing "One Wife":

I had been cutting vegetables for the chef salad all afternoon, but at least it gave me relief from watching the children. In the kitchen I could have time to think, which was something we were not supposed to do. Mo wrote in one of his letters that if you thought too much, it was like inviting little devils in for tea in your mind. "You pull up a chair and invite them over and start agreeing with them ... it's 'cause you get your eyes on yourself instead of the Lord -- introspection instead of heaven-spection" ("Dumps" 33:3). Therefore, I felt like I had to be involved in some sort of action constantly, or I might be accused of thinking.

"You're not supposed to cut the vegetables so small," yelled Martha from behind, startling me. I dropped my thoughts and imagined they had broken into pieces as if they were precious china. Looking up into the cherublike face of Martha, I wondered if she could see the pieces of my thoughts scattered on the floor as well as I could.

"I told you that when I gave you the instructions for chef salad. Stay in tune with the Spirit, Jeshanah."

Martha was the wife of the lead guitar player in the band, and she liked to consider herself the lead singer also. However, like all the wives, she also must have a house duty, and she chose to be in charge of the kitchen. She planned the meals, went shopping, and made sure someone else cooked and cleaned. Our band colony, in the suburbs of Boston, had only a dozen members. We each took turns with these chores; however, Jeremy and most of the band were usually relieved of their duties because of practice. They also began playing at local clubs, "to keep in with the music scene" we were told.

The band members looked and acted like the stereotypical musicians of the time. Any Fleetwood Mac fan would recognize Jeremy onstage, with his short stature and curly brown hair, delighting the audience with his Elvis Presley impersonations. The bass player, Sam, a tall nineteen-year-old Californian with dark, ethnic coloring, was distinguished by a gap in his smile where his front tooth had been knocked out. The rhythm guitar player, Enoch, was a tall young man in his early twenties whom we jokingly called "the Pope," since he encouraged everyone to be religious. Martha was a chubby girl with an angelic face; however, she was as tough as the devil on me. I had become the gofer of the home, since everyone else was busy in their calling. 

Jeremy's wife, Emma, often could not work in the kitchen because she was caring for her newborn, and Bart, our leader, and his wife, Tirzah, would only cook or clean when they felt like it. That left only the wife of the bass player, who had a baby to care for, our single brother, Abashai, the roadie who did most of the driving, and me. My main job was to help Emma with her children, but I often helped Abashai do all the practical and dirty work of keeping a home running. Abashai was also our provisioner, the person who visited stores and factories asking for free stuff.

Even though Jeremy and the band had received a lot of money to make the album, Bart, who held the highest position in our band colony and was manager of the band, thought we should live as much as possible like other COG homes. I was never informed where the money went at that time, but I was aware that we were living relatively better than other homes in the group. 

From what I heard from my husband, the drummer of the band, they had signed a contract with Columbia Records for $50,000. Most of the advance went into buying new instruments and equipment for the band and paying for the recording at a studio in Marlborough, Massachusetts. The rest of the money was used for living expenses for the band families while they were recording, but the upgrade in our living conditions was relative to normal COG standards. No one had personal bank accounts, and I never even bought any clothes but continued to wear hand-me-downs.

We had rented two attached apartments in Sudbury, a suburb of Boston. There were a total of five rooms, two kitchens, and two bathrooms for the twelve adults and six children. Bart and his wife and child took the whole apartment upstairs; Jeremy and his family of five lived in the master bedroom downstairs; Martha and her husband, Obadiah, and their baby were in the other bedroom; and Cal and I shared the living room with Sam, his wife, and their baby. Abashai and Enoch, the rhythm guitarist, whose wife was in England, stayed in the garage, where the band also practiced. In our room we divided the space with a sheet. After spending my first months of marriage with other married couples in the crowded couples' dorm back at Ellenville, I was grateful to have this private area. Always self-conscious of noises made while engaged in sex, I had learned to muffle any sounds.

Having lived with two to three hundred people for the past six months, I felt like this living situation was luxury. In addition, the food was much better, since we actually bought most of it, and I could leave the home on trips to the stores with Abashai to shop and provision, which I really enjoyed. I should have been very happy about my fortunate position; however, my marriage with Cal was terrible. Even worse, it was my fault. Cal loved me. He was proud to be my husband. He treated me nicely, and even tried to make sure I was not overworked, a common dilemma for those on the bottom of the COG hierarchy, such as I was in that colony.

But I knew it was all so wrong. Nothing had changed since the first night I spent with my husband. At that time, I thought that Cal and I were just not meant for each other, but in retrospect, I believe I was not capable of loving a man as a husband. In the Family, love for your "mate" was supposed to be a gift from God; however, there was no special loving feeling in my heart for Cal. Jesus said we should love everyone. Loving "everyone" was easy for me; it was loving my husband that was so hard. Having no clue as to why I could not love the man I had agreed to marry, I thought that maybe that happened to everyone. Maybe love would eventually grow. I did not take this situation lightly, and every day I would invent new causes, reasons, and excuses for not loving Cal as I should.

Mo wrote that he wanted all the complaints about marriage to stop. In a letter called "Get It Together," he told husbands to be nice to their wives (which Cal was), but he also wrote:

The next time I hear of a wife that is not willing to submit to her husband -- after being admonished in the presence of a few witnesses we'll take her in front of the whole congregation and make her submit to her husband ... if you won't do it in the privacy of your own bedroom, you will do it in front of us! ... Do you believe in the Bible? Then why don't you do it? You're breaking the commandment of God every time you refuse! You don't have to feel like it .... How are we going to have a Revolution for Jesus if you can't even love your husband or wife, your brothers or sisters, whom you have seen? [123: 17-20]

In other words, how could I be a missionary -- my one single goal in life?

Mo often denied that he had ever encouraged anyone to marry, and for many years I believed it was only a few of the top leaders, who were eventually demoted, who indiscriminately practiced pairing couples. However, years later I heard the tearful story of Rose, a sister who was present at a mass marriage performed by Mo and his personal secretary, Maria. After Mo had just betrothed a couple, he asked if anyone else wanted to get married. A brother, who liked Rose, stood up and tapped her on the shoulder. Rose knew Mo and Maria personally, and she looked to them for help. Instead, she was told by Maria that Mo thought it was the Lord's Will she marry this brother. They were betrothed in a few weeks, at which time, she later told me, she felt like her life had ended. Not all couples were so badly mismatched, but the majority of us were told that God's Love can extend to anyone. In reality, couples that actually did love each other romantically were usually separated by leaders.

I was still young enough in the Family to believe that my feelings about my marriage might be taken into account by my leaders. I went to Bart and Tirzah to ask for a separation from Cal. I thought that four months of trying was enough. My caring leaders were absorbed in their own private matters. Bart was checking out the latest electronic toy he had bought, some recording device, and Tirzah was fashioning a new dress for Martha, which, I noticed nostalgically, included a lace bodice from one of the dresses I had forsaken when I joined the Family. I stammered out my feelings, hopes, and disappointments about marriage and my request for a separation. They would not even discuss the matter with me, and basically I was told to get into the Word more. However, they did talk to Cal.

"Maybe we need to have a baby," suggested my husband. "You have always been caring for other people's babies; don't you want one for yourself?"

I thought this was an odd statement, considering the fact that the children were supposed to belong to us all, but Cal always had a way of remaining personal in a very impersonal environment.

"Well, yes, but we have been together for four months already, and I didn't get pregnant yet," I replied, somewhat surprised by his statement. Actually, we had not been legally married yet, since most of us did not obtain a marriage certificate unless a child was expected. So what Cal was really saying was that if we had a baby, we would become legally married. I did not consider the added incentive Cal might have had at the time for me to get pregnant, and I think Cal was only repeating what the leaders had told him to say. He probably thought it would be good for both of us, but having a baby made it almost impossible to break a marriage. In those early days, Mo taught that a baby was God's stamp of approval on a marriage.

Cal's question, however, did prompt me to consider having a baby as a solution to my marriage problem. Before I joined the Family, I would have laughed at such a simplistic idea, but after living in a closed society for such a long time, with traditional, and often oppressive, perspectives reinforced constantly by everyone around me, my critical thinking capabilities were extremely weakened. The Bible did say, "Be fruitful and multiply." If God was the one who gave babies, it made sense to ask Him for one. The more I prayed for a child, the more I felt that a baby was what I really wanted in my life.

Ironically, I was still aware enough to know that a child in the Family ideally belonged to everyone. It wouldn't necessarily be "mine." Sitting in the bathroom, the only room that gave me complete privacy with my thoughts since our bedroom was converted back into the living room every morning, I pondered the imagined happiness of holding my own baby in my arms and the very real threat of having that baby taken away from me and cared for by others. In order to prevent that from happening, I reasoned, I would make sure that I was always in the "child-care ministry." I even justified my thought processes, which were definitely selfish according to Family ideals. My mother had given me the name "Miriam." In the Bible story, Miriam was the sister of Moses who watched her baby brother in the river and suggested to the Egyptian queen who found Moses that she would get a nursemaid -- her own mother. In this way, Moses, although destined by God to live in the royal Egyptian palace, was actually raised by his own Hebrew mother. I reasoned that I could be like Miriam and cunningly make sure I would always care for my own child. Few sisters desired to stay in child-care work for long, so I did not foresee a problem keeping a spot. Curiously, I never noticed at that time how I had to work my way around Family policy. The thought of leaving the Family rarely occurred to me in those  early years.

Cal and I tried harder to conceive, and as nature would have it, I became pregnant the next month. The nine months of carrying a child was one of the most joyful times of my life. In my idealistic and naive state, I thought that now I would be fulfilled. Being a mother in the COG carried a certain amount of respect at that time, and extra attention was paid to both mothers' and children's needs. I was given a quart of milk a day, as well as extra fruit and vegetables. I could have time to take a nap and could go to bed early. Life was full of comforts now, and I enjoyed it to the fullest, knowing this would not last.

It was planned that I should have the baby in Troy, New York. All COG girls were encouraged to have their babies at home, and midwives were trained among our group to perform the delivery. There were no midwives among us in the Boston area, but Troy had one sister, Sheriah, who had assisted at a birth. That was good enough training for us.

We calculated the birth date, and I was sent to the Troy home about two weeks ahead of time. Cal was supposed to come down when labor started, and before leaving, I married Cal in front of a justice of the peace.

In Troy, I practiced the Lamaze breathing method, as outlined in advice we received from our child-care leaders, to help during labor. The Troy home was kept very clean, and since I had been assigned to work in the kitchen, I needed to mop the floor every night. After mopping one night on my hands and knees, I felt the labor pains start around nine o'clock. I went to bed, knowing that the first labor usually takes awhile, and some labor pains could be a false alarm. At midnight, I was sure this was the real thing, so I woke up Sheriah. She began preparing the labor room, while I called Cal and started my Lamaze exercises. They put me on the table about three in the morning. Sheriah began prepping me by stretching the skin around the opening, but the labor pains were so strong I had to push her away frequently.

"I don't think that Cal will make it," she said. "Your contractions are coming pretty fast and regular. How do they feel?"

"Hard, very hard," I said between puffing.

Another sister who was pregnant came to see my delivery. She was at my side stuffing my mouth with crushed ice in between my contractions. I chewed on the ice and savored the cool, fresh liquid quickly before returning to heavy breathing. 

Cal arrived about 6 A.M. By this time, I could tell that Sheriah was worried. Car's first sight when he came in the door of the delivery room was the view of my legs wide open, a gaping, bloody birth canal, and me huffing and puffing in between contractions that were less than a minute apart.  Sheriah called him outside.

"I think something is wrong," she said. "I want you to pray about it, but I am going to call for Mary. She is in New York, and she has had more experience than me with complications."

Mary arrived a few hours later and took over for flustered and exhausted Sheriah. Twelve hours had passed since I had first told Sheriah I was in labor, and she had missed a whole night's sleep. Mary continued the job of stretching me with a renewed vigor, but I was so tired, and the pain was so intense that I could not feel the stretching. After each contraction, which now came only a minute apart while I was breathing hard and heavily, I asked for crushed ice. No one told me what time it was, but I noticed the light coming in through the window, so I knew it had been a long time. I also knew that we were not supposed to scream. Childbirth, we were .told, was a natural function of the body and should not cause excess pain. If I screamed, it would be a sign of lack of faith in the Word. The Bible, I had learned, said that it is God who delivers babies, so what was I worried about?

But I could not bear the pain any longer. I took my last rhythmic breath and screamed for as loud and long as I wanted. I no longer cared what Mary or Sheriah or Cal, or anyone, would think.  "The head -- it's here. Push! Push," cried Mary!

I took a breath and screamed through another push. "It's a redhead! Push again!"

Were they crazy? I didn't have any strength left to push. I could not do it.

"Push! Push!"

The undeniable urge to push came again, and I pushed while a full body plopped out covered in mucus and blood. Mary held up a baby boy for me to see, and then she cut the umbilical cord and gave him to Sheriah to wash. 

I was ecstatic, but the work was not finished. Mary, who was very knowledgeable about childbirth, told me to stand up and squat so the afterbirth could come out. Then she washed me and helped me onto a clean, soft bed that had been prepared. Finally, they brought in the baby.

He was a beautiful nine-pound infant. His perfectly rounded head was covered with bright red hair. Cal had been given a dream in which the baby had red hair and he wanted to name him after the Norse god of thunder. The day he had the dream, he had read a verse in the Bible about James and John being the "sons of thunder." Although only Bible names were the rule in the Family, we named him Thor. As I adored him lying in the softness of my rounded arm and sucking firmly at my nipple, I thought that never again in my life would I be sad. The moment should have been eternal, but it was snatched away all too soon by Sheriah.

"You have to get up and get dressed," she barked. "You ripped pretty badly, and you will have to go to a doctor."

As she said the word "doctor," I shuddered. We all knew that one went to a doctor only because of lack of faith. We had read about the sister who was in labor for three days, and when she finally went to the doctor, Mo said, she developed a spiritual problem. What was my problem? Oh, who cared? My baby was fine and healthy. That was all that mattered.

Cal helped me to get dressed, and one of the brothers drove us to the nearest hospital. I sat in the emergency room for over an hour while Cal talked to the nurse.

"They won't take you," he reported when he finally came back. "They said you arc too much of a risk since you did not have the baby here in the hospital."

I felt weak and was shivering. I was continuing to lose blood, and I had no idea how big was this rip that needed to be sewn.

The brother suggested we try another hospital, which was farther away. By the time we arrived, I was holding on to both of them for support. Cal went to talk to the nurse again, but no one would believe that I had just had a baby until they came and saw me.

"Bring her in here," they said. Within an hour I had been sewn by a kind young intern who later advised us to go to an obstetrician, but I never went to one.

I went back to the Troy home and spent the rest of the night admiring my sleeping baby who lay snuggled in my arms. Early the next morning, I had a message to see Sheriah. She was the colony leader's wife in addition to being midwife.

"My husband has already talked to Cal," she said sharply . "We have prayed about this, and we believe that you two must seek the Lord for an answer."

"An answer to what?" I asked.

"Well, as to why the delivery went so badly," she retorted, looking surprised that I would not know. "I want you to pray about this and write me a report today."

I was left speechless. The absolutely most beautiful memory that a woman can have in her lifetime, that of giving birth to her firstborn, had been splattered with this acid of someone else's cruel reality. Now every time' I recalled that wonderful experience, I would remember that I had somehow failed.

Returning to Boston in a week, I was grateful to be back. The Family life in "regular" home was so disciplined, and the leaders seemed to be very harsh. After my experience in Troy, I appreciated the colony in Boston where musicians could still joke and laugh about the idiosyncrasies of life. Jeremy was always a great one for seeing humor in everything,' and he was an inspiration to me because he had given up fame and riches to follow the Lord. Although he was respected by most leaders with a kind of man-worship attitude, which placed the "great Jeremy Spencer from Fleetwood Mac" slightly above others, he still lived pretty much like the rest of us, with one memorable exception.

One day, some FBI agents showed up at our apartment looking for the English rock musician who probably had visa problems and found Jeremy in the backyard on "kitchen duty" splitting beans for dinner. Everyone acted completely calm, and the FBI seemed perturbed by our lack of anxiety. Little did they realize that we "knew" everything was in God's hands, so we had nothing to fear from man's laws and activities.

I was not aware of the details of this incident. In fact, it was only years later that my husband told me it was the FBI who had come to our home. However, my husband said that this visit from the FBI was why Jeremy and his family left our home to go to a COG colony in Europe.

Jeremy, behaving in his typical ingenuous manner toward these men who seemed to be important in the world, made me laugh, and I realized after my first day back that I had not laughed during my entire four-week stay in Troy. I decided to work harder and never complain again about being in the band home.

However, life in the Boston home had changed since I had been gone. There had been some trouble at Columbia Records involving scandals in their business, which had nothing to do with us, but for some reason, the band took all of the money that was owed them and left Columbia Records. In any case, the album did not become the big hit we expected it to be. We heard that Mo was not happy with the hard rock album that Jeremy and the band recorded. In a letter titled "Conferences, Colonies, Bands, and Buses," dated July 15, 1973, after the album Jeremy and the Children had been released, Mo wrote:

Those poor band groups have been in pretty bad shape for a long time ever since they got this big -- and spirit when the System took them over! But they disobeyed and didn't do what we told them to do .... I think these band people have got what they wanted: They wanted a band and they wanted a record -- But they failed to be a success or hit because they didn't do it God's way .... Maybe we should make such folks an associate colony, if they're not interested in following our authority and obeying only us. [253:10-11]

Since Mo did not mention the name of the band he was talking about, although we were the only ones in the group who made a record at that time, we never were sure whether he meant us. Mo was often vague in naming offenders in his specific judgments, but the result was that none of us wanted to be considered an "associate," which in COG terminology meant a second-rate disciple. We decided to split up and go to homes in Europe -- the new mission field. That would be a big change for everyone, but for me it did not matter, since I believed that the life of a revolutionary was always changing, always growing, and always moving forward. The money we had was used for plane tickets, and anything left over was given to other families who wanted to leave for Europe. Most of the band members decided to go to Italy or France. Because I had a German mother, Cal and I decided to go to Germany with our son Thor.

We planned to fly out of New York in the fall of 1973, when Thor was barely three months old. Again, I never saw any money or even documents, unless I had to sign something. Cal and the leaders took care of the paperwork, and I just followed the instructions like a good soldier. We were asked to obtain as much money and goods as we could from our relatives before leaving. I had stayed in contact with my mother through frequent letters and less frequent phone calls; such communication was being encouraged by our leaders now because Mo had recently advised disciples to write their parents and relatives. I believe it was suggested because of the persecution and investigation that had followed when irate parents and relatives went to the authorities seeking to learn the whereabouts of their children. In my case, until I lived in the band colony, I never opened a letter from my mother without a leader looking over my shoulder. If she sent any money, I was urged to give it to the leader right away, to be put to use in God's work. What good would money do for me anyway -- I could not go out and spend it. I soon learned that most disciples asked their parents for things, like clothes and pens and paper. Cal had learned to increase his few personal belongings with help from his parents, and before we had our baby, they had supplied us with all the baby clothes we needed and a beautiful handmade cradle. Since Cal's parents lived relatively close by, in upstate New York, we visited them before we left for Europe. Having an upper-middleclass income, they could afford to buy us new clothes and camping gear. They also paid for our visits to a dentist; it was my first visit since I had joined the COG. While we were at Cal's parents' house, one of my sisters, Marlene, and her husband and new baby brought my mother to see me before I left. I had not seen my mother since I had "forsaken all" in 1971. It was now 1973, but I was not nostalgic. By now my natural feelings had been buried so deep, I could think only about witnessing to them. My sister asked Jesus into her heart and told me about the difficulties of parenthood and work. I told her, "That's life in the system." Unfortunately, I showed barely any affection to the sister closest to me, less than two years younger in age, and the one who had gone to the peace march in Washington with me. She was only eighteen, and before she reached her twenty-first birthday, she died in a car accident. I never saw her after this day in New York.

Cal told me that we had been given enough money to get through the borders in Europe and three-month visas. We landed in Amsterdam and had to race for a train to Germany, arriving in Essen on a wet, cold evening. No one had come to pick us up as planned, and after hours of waiting and many phone calls, we finally arrived at the Essen colony. Essen, a large industrial city in northern Germany, is not known for its scenic beauty. It is a factory-fueled city, and in the middle of the winter, the gray from the smokestacks was lost in the gray of the skies. What I remember most about the German houses is the stark white lace curtains in every window. I thought there must have been a law in Essen that everyone must have lace curtains, but I later saw them all over Germany. They looked pretty, and for some reason the curtains made the gloomy feeling I felt, living the winter in Essen, a little more bearable.

Our new home turned out to be an old three-story schoolhouse inhabited by over a hundred disciples. Mo had written a letter about letting the nationals take over the leadership of the homes in Europe, since they knew the culture and language of the land. Therefore, power-hungry older brothers were quickly marrying national sisters, usually barely three months in the Family, so they could keep their leadership positions. That seemed to be the case in Germany anyway.

The colony leaders were Samson and Naomi, who together ruled the home with Gestapo-like authority. Naomi was a pretty German girl whose father had helped the Family when the group first arrived in Essen. Wealthy or influential friends of the Family were called "kings," and Naomi's father, a respected Christian businessman, saw our group as dedicated young Christians. He later changed his attitude about us, as most of our kings did. Samson, a suave, clean-cut-looking young man, was one of the early pioneers from America, and he savored his leadership power. Everything ran like clockwork in the large home; the disciples were kept constantly busy cleaning it, begging for food and supplies, or going out onto the streets witnessing.

The nursery was located in one of the larger classrooms on the  second floor, near the girls' bathroom, and I was immediately put to work. There were already a dozen small babies in the house and a dozen more on the way. Since we were forbidden to use any form of birth control, and babies were considered God's blessing, they kept coming. Anyone who knew about child care could be sure of a twenty-four-hour job.

Naomi had never been trained properly in child care; in fact she  was not trained in anything, which left her with a huge complex to overcome. Most leaders' wives had been in the Family longer than Naomi, and had received some form of training from elder sisters in areas of office work, kitchen supervision, housecleaning, or child care. However, Naomi had joined the home as a sort of "princess," her father being a king of course, and she had received the typical pampered treatment allotted those who were somehow special. That really rubbed my communistic ideals the wrong way, but as always, I knew there was a lesson for me to learn here. Maybe I needed to be more humble. Maybe I would learn to love Cal here in Essen.

Naomi suggested that Cal and I sleep in the nursery, which meant being awakened all through the night. Furthermore, she did not relieve Cal of any work or witnessing responsibilities, and I had to participate in other work duties as well, which contributed to a chronic feeling of tiredness. 

The German home existed mainly from the donations it collected  on the street and by "litnessing," now the most popular method of raising money in the Family. It involved "selling" our Family News and Mo letters on the streets. I had been out litnessing a few times in the United States, but since we had kept some of the money the band earned playing at clubs, I was never pressured to bring in a certain amount. Here in Germany, I learned that everyone had a quota of literature to hand out, and of donation money they were expected to bring in. The literature was translated into the language of the land, and in this way, these pieces of paper became the witness. Mo had been writing a series of letters on how to witness with his "wonder-working words" and recently he suggested that all the disciples "sell" them to people on the streets, in airports, shopping centers, or wherever else they could get people to stop for a minute, Ideally, the method included witnessing about Jesus to anyone who looked interested, but many times we were so busy trying to get money, we did not have time.

The German leadership had set quotas for literature that had to be sold by each disciple every day. The quotas were determined by the amount of time that the leaders thought a disciple could devote to this method of witnessing. For example, the lowly disciple who worked in the kitchen early morning and late evening supposedly had all day to spend on the streets litnessing, so his quota would be high, maybe a hundred letters a day. However, the leaders, who had to spend many hours reading the Word, praying, and making important decisions about colony life, would usually have a low quota, or no quota at all. Cal and I fell somewhere in the middle.

Since Cal was a musician, he thought he could use his talent in the colony band, but music was not highly valued in the German home, so Cal was given no practice time and a pretty high quota. Since I was a nursing mother, and spent many hours day and night in the nursery, my quota was lower. Still, it was never easy to make. 

"What do I say?" I asked a sister as I stepped out the door on my first day carrying a pack of lit, Thor tucked snugly into a Cadillac of a baby buggy, bundled in everything I could find to keep out the cold north German winter.

"Just hand them a pamphlet and say, 'Konnen sie bitte eine spende geben?'" answered the American girl, who had been here for months. "It means, 'Can you give a donation, please?' "

"Won't they ask what this is, and why I want a donation?"

"It's better if you don't know what to say. These German businesspeople will just argue with you anyway. So just say, "Nicht verstehe," and move on if they don't reach for their pocket. Believe me, it's not worth trying to talk with them."

"What if I find someone sheepy? Do you know enough German to witness?"

"No, I never learned much more than to ask for a donation. You don't have to. If they are sheepy, they'll probably know English. All the young people here know English."

She was right in her assessment. Businessmen either gave a donation right away, or started yelling something like "Arbeite, arbeite.''' which meant "Go work!" The young people knew English very well, and they were the only ones who were interested in talking with me. I never learned more German than how to ask for a donation.

Even though it was cold and very difficult to make a quota in that tough and dreary city, I loved to go out litnessing. It meant being away from the nursery, away from the colony, and most of all, away from Naomi. I had the distinct impression that she did not like me, but perhaps everyone felt that way about her. She always had some command for me whenever she abruptly entered the nursery.

"Don't you think the babies should be patted to sleep?" she snapped one day when she found me sitting down reading the Bible while a few babies were stirring before taking their naps. 

From then on, we had to pat babies to sleep, which was not a good habit to encourage when there are twelve babies and only two adult patters.

"Why don't you write verses on this big chalkboard," she questioned on another day. "Then you can memorize out loud while you are working with the babies. I am sure it will help them in the Spirit to hear the Word."

After that, we always had verses written across the huge blackboards, which had to be changed daily, of course.

Still, I felt fortunate to be working in the nursery instead of in the kitchen or office, where Naomi made many more demands on the poor workers. Cal would often come up from the kitchen in a rage over the stupid suggestions made by Naomi.

"And it's not like you can talk to her about anything," he complained. "She won't allow anyone to question her suggestions."

It was evident that Cal wanted to leave the country, but it was hard to get out. In the band colony in Boston, Cal always was allowed to keep a little spending money, maybe twenty dollars or so, but here in Germany, every mark was handed in, and if it looked like you did not make enough, you might be accused of holding some money back. The story in the Bible of Ananias and Sapphira, found in Acts, Chapter 5, was constantly held over our heads in the typical Big Brother fashion. I heard this story when I had my first "forsake all" doubts. It seems two of the early disciples did not hand in to Peter all the money they had earned from land they had sold, and they were immediately struck down dead by God as a warning to all. I really doubted that God would do that for a few bucks, but even so, where could we go if we had money to get there? To live at another home anywhere in the world, one needed clearance first, which involved a series of letters to the colony leaders and recommendations from your present colony leader. It was like getting a job. And I suspected that Naomi would not want me going anywhere since I had become her only stable nursery worker. She thought I was dedicated to the work, but actually, I just wanted to stay near my son as much as possible, and my plan worked. As a musician, Cal had no talent to offer the litnessing colony in Germany. To make matters worse, he was used to the musician's life with a less disciplined structure. The tension of hating where he was and being incapable of changing his situation weighed heavily on his mind, body, and spirit.

Our bedroom area in the nursery was situated in a loft overlooking the cribs full of babies. We had a mattress on the floor, but, being in the nursery, it was one of the warmest spots in the cold, drafty building. Interrupted often by the babies' cries, Cal never could sleep very well, and his lack of sleep, combined with the stress he was experiencing, caused him to become physically weak. One day he could not get out of bed. He had developed a terrible case of dysentery, and I began to take care of him, as well as the babies. Sometimes, I had to wash sheets that he had soiled because he could not make it to the bathroom, which was located far down the hall. Caring for Cal brought me closer to him in an emotional way, but I don't think he recognized this at the time. His single-minded intention was to get out of that colony in any way he could. Hardships are said to often bring a family closer, and the unhappiness we both felt living in Essen made me feel a sense of camaraderie with Cal. It was short-lived.

The chance for Cal to escape from his less than joyful situation came when he heard that Jeremy was in Paris starting up another band. Cal sent him a letter, and our leaders received word from Hopie, who was Mo's daughter, that Cal should be sent to Paris immediately. Although there was not room for me and our baby, Cal accepted the invitation and was gone within days. He was told that he might be staying in Paris for a short time only, but that if he stayed longer, he would do what he could to get us there quickly. I was truly happy for Cal, and I did not think much about our separation. Also, I knew that he had a better chance of getting me out of here from Paris than he did in Essen.

Weeks passed, and there seemed to be little he could do to bring his family to France. I received a few letters from Cal saying that Paris was a wonderful place, the home was totally different from any he had been in, and the band was probably going to go into the recording studio soon. I'm sure he missed us, but I think he was so excited about his new start in Paris, he did not spend much time thinking about how his wife and child would get there. We were trained to trust the Lord. Cal wrote that the home in Paris was made up mostly of musicians, singers, and their wives. They lived in a converted stable, and there was no room for children.

It seemed that Cal was incapable of arranging for me to get to Paris, for whatever the reasons, and there was little for me to do but pray. Naomi would be of no help, and without the leader's permission, I would not be accepted in any colony, let alone have the money to get there. A few months after Cal left Germany, a visiting leader came by our colony who gave me a ray of hope.

Bithia, a tall, lanky young woman, was the wife of a top leader from London. She and her husband were not only nationals, they were from high society, which appeared to have status value even in the COG. Having had an elitist upbringing, Bithia was used to doing just what she wanted, and she could not be told by any leader, let alone a domineering Naomi, what to do. Bithia had three small children, who were born before she joined the COG. She was used to buying whatever she wanted for them, and although she was trying to live communally, like others in the Family, she often wrote her parents for extra money to buy the kids something, which she did not turn over to the leaders. Since her youngest child slept in the nursery, Bithia hung around and talked with me. We recognized our kindred rebellious spirits.

"This is really a rigid colony here, isn't it?" she commented one day. She had just set her baby on the rug and lounged back in a way that suggested she had always lived a life of ease.

"What do you mean?" I responded, carefully watching that her baby would not poke my son with the pencil that he had grabbed from Bithia's open bag.

"I mean, Naomi, and her husband; they run this place like a prison.  It isn't like this in England. And, boy, you should see Paris!" she said with a smile on her face.

"Were you in the Paris colony?"

"Yeah, I just came from there. It's pretty .... You know Hopie is there, and being Mo's daughter, she gets all Mo's letters before they come to us. The Paris home is practicing what we haven't even heard about yet. "

"Like what?"

Bithia studied me for a moment, and decided she could be open.

"Well, have you heard about 'sharing'?"

"In what way?"

She divulged what she knew about "sharing," a new outlook on communal sexuality, but she did not completely reveal what was going on in Paris.

Bithia often took me with her on shopping excursions in Essen, even though Naomi would insist that Bithia take a sister who could speak German.

"No, I want someone who can help me with the kids," she said,  and, as always, she did want she wanted.

One day while shopping, she asked about my husband.

"So, are you and Cal breaking up?"

"No, I don't think so. He said he was trying to get me to Paris."

"He did?" she laughed. "Well, I would say he probably is too busy  in Paris to worry about a wife and son."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Paris has a lot of men away from their wives, and single girls are ready and willing to serve them."

"Are you saying that Cal shares sexually?"

"I am not saying anything. I don't know what anyone does in the bedroom. I am saying that I would not leave a husband alone in Paris very long."

"Well, what can I do about it? Naomi will never give me permission to go to Paris." Actually, I was more concerned about getting out of Germany than about what my husband might be doing.

"I'll see what I can do for you," said Bithia. "I have a direct contact with Hopie."

The next day, Bithia came excitedly into the nursery.

"I talked to Hopie last night," she exclaimed. "She's such an angel. It seems that they want to start a nursery in Paris, and they need workers, so she is going to send a letter to Naomi about you coming  there."

"Oh, Bithia, you are wonderful!" I cried, giving her a hug.

"But, look, Jeshanah, you have to keep on top of this. I will be leaving in a few days, and I will do what I can from London. However, Hopie is a bit spacy, you know, and she might forget."

Bithia did leave in a few days, and she left the Family before our paths ever crossed again. Since I did not have any kind of communication with Hopie, there was little to do but pray. A couple of days later Naomi said that Hopie would be calling me on the phone that night, at eight o'clock sharp.

I waited by the phone anxiously. The call came in around nine-thirty.

"Hello. Is this Jeshanah?" piped a sweet, high voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, this is me."

"Praise the Lord. It is wonderful to hear you, sweetie. Your husband is such a dear, and he talks of you all the time."

"Well, thank you. I hear so many wonderful things about you too."

"Well, it is only the Lord, sweetie. Anything good about us is only the Lord. Isn't He so loving?"

"Yes, praise the Lord!"

"Hallelujah! So, Bithia tells me you are great with kids. Bithia is a dear, you know, and so discerning. I trust her completely."

"I have been working with babies since Ellenville."

"Well, honey, we don't have a nursery set up here, you know. It is very primitive. The conditions are extremely crowded, and we have only one bathroom for everyone. Sometimes we have over a hundred people here, but we are trying to keep that down now."

"Oh, I could set up a nursery. That would not be a problem."

"Well, we can see about that later. But I want you to know, this is no place for a baby. You might have to sleep on the floor. And we all eat the same food. We don't have a special fridge for moms and babies here."

"Oh, that is fine. I will take care of the food. My son is strong and healthy." By now, I had been living by faith for so long, I believed the Lord would protect me from anything, especially if I was in the presence of Hopie. Mo's youngest daughter was like a role model for me. Youthful, energetic, and spontaneous, she often got in trouble with the more organizational-type leaders, but that just made her seem more saint-like in my eyes. Hopie was only a few years older than I; yet I knew she had already pioneered most of the European homes. Mo sent his singing daughter and a team of musicians into every country first, and after she made a few contacts with established nationals, setting up a base to start with, more of our disciples would stream into the country. I was proud to be part of her team.

"Well, praise the Lord, dear. It seems you have a lot of faith. Okay.  I'm going to tell Naomi to send you over. Hallelujah! Does that make you happy, sweetie?"

"Oh, yes," I exclaimed, not knowing how much enthusiasm I should express to leave Essen, with Naomi standing right next to me. I decided to show my true feelings. "Hopie, I want to be there with you and the band and my husband. Bithia told me that the Spirit is really moving in Paris, and I want to be part of it and help in any way I can."

"Praise the Lord, honey, you will. Now give me Naomi and I will talk to her."

Naomi took the phone in her normal stern manner and motioned for me to leave. I walked away on a cloud and went back up to the dirty diapers, warm milk bottles, and crying babies. They were like heaven to me now.

It took about two weeks to arrange for me to leave, and to find a replacement for me in the nursery; then, carrying Thor, and all my possessions in two bags, I took the train to France. The leadership provided me with the necessary paperwork to make the journey.

***

Paris was another world for me. Not only did what was happening in Paris represent a turning point in COG history, but Paris was the prototype of things to come. Bithia and Hopie had been truthful about the conditions; they were primitive and physically difficult. We lived in what had been an actual stable, when horses were still used in Paris, in a part of the city called Port de Pantin. The stables had been converted quickly and shabbily to provide the basic necessities of living, such as running water and gas for cooking. There was a large all-purpose room where we ate and had our meetings and inspiration.  In the back was a small kitchen, and there were a few rooms that had been hastily constructed in various corners so that some of the married couples could have privacy. Cal and I were given one of those rooms, which was large enough for a twin mattress and our suitcases on the side. The mattress covered most of the cement floor, so each morning I arranged our suitcases in such a way that Thor could crawl about without scraping his knees on the rough cement. Actually, he never crawled much; he started to walk at ten months. I have always wondered if it was due to his having had so little crawling space.

Upstairs was a communal bathroom with only a curtain hung up for privacy. Next door was the girls' dorm. The boys all slept downstairs in the main room. Leaders had two rooms built on the side of the girls' dorm. The population of the colony varied daily, as visiting leaders and disciples came and went; the permanent population was around fifty. A married couple who acted as "shepherds" for the home, and Hopie and her husband, Joab, the top leaders, lived somewhere else. Only the leaders in this colony had their wives with them, since the married musicians had left their wives back in London, or wherever they had last been. It was a miracle that they had allowed me to come.

Obviously, taking care of one's daily hygienic needs was a problem. Everyone was advised to use the bathrooms in cafes or restaurants whenever they were out litnessing. All showers were taken at the local public baths.

There was no regular schedule for eating. Breakfast usually consisted of oatmeal soaked in milk overnight, with raisins, nuts, or whatever dried fruit was available. Since this concoction, which we called muesli, was prepared the night before and put in the refrigerator, everyone ate whenever they were ready; however, the table was cleared by noon. I remember developing a tremendous liking for this cereal mixture, and although we ate muesli every morning, I never grew tired of it. Unlike in the Essen home, if people were hungry, they could ask the head cook for food. Since the head cook changed every few days, there was no one to blame if all the food ran out. However, as soon as we had a steady person in charge of the kitchen, free access to the refrigerator stopped. Almost everyone not in the band was supposed to be out on the streets selling literature or collecting donated food by noon. There was only one other mother besides myself, and we could arrange our own schedules. I had learned in Essen not to ask for anything, but to pray for it. So unless the other mother, who was only passing through, requested special privileges for us, I usually just followed along with the normal witnessers. All the band, musicians and singers, had a schedule of their own, led by Hopie and her husband, Joab, and I saw Cal only at night.  Despite the harsh living conditions, I was euphoric about being in Paris. The city was a treasure to explore, and I had no leadership keeping tabs on me. After a few days, I understood that whatever one was lacking in physical necessities -- food, clothes, personal items -- could be bought from litnessing money. As long as I showed up for inspiration in the evening, I could do pretty much what I wanted. This schedule created chaos organizationally, but it was a haven for independent-minded disciples like myself. Of course, I didn't have any money with which to buy extra food, but I quickly solved that problem.

After learning how to ask for a donation in French, I began partnering with Elam, whom I had recognized as a good litnesser. Elam had been in Europe ever since Mo first allowed disciples who were not leaders to come over. He already spoke three languages, and with his dashing good looks, he concentrated his witnessing on women. I soon learned that in gay Paris, the relationship between men and women, even complete strangers, quickly takes on a romantic flavor. I watched Elam as he charmed a Parisian beauty, and within five minutes came back with ten francs. The French were typically rather snobby, unless one knew the power of charm. Luckily for me, Elam taught me this without saying a word; I picked it up intuitively, but I think living in Paris had something to do with it.

The first time we went out together to litness, I had Thor with me in a foldable stroller, and I carried all the changes of clothes, diapers, jars of food, cookies, and Mo letters in a big bag on my shoulder. We had a late start because I had to prepare the baby, but Elam did not mind. Everyone was given a metro ticket to start the day. Elam started passing out letters on the metro platform and asking for donations. By the time we left the metro station, he had some money.

"Let's get something to eat," he suggested. He stopped at a cheese store and bought a piece of Gruyere. Then we went into a bakery and asked for a hot baguette (a long, thin loaf of French bread).

"Here," he said, handing me the bread and a piece of cheese, "put this in the bread and let it melt. It's delicious."

I did as he said. It was one of the most memorable meals I ever had. The warm bread had melted the cheese to a soft, sensuous consistency, and the freshly baked bread held a fragrance I could never forget. We stood on the side of the busy Boulevard St. Michel, eating with gusto. It was the first time since I had come to Europe that I bought food in a store on my own. In Germany we had not been allowed to spend any of the money we made, and we had to take food from the colony, if it was provided. Elam sensed that I was enjoying his humble gift of food. There were some moments during life in the Family when communion between the right combination of people in the most simple and human situations made the harsh realities of communal life seem like a stepping-stone to an eternal connection with the universal soul. Of course, at that time, I could never describe these moments as such, but I knew they were special. This was one of them.

"Hey, did you ever have a Greek pastry?" he asked.

"No, what is it?"

"Wait, let me get some money."

Elam stopped a few people and sold a few more letters. I followed him to another store, where he bought something called a baklava.

"This is marvelous," I said, my mouth full of exotic tastes of sesame and honey.

He also bought a drink called Orangina, which was a bubbly orange juice. It became my favorite French soft drink.

Thor was about a year old then, and he had started to eat adult food cut up in small pieces. I gave him some of the pastry, which he seemed to enjoy, and he picked the sticky crust from his fingers.

By now it was night, but the streets of the Latin Quarter seemed busier than before. I was worried that we should start litnessing so we could get home with some money before inspiration. Elam smiled knowingly, and I felt so dependent on him at that moment.

"Don't worry," he said, "we don't have quotas here like they do in other colonies. This is the freest place you will ever find in the Family. Enjoy it while you can. Besides, if you don't make anything, I will give you half of mine."

Elam was right about the Paris home. Unfortunately, it did not stay like that forever, but while we had freedom, I enjoyed it immensely.

One night Joab read us a new Mo letter titled "One Wife." Joab was a big, hairy man, at least ten years older than his wife, Hopie, but although I never talked with him very much, I knew he was a gentle man despite his rough appearance. He had kept us excited by this new letter for days, dropping hints that "this was a bomb," and "the revolution will never be the same." Joab had been one of the first to join the Family, when it was still called the Revolution, and his favorite antic was to stop in mid-sentence and scream, "It's a Revolution," to which all fifty-odd of us would scream back, "For Jesus!" That night he stopped to scream about every two minutes. 

"Are you ready, brothers?" he asked, his dark eyes grinning with excitement. "This letter will divide the sheep from the goats."

"One Wife" talked about everyone being married to everyone else, and not having selfish little marriage units.

God's in the business of breaking up little selfish private worldly families to make of their yielded broken pieces a larger unit -- one Family. He's in the business of destroying the relationships of many wives in order to make them One Wife -- God's Wife -- the Bride of Christ! ... In other words, partiality toward your own wife or husband or children strikes at the very foundation of communal living. [249:9,12]

Since I always thought we were all spiritually married to everyone else in the Family, I did not find the message of this letter particularly shocking. However, it turned out to be one of the significant letters of our history, starting us down the road to threesome marriages and group sex.

Other letters came out around the same time with new revelations about the freedom we were given in the Family: "Revolutionary Women," "Revolutionary Sex," "Lovelight," "Jealousy," "Women in Love." Most of this freedom centered around sex; in fact, sexual liberation seemed to be the pathway to spiritual growth, as laid out in the new letters. Women were told to dress and act sexier, to attract and keep the attention of men. Couples were told that jealousy is pride and "the selfishness of private property." A wife was reprimanded for not "sharing" her husband with another woman. With the average age of COG members between eighteen and twenty-five at that time, any new liberties in this area were welcomed. We had been under traditional moral guidelines since the Family's beginning, and these new freedoms in the area of sex were exciting and desirable. They didn't seem perverted, in fact, every new revelation about sex was supported with Bible verses or Bible stories. There is much in the Song of Solomon about lovemaking, and a few of the Old Testament patriarchs often seemed more immoral than some of our contemporary television evangelists. I would venture to say that the modern Moral Majority would not approve of King David dancing naked in the streets, or of his taking other men's wives to bed, stories that can be found in the Bible. Any new revelation for which a Bible reference could not be found was covered by Jesus' words: "I have yet many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now" (John 16:12). The implication was that we were now ready for what Jesus did not tell his disciples, and Mo was revealing these things to us. In addition, the sexual sharing at this time involved only those who had obtained a position of leadership. I had heard of and tried the "free love" philosophy before when I was a hippie, and it didn't seem to bring any greater community; perhaps this was only for the more spiritually advanced, such as our leaders. Although I was always curious by nature, I was not very enthusiastic about sharing sexually with just any brother. However, I was interested in the concept laid out in "Flirty Little Fishy," which explained how Maria, Mo's mistress, lured men to Jesus by using her flirtatious powers as a woman. Although it was written in January 1974, it would be a year before we tried this method of witnessing, but I was inexplicably intrigued by the metaphor of "catching fish" (men) with the bait (women) on a hook (the love of God), cast by a fisherman (Mo or other male leader). Why did this prick my interest? Why was I fascinated by a woman being used by a man to lure other men? The image was a classic pimp-prostitute model, but I did not recognize it. Even if I had, we had already learned that God can use anything the devil uses for His own glory. Mo taught us that the devil had a monopoly on sex, and we were going to bring it back into God's realm.

Strangely, although many of us had been sexually liberated before we joined, those who had come from the more religious fundamentalist backgrounds took this new license to the furthest extremes. As sex became more and more prevalent in our lifestyle, I noticed that the most insistent to follow the letters were those men and women who had been good church-raised Christians and had never gone "astray" as I had. For instance, Mo's own permanent lover, Maria, had been a very strict churchgoer before she joined the Family, and Mo was her first sexual partner. Most of the girls I knew who became lovers of leaders, and even those who went to Mo's house, were former churchy "saints." I don't know if they actually enjoyed the sexual freedom, or if they were just oriented to obedience! I followed these letters in part because I had always been rebellious to authority, and I was therefore now trying to prove I was a good disciple. And since, for some unknown reason, I seemed to be resigned to a life of sexually "giving" to men, the new concepts on sex and sharing did not bother me. In fact, it was easier to follow than trying to sell Mo letters on the street.

My husband was more intrigued by these new letters than I was.  Since we did not have our own individual copies of the letters at that time, Cal tried to obtain copies to read over and over. He informed me, as if he were letting me in on a closely guarded secret, that there was quite a bit of hanky-panky going on among the leaders here in the Paris home. In particular, Hopie, Mo's own daughter, and Joab, her husband, each had started intimate relationships with single brothers and sisters. Since this was closer to home, my interest was further piqued. I realized that Beth, a young single woman who had joined the Family in Scandinavia, wasn't sleeping in the dorm. She had her own bedroom in a small area behind the leaders' office. I knew that there were quite a few married men who were living in Paris without their wives, and I began to wonder how much "one wife" principles were being followed in the area of sexual sharing here in our colony. I wondered if I would be sharing Cal with anyone soon, and I truthfully did not feel jealousy or experience any anxiety over this thought. At twenty-one years of age, I was interested in whom I might be able to share with, mostly out of curiosity. Sadly, this should have been the time of my life when I would seriously be looking for a lifelong partner, but one had already been chosen for me.

Since I rarely had the chance to become friends with a brother, I understood how sexual sharing could allow deeper relationships to develop. Our life was so busy -- everyone spent most of their time either working in the home, witnessing, or attending meetings -- that we rarely had time to nurture friendships. Sharing sexually certainly seemed like a way to promote deeper friendships as well as the essential feeling of unity with one another. I did not have a sexual desire or an emotional longing to become close to another man, and I don't remember having a physical attraction to anyone at that time either. But I would have liked someone to talk to. However, these were nothing more than fantasies, since at this point, the sharing concept was the privilege of leaders only. In fact, I learned later that only in the Paris colony, the London homes, and the big colony in Italy where the leaders congregated was sexual experimentation actually being practiced. Cal expressed conflicting hopes and worries about sharing. I think he liked the idea for himself, but he wasn't too keen on letting someone else .make love to me. However, with our busy schedules, Cal practicing all day with the band, and myself exploring Paris and raising Thor as a gypsy, we were too absorbed to worry about it for long.

My Paris days were exploding with exciting sensations of life. I was learning French. I was also becoming cultured, which was an adventure for a young, inquisitive American girl. I had little time or money for the relatively expensive museums, but the Paris streets alone are full of culture. Every day I was eager to go out into the colorful city that I was beginning to love. I took Thor to every park in the city, and his first pony ride was in the famed Jardin des Tuileries. I delighted sipping a milk with strawberry syrup, a drink I could share with Thor, while sitting on a crowded cafe patio, imagining that the lone person beside me was a starving artist waiting for his work to be discovered.

I always dashed away these fantasies, since witnessing was my primary concern. On the street, I considered myself a better witnesser than litnesser, which meant I could talk to someone about spirituality more successfully than I could sell Mo letters. Essentially, I thought of myself as some type of angel, rescuing lost souls from the devil's clutch. For instance, while I was waiting for a metro train one evening, I saw a young man pacing up and down the platform and felt an urge to talk with him. As I got closer, I saw a troubled look on his face, but the desire to speak to him became even stronger. I approached with a smile, and he seemed to back away in apprehension. After hearing my noticeably American accent, he relaxed, and eventually we sat on the bench, along with my witnessing partner, as I spent hours telling him about Jesus. We learned that because of insurmountable personal problems, he had decided to jump in front of a train and end his life, not an uncommon event in the Parisian underground. He was nervously pacing closer and closer to the edge, waiting to jump in front of the next train, when I had approached. Of course, our conversation put a stop, or at least a hold, on his immediate intentions, and he asked Jesus into his heart and came to our home for visits quite a few times afterward.

Caroline, a young, pretty French woman, was another person whom I witnessed to at a time when she needed help. With a young child and an abusive boyfriend, she had used up all the reserves of hope that she had stored up for emergencies and hard times. I met her on a corner of the Rue Montmartre and talked to her about God. She took my witnessing partner and myself to her tiny apartment, where we talked for hours. Her little girl's father was in jail, and her present boyfriend was treating her roughly and not helping her meet her financial needs. She wanted a good home for her daughter, and she wanted to know more about God and His Will for her life.  Within a few days, Caroline had left her job, left her boyfriend, and with her daughter moved in with us.

This was our purpose in the world, to tell errant people what God's Will was for them.  This was the type of work that drew me to the Family, and since I was still able to help people in a very tangible way, the apparent idiosyncrasies of the COG seemed superfluous.

Living in the Paris home, with the pampered musicians and our most radical leaders, I was again protected from the mundane chore of bringing in funds from selling literature.  Sure, we had quotas, which were a set amount of money to bring back, or a certain number of pieces of literature that had to be sold each day; however, with brothers like Jeremy in our colony, who stood on a street corner for four hours and sold only two Mo letters, we felt comically relieved of quota stress.  I did not realize it, or even think about it then, but wherever there were really big leaders, like Mo's sons or daughters, or one of his queens, there was always enough money in the home to survive.  They obviously had a cash flow that the rest of us did not.  Perhaps our best asset was that we had Hopie as the top leader of the Paris home.

Moses David's youngest daughter was one of the unexplainable phenomena I found in the COG.  In my naive state of wonderment at all that seemed true and beautiful, Hopie was the purest embodiment of it all for me, representing selfless love in human form.  Her wispy blond hair softened the angular lines of her face, and she looked like the good girl next door no matter what age she was or what problems she had. Throughout the many years I was in close contact with her, I can only remember kind words accompanied by a smile and loving look whenever I was in her presence.

As one of Mo's children, Hopie was considered "royal family."  Recently, Mo had inaugurated his oldest daughter, Esther, as Queen of the Family. The whole story of the real-life inauguration came out in a letter, and more "queens" were added later. Mo's three other children, Hopie, Benjamin, and Joshua, were also considered part of ! the royal family, and therefore top leaders, along with their wives i and husbands. Since many of the royal family now had mistresses or lovers, they too were classified as some form of royalty.

Actually, the added titles did not mean much to the rest of the Family, since Mo's adult children had always been in the leadership circle. Mo's own mistress, Maria, who was the age of his daughter, was his constant companion; whereas his legal wife, and the mother of his royal children, whom we affectionately called Mother Eve, now traveled the colonies with a young consort. Instead of considering these relationships ungodly, I thought they were enlightening, although I considered the titles to be foolish. I knew that there must be a cache of money somewhere, since the royalty and the leaders traveled so much and always had what they needed, but I could not imagine that it was very much. We didn't make that much litnessing, so where could all this money be coming from? I knew that quite a few very wealthy people had joined the Family, and maybe they had given all their money to the group. I knew that Jeremy Spencer, who had been relatively wealthy at one time, had given everything he owned to the Lord's work, a fact that reassured me. Jeremy now lived in the same home that I did, and he went out on the streets just as I did. If he could live like this, with all the money he had forsaken, why should I worry about who controlled the money? All that I had given the group was an old guitar and a few vintage clothes. However, any doubts about money and who had it were canceled after meeting Hopie. I perceived her to be a spiritual princess, and I was honored to be in her presence. Hopie was the one responsible for bringing me to Paris.

By the mid-1970s, the COG were beginning to set up discos in the larger cities in Europe, wherever we had colonies and musicians. Initially called the Poor Boy Clubs, these weekend discos attracted youth and young adults by providing music and a place to dance. Since the Family had musicians, the entertainment cost us nothing, and there wasn't much financing involved. We rented a hall in a less expensive area of town, sent our litnessers out with flyers advertising the club, and charged a small admission at the door. It soon became the main event of the week, and with all the free manpower and womanpower at our disposal, our discos become regular happenings for the Parisian teenyboppers.

Cal was now the drummer for the disco band in Paris. Since some of the leaders in London told us that including go-go girls drew a bigger crowd, Hopie suggested I be a go-go girl, which meant wearing a skimpy outfit and dancing on stage. Not only did this new role come easy to me; it also meant I would be free of the normal quotas for litnessing, since I now had to practice with the band. It was a wonderful outlet for me, and it became a training ground that led to my professional dancing career. I usually brought Thor with me to practice and let another sister watch him during the disco nights.

As important as dancing became, my primary concern was the nursery. With more women having children in the Paris home, babies were becoming a problem. Fortunately, we never had a major illness or accident among the children in Paris while I lived there, and I attributed this to God's protection. France, like most of Europe, had a free health system, and if any of our members did not have the faith to heal themselves, they could always go to the doctor. I did not then understand why we qualified for this service, or France's laws concerning it, but I know that many of our mothers made use of France's medical hospitality. In addition, France had very strict vaccination laws, and to avoid legal trouble, we all had our babies, Thor included, vaccinated at the local clinics. However, the first step toward making the Paris stables into a home that could accommodate children came with the arrival of Rahab.

A tall, pretty woman who had been in the Family more years than many, Rahab had been married to Benjamin, the son and heir apparent of Moses David. Ben had recently fallen off a mountain in Switzerland while on a walk and died. Mo explained in a letter to us that his son had been too good for the world and had gone to join forces with the spiritual realm. Nasty rumor had it that he had committed suicide. Rahab was in Paris with another mate and a small baby, and since Rahab was semi-royalty, having been the wife of Mo's son, she had to be given a leadership position. Hopie put her in charge of setting up a nursery and child-care department in Paris. The problem was, Rahab had little child-care training; she seemed to have no sense of organization or scheduling, both of which were important parts of any effective child-care program. Joab recognized this lack of practicality, and he suggested I work closely with her. After a few days of meetings, I decided that Paris must be the place they sent those leaders who were too spiritual to do any earthly good.

Rahab and I set up a nursery in the small room next to the girls' dorm. It doubled as a bedroom for Cal and me, which did not make him too happy; but since he was away all day practicing, it only interfered with his sleep. The nursery consisted of single mattresses on the floor along one wall, a soft rug in the middle, and two changing tables with covered trash containers for disposable diapers. It had a softwood floor, so it was safe for babies taking their first steps. Thor was the oldest at a little over a year, and the other two babies, Rahab's and another woman's, usually slept with their mother. The children usually followed the adult schedule, with a little earlier bedtime, and single sisters took turns volunteering to read the babies scriptures as they fell asleep.

Officially, the nursery could be used twenty-four hours a day, but only visiting leaders and disciples made use of it at night. Since it was right across from the only bathroom, we brought water into the nursery to bathe the children, and used a large tub to clean baby materials and wash clothes. We could not afford the expensive Montessori equipment, which was used for the children in the bigger, well-stocked Family nurseries, so we brought various pots and pans, plastic dishes, and spoons from the kitchen, and odd-shaped cardboard boxes for the babies to play with. 

Rahab spent many hours in my nursery/bedroom, revealing to me the "new" spiritual growth of the family. She spiritualized everything, and I wondered if she had always been like this or if she had learned it from her deceased husband, whom I had met in Canada and remembered as an ethereal person. Everything from the stain on the babies' bib to the recent death of the French politician Georges Pompidou had a deep spiritual significance to Rahab. Little child care was discussed. Since Rahab came from the London home, where the organizational heads and Mo were, she knew a few royal secrets.

"Do you know who Esther is sleeping with now?" she quipped, while I patted the last baby to sleep as he lay on the extra blankets we had arranged on the floor. Recently, a few mothers had come from colonies outside Paris for meetings, and our nursery was a little crowded during the day. I was worried if they planned on letting the babies stay here all night, but Rahab evidently was too spiritual to worry.

"Well, I suppose her husband, Jacob," I replied, knowing she would soon fill me in on royal gossip.

"Oh, no. Jacob is living with Enoch's first wife, Pearl. That was really a terrible thing to do to Enoch, you know. I mean, he always suspected that Pearl was more than Jacob's secretary, but until Mo came out and explained about the royal family having consorts and concubines, he really did not know, did he? So Pearl is now Jacob's second wife, and she's having a baby. And Jacob's wife, Esther, is traveling with Hosanna. From what I hear, she is pregnant again, but of course, no one is sure who the father could be."

Even for the Paris home, this was radical information that I was hearing. I tried to change the subject, knowing that, since I was not a member of the royal family, or even a mistress, I should probably not be privy to what went on in their personal relationships. I had heard that the London home was even more on the libertine cutting-edge than the home in Paris, but I was dedicated to our pioneer effort here and didn't care about London's elite or what they did. I usually had the attitude that others could do as they liked as long as it didn't interfere with me or my son. But what I did not understand was that no woman is an island -- especially not one living In a commune.

"Do you think we could request funds for a crib in here?" I asked, trying to change the topic. "The babies should really be up off the floor, and it would certainly be safer to have them in a crib, rather than on the bed."

"Okay, I'll talk to Joab about that. Well, you know, of course, that Joab made Beth pregnant. I wonder what Hopie is going to do about that. Oh well, I guess I won't be involved in their stories anymore, now that Benjamin is gone. Mother Eve is coming through here soon. She and I get along marvelously. I think I'll ask her to take me with her. "

"What about the child-care program here?" I asked.

"Oh, you'll do fine. I really don't enjoy child care. They just put me here to give me something to do, you know. Well, I hope you never get stuck with Esther. She is a tyrant to work with."

I had already worked with a tyrant in Germany, and I had no desire to be near another one. Esther, however, was our Queen, and somehow I knew that with Paris gaining the Family's attention, we would be graced with a royal visit soon.

Mo's original wife came first. Although she was Mo's first wife and I don't think they ever divorced -- she was never called a queen, just Mother Eve. She was a kind-looking lady in her fifties who traveled with a young man about twenty-five years old. Like her daughter Hopie, she always wore a smile, and always had some words of encouragement. Now that I had learned to read people a little better, she did not seem old, but forgotten. She did not keep herself as attractively attired as the sexy French women of her age. I knew from the letters that she had been raised in the church and had married Mo when he was a budding preacher. I saw pictures of her in the Family history letters in which she was playing a piano in church, and I wondered how this fundamentalist Christian lady could ever be traveling and having sex with a man so young while her husband lived with another woman. I had been socially prepared for this by hippie ideals, but she was more radical than I. How did this poor lady do it? She must really have believed that this was God's true work. She had followed Mo across America while he searched for a "ministry," and had borne him four children. When he'd finally found his calling with the youth of California, the beginnings of the Children of God, her children were all teenagers and witnessed with their father to the lost hippies. I don't think Mother Eve ever shared the limelight during those days, but she certainly made up for it now. Wherever she went, she held meetings and talked for hours. We never knew what to think of her. I had been told that Mo referred to her as the "the old church" and to Maria as "the new church" in his first circulated letter of 1969, titled "A Prophecy of God on the Old Church and the New Church." But he told us to respect her as a Mother and he even published her talks, called Mother Eve letters. At other times we were warned that Mother and her consort were not obeying the rules laid out in the letters and should be banned from fellowship. At this point in Paris she was still respected.

"Come here, honey. You look pretty today. Are you married, dear?" she said to me when we first met.

"Yes, I am married to Cal."

"Oh, he's the drummer, isn't he? Well, honey, you better keep your eyes on him. He's a handsome young man, you know. Are you  happy, honey?"

I really did not think much about happiness. I felt I was doing  God's Will, so I guess I should be happy. She noticed that I hesitated.

"Well, don't worry, dearie. God never takes anything away without giving you something better," she informed me in an apocalyptic tone. The realization came to me that she had borne all Mo's children and then been cast aside, and maybe she was not happy. I hid this fact from my rational thought processes, a mental action that had become ingrained.

Whenever a leader came through Paris, Hopie and Joab would throw a big party and everyone enjoyed the royal festivities. There would be music and dancing until late into the night, and being in France, wine flowed freely. Every leader in the Family wanted to come through Paris, since we were beginning to have good contacts with music and television producers. A well-known French singer and his producer had seen some of us performing on the streets and were seriously interested in promoting us as a music group. In the small French entertainment world, their influence meant success. We had already made a recording of our theme song "You Gotta Be a Baby," and we had appeared on a few TV and radio shows. Hopie had always been wonderful at making contacts and establishing a good public relations image, but paperwork and legal matters were not something she could be trusted with. Her husband Joab, a Vietnam veteran, was more of an inspirationalist than a manager, so we knew our so-called organizational geniuses, Esther and her husband Jacob, would be sent our way soon.

Esther came like the Queen of Hearts, yelling "off with their heads." I heard rumors that Mo had sent Esther to Paris to put our home in order. Whatever the reason, a pall settled over Paris after Esther arrived. She was a small lady whose physically fragile appearance gave little clue of the tremendous power she held as Queen of the Family. Having known the loving, free, and easygoing Hopie, I was not prepared for the Queen's wrath. She had been given complete authority over all practical matters in the Family, which was now centered in Europe. Esther came to our home with her last baby and a child-care helper in tow. Her older children were all taken care of in the large Italian child-care center that she had personally set up a year earlier. Her positions on how children should be taken care of were full of contradictions. Even so, Esther was in charge of setting up huge nurseries and schools where many of the children were sent. I knew from the Family testimonies that these nurseries were clean and well organized, that children were taught in Montessori-style classes from the age of two, and that our nurseries and schools were on a par with the best the system had to offer. In comparison, here in Paris we did not have a great practical setup, but at least the babies slept with their mothers at night -- they had to since we had no cribs. I remembered watching babies all night in the nursery in Ellenville, and trying to understand how a mother could be sleeping over in the married couple's rooms or in the leaders' house, and not be worried that her baby was crying somewhere far away. I didn't want Thor crying in the middle of the night only to have him be held by some passing nursery worker. As far as I could see, big, organized nurseries meant separation of mother and baby, and, consciously or subconsciously, I did not want this to happen to me. Up until now, I had kept Thor with me night and day, but Esther's appearance in Paris marked the beginning of the end for my close relationship with Thor.

Esther held a major meeting with leaders in Paris in which she ranted about the deplorable conditions in the nursery, attacking especially the lack of structured schedules; of cribs, beds, and playpens; and of Montessori equipment or even educational toys. In addition, she sent a letter to all the other Family homes, citing the Paris nursery as an example of what not to do.

I remember when she finally came into the nursery to chastise its nursery workers. "I cannot believe that you girls actually let the babies sleep on the floor here. Do you think that is a good way to take care of God's children, or any children for that matter? How in the world were you girls raised anyway?" she fumed.

There were only two of us present, myself and another young mother. Rahab had conveniently had herself transferred to another home soon after Esther's arrival. I was upset at her for leaving me alone, but many years later I learned why Rahab had been so eager to escape Esther's presence. It seems that Esther, her own sister-in-law, had taken Rahab's first baby from her and given her to another woman to raise. No complaints were ever voiced since Esther was our Queen. 

"Jeshanah, I heard you were trained in Ellenville. Well, I know Ellenville had a very good nursery. Pearl herself went through there on the way to London, and she was very impressed. Surely, you know better. Why don't you have access to hot water in here? Why don't you have a refrigerator just for the children's food? And never again do I want to hear of a home anywhere in our Family where the babies sleep on the floor. Do you understand?"

She spoke to me as if I had it within my power to do something about the conditions of our nursery. Surely she must know that the humble servants did only what they were told to do. If the leader of the home told me that babies sleep on the floor, I put them to sleep on the floor. (It wasn't actually the floor; there were clean mattresses and sheets.) One of them was my own son, who'd had a handmade cradle when he was born. Of course, I did not like him to sleep on the floor, but he was a "revolutionary baby," and in the Family we did it the revolutionary way. Which meant, do what your leaders say, and don't ask questions. Maybe she did not know how the proletariat lived, having never been anything but a leader.

"I wouldn't even let my baby in your nursery. I went out immediately and bought a foldaway crib when I knew I would be traveling," she added. "What do you girls have to say for yourselves?"

I was literally biting my tongue to keep from responding. I could not tell her that we simple servants did not have money in our pocket, or in the bank, or under the bed, or anywhere else, to go out and buy a crib. I could not even buy baby clothes with money my mother sent specifically for the baby unless I got permission first.

"I am just going to have to write the world about this," she said, meaning the Family around the world. "I want everyone to know that this should not happen again." She left our wonderful Paris home to bring her baby back to the safety of the Italian child-care center, and she wrote her letter, mentioning the lack of cribs. I took comfort in thinking that anyone in the Family with half a brain would realize that mere nursery workers could not go out and buy cribs. It was like saying, "Let them eat cake!"

But there were deeper worries about why I did not like a fully equipped nursery. Esther had only brought her youngest baby with her, but she had four or five others who had been left back in Italy as she traveled around Europe. I could foresee a time when I would have to leave Thor behind in an institutionalized children's home, and my fears were realized. Within a year, Esther's trained child-care workers had come to Paris and set up nurseries and schools, and from the time he was eighteen months old, I had to leave Thor at the school located about twenty miles outside of Paris. He cried every time he had to return, and I tried to be "revolutionary" about our separation. Thor was allowed to stay with me on weekends only, and as I became more involved in the music world, many of my weekends were taken up with activity. I consoled myself that now Thor at least had a bed, although in a room with a dozen other toddlers; he had a regular schedule, unfortunately enforced by spankings and other disciplinary measures; and he had Montessori classes. But he didn't have me to hug him when he fell and cut his lip; to praise him when he used the potty; or to acknowledge his genius when he surprised the "teachers" by adding numbers before they taught him how. I wanted to be there for every new piece of life he discovered, in pain or in joy, but after Esther's visit, I was temporarily banned from child care. My plan of staying in the nursery to be with my son had failed. I now fit the archetype of the "bitter" Miriam instead of the skillful baby-watcher. Life was not offering me easy problems with easy solutions. 

Hopie came by to see us after Esther left and explained that she also got a good going over.

"Don't worry, honey, God only dishes it out to those He knows can take it. You are a strong sister, and the Lord is going to use you mightily."

I was encouraged by these words from the Bible, even though I knew they were used repeatedly in any situation where a disillusioned brother or sister needed uplifting.

In the end, the cribs were never bought, since our finance brother said we could not afford them. Therefore, I was given a provisioner and a few quota-free days to go out and try to get some free baby cribs.

With Esther gone, the Paris home returned to its old joyful ways.  The musicians and singers had two fairly successful records, though none of us knew where the money went. Our leaders were busy working out contracts with the system producers, and meanwhile, all the Show Group, as we were called, were told to go on litnessing and making quotas like normal disciples. That must have been another organizational decision initiated by Esther. We spent our days practicing, and then ventured out on litnessing sprees with big quotas to make.

Lately, we had begun using the method called "bus king" to make our quotas. In pairs, with one singer and one collector, we performed uninvited at outdoor cafes. Stationing ourselves in front of our unwittingly captive audience, we played a few songs on the guitar, and then the collector went around the tables with a hat to collect money and hand out Mo letters. On a good day, we could make our 100 franc quota easily in a few hours. I often brought Thor with me in a stroller, especially before the schools were set up. Of course, that was a problem when it rained, or when we got out of the home too late, which is what happened on the eventful night when we started singing inside the metro trains.

Cal and I asked Nahum, our lead guitarist, to go busking with us. He was a dark-haired, broody fellow, who played great guitar. I had brought Thor along that evening since it was a weekend and the nursery was closed. Not only did we start an hour after the good busking times, but it was raining and cold. None of us wanted to litness the old way, by going up to people and asking for a donation while forcing our Mo letters on them. We tried singing inside the metro station corridors, like the traveling hippies we saw, but few people would stop, and even fewer left a donation. Sitting on the bench while waiting for the next metro car to take us to the Champs Elysees, where we thought we might find some people in the cafes under the awnings, Cal had a bright idea. 

"Why don't we sing inside the cars," he said. "The people are stuck in there and they can't get away."

"I think it's a great idea!" I said encouragingly. "I'll collect, and Cal can hold the stroller.

We all had a quota to make, so it was worth the try. We entered a car half-filled with sleepy, unsuspecting riders. Standing together at the front of the car, Nahum strummed a note, Cal held on to Thor's stroller so it would not move, and I called across the car, "Bonjour. Nous avons quelques chansons pour vous" ("Hello, we have a few songs for you") by way of introduction. After three songs, in which we all sang and Nahum held the passengers captive with his guitar, I aggressively invaded the privacy of every rider on the metro car by holding my basket under their nose and offering a piece of unsolicited literature. Asking for a donation, I smiled and gave the letters out to everyone. The whole procedure took about five metro stops. When we were finished, I said, "Merci," and we moved on to the next car.

"How did it go?" asked Cal anxiously, as we sat on the bench to wait for the next car.

I surrendered the basket to him, and he counted over 20 francs.

"Wow," said Nahum. "That only took about ten minutes. We can get our quota in an hour." Indeed, in less than an hour we had collected 176 francs. Each car seemed to get better. God was blessing us!

After our last car, we got off the train and sat on the metro station bench in a state of exhilaration.

"What are we going to do about this?" asked Nahum. He was already thinking that we should keep this a secret for ourselves. Cal was a little more magnanimous.

"I think we should tell our leaders about this and let them decide.  It would be nice if the metro cars could be the exclusive territory for the band members, since we have so little time for litnessing."

All of the Paris Family homes lived by selling letters on the streets or singing at cafes, but since there were now so many of us -- over five hundred during the peak time of 1974 to 1976 -- the best litnessing and singing spots were becoming saturated. Before we discovered metro singing, the whole Paris turf had to be divided, with each home vying for the best busking areas. At one time we had three separate Show Group homes in Paris and a few regular homes, which I never visited. Since most Family members learned to sing and play basic guitar, the method of making one's quota on metro cars was certain to become popular.

"I think mothers should be included," I said. Even though I was considered part of the band, through my dancing, I knew how hard it was for mothers to make their half quotas, and I saw this as a great opportunity to ease their added burdens.

We told our house leader Micah what had happened, but word got out and within a month all the Family members in Paris were singing on the metro cars. Depending on who was the top leader in Paris at the time, different rules were made about who could go on the metros. During the "band only" rule, a lot of un-brotherly feelings arose among the regular Family members. Of course, all of this planning was made without ever consulting the metro authorities. For years we played cat and mouse with them, always on the lookout for the metro police, Many times, we would be taken to their station and told we were not allowed to sing in the cars, only in the corridors between the metro stations. All this did was waste our time. The metros were too lucrative to give up. By the time I left Paris, we were singing on the brand-new RER, which ran to the suburbs in twenty-minute stops.

We always turned in our money every night, along with the literature count, but everyone knew we only gave out literature to fill up the statistics on our reports. If we did not make our quota, we were not supposed to come home; however, this rule was usually not obeyed. Instead, privileges were taken from us. For instance, once Cal did not make his quota on time and he was told he could not go on a planned trip to Mont. St. Michel, so another couple in the band, Breeze and Abraham, went out that night to make it for him. Cal and Nahum, who often sang together on the metro, were also the only brothers to be picked up by police and taken to the police station. When the authorities found out that their visas were long overdue, they were going to be sent out of the country. However, since they were important members of the band, our producers stepped in and obtained proper visas for all of us.

I was not aware of what our producers, who were not in the Family, did or did not do for us financially; however, when we all went on the road, we usually stayed in cheap campgrounds, while our leaders and the producers stayed at fancy hotels.

The Spirit was moving in the music direction, and we landed our first big contract to produce an album. Our Show Group name was Les Enfants de Dieu, which means "The Children of God." Our first album and the singles "My Love Is Love" and "Liberty" became big hits with the French teenagers, and through contacts that our producer had, we were asked to perform at radio shows, on French television, and to join the famous Europe One tour of France as performers. In 1976 we toured Spain, Holland, Belgium, Germany, and England.

The French have a fascination with live spectacles, called the "gala," which is a cross between a Las Vegas show and a music concert. Many French performers spend the winter in Paris, performing on TV or radio or at local theaters, and then go on the road with a gala in the summer. These shows require musicians, vocalists, sound technicians, lighting technicians, and, usually, dancers. With the amount of talent and personnel available through our Family, putting together a gala was a piece of cake. Our galas were really a fancy inspiration time for us, something we had been practicing for years. Everyone in the Paris Family wanted to be involved, and when word got to Italy and England about our shows, performers were sent to Paris. Sure enough, Queen Esther soon wanted to leave her real-life castle in Italy, the home of a duke whom one of our women had married, and she returned to the Paris home to be in on the act.

When the Show Group first started, I stayed with nursery work. Many of the female singers had children, and I was needed more than ever to take care of babies. In addition, Thor was now a little over a year old, a very cute age, and I enjoyed staying with him as much as I could. We were now living in a seven-story building where we were "squatting" in the Bourse area of Paris, the equivalent of New York's Wall Street financial district. A nursery was set up on the top floor by the sisters who had been trained under Esther. The nursery overseer begged me to stay in the nursery, and I did so happily. However, when Hopie heard that they needed dancers, she sent for me. I became the only non-singer in the group, since all the other girls doubled as backup chorus and dancers.

The producer liked my dancing style and put me in the front line, next to the lead singer. When Esther arrived, she moved me to the back of the line, and put herself in my place. I did not mind, since I had never had formal dance training, and I was sure it would be noticed by the professionals we were soon to work with. They would find out what amateurs we were, Esther included.

Our little makeshift show was fine for the little radio programs and small theaters, but when the producers told us we were to go on national TV, they suggested we get a choreographer. Myoid nursery friend from Ellenville, Salome, who had been a professional dance instructor before she joined the Family, was sent from Italy.

I was overjoyed to see Salome, but she had changed quite a bit.  Working in Italy for two years now under top leadership, she had lost some of her rebelliousness. She had also gained a considerable amount of weight, and although she was by far the best dancer among us, the producers usually kept her off stage. Salome was a wonderful and sensitive teacher. She knew I had no training, and so she took me aside and developed the natural talent I had for dancing. I always thought of her as my miracle worker. We learned a little jazz and a little modern dancing; we did stretching and other exercises and practiced routines for six to eight hours a day. Of course, Esther rarely showed up for practice, and I knew she would be in trouble on stage.

During our first stage rehearsal for the Guy Lux show, the most popular variety show in France -- the equivalent to our Ed Sullivan show of the 1960s -- the TV producer made Esther leave the front line and brought me from the back to take her place. It was obvious she could not dance, even the simple little two-step we did. He, of course, had no idea that she was our Queen. Ever since that day, I was always in the front line, even when the former professional dancers came to join our group. The number in the Show Group fluctuated between two dozen to thirty, including singers, musicians, dancers, technicians, managers, and leaders. Singers competed to get the spotlight, of course, but the worst fighting was between the leaders.

Esther finally maneuvered the control of the Paris Show Group out of her sister Hopie's hands. Hopie gave up the reins willingly, explaining that she was a pioneer, and she departed to start a new work in some unfamiliar Arab land. Esther was now with us constantly. She left most of her five children in Italy at the school, but she brought her baby and a personal nursery worker with her. Even with the fine nursery established by her own trained people, she did not leave her baby with regular child-care workers. Later, as we got more popular, Esther brought her oldest daughter, who was still a pre-teen, to sing in the show. 

Because I was spending so much time away from Thor in those early days, I finally tried to leave the Show Group, saying that I needed to help out in the nursery. That resulted in my being given nursery duty in addition to show practices. I was usually relieved of making my quota on practice days, during the week; however, I had to make it during any weekend we stayed home, and that meant bringing Thor with me. My little boy learned busking before he was two years old.

The fun and glamour of being involved in TV, live shows, and recording were somewhat diminished by the constant surveillance of the Family leadership. One was never quite certain how to act, since we lived like "normal" COG, but we had to behave like some special stars in public. I still never had my own money with which to buy clothes. All our clothes were either bought by Esther or made by a seamstress with Salome, who designed the costumes. We were supposed to look nice, but I was never sure what nice meant when one had no money to buy anything. One day, as we were loading the bus to go on tour, Esther was standing in the front of the bus giving her usual speech on how to act. Being the last one on the bus, I had to pass her. We were going to be in southern France for almost a month, and I did not want to be away from my two-year-old for so long; however, staying home was out of the question. I was told that there were other mothers on this tour, Queen Esther included, and if they could make the sacrifice of being away from their children, so could I.

Esther looked at my legs as I walked down the aisle. "Jeshanah, do you have nylons on?" she asked in front of the whole group waiting on the bus.

"No," I said, thinking it was an honest question requiring a simple answer.

"I can't believe that you are not wearing anything on your legs. Proper girls do not go around with bare legs, Jeshanah." She embarked on a ten-minute speech about how she never again wanted to see any girl in the Show Group representing God's Family with nothing on their legs. If she ever saw it again, that person would be out of the Show Group fast.

I wanted to stand up and leave the bus. I did not care if I was in or out of the Show Group. In fact, at that moment, I would rather have been back in my bed waiting for my sleeping son to wake up. But most of all, I wanted to raise my hand and pose what seemed to me an obvious question: "Excuse me, but where do we get money to buy nylons?" It was the second time that Esther had publicly degraded me for not having something that I had no money to buy. The last pair of nylons that I had been given had half a dozen runs in them now, and no one had replaced them. Besides, I never read any rule that said we had to wear nylons. I didn't say anything. Why start a scene? I suspected that Esther was waging her own futile battle over my being in the front row, but she knew as well as I did that the producers would not let me go now. My face was on all the publicity photos that they had paid for, so I had to be in the show. Still, she liked to pretend she had the power to kick someone out.

Compared with Esther's verbal abuse, the letters that Mo was writing at that time seemed innocuous. While the Paris Show Group was becoming famous in France as a clean-cut singing group comparable to the Sound of Music family, Mo had taken a harem of buxom beauties to an island near Spain to pioneer a new method of witnessing. He shared with the Family his enlightening experiences through a series of letters that emerged slowly and eased us into the radical new way of witnessing. I was so engrossed in dancing and show business at that time, I hardly realized what had happened. The whole sexual revolution was going on around me while I spent half my days stretching and learning new steps, and the other half trying to catch up with my son's growth. I knew that there was something called "flirty fishing" being developed in London and Spain, but I was too busy to wonder about it. When we received the letters called "Flirty Little Fishy," "Look of Love," and "Lovelight," I read them with detached interest, but basically they seemed to be a rewording of what I had been doing all the time, winning people with love -- "God's Love," of course. It was only later, when we got the King Arthur series of letters, that it dawned on me where Mo was really going with this new method.

These dark, shameful letters would soon become the guiding light of my life as I surrendered my body to God's supposedly highest calling. But before that would happen, I needed to feel that I had at least a voice inside my soul. For the next three years, I struggled to identify my voice in this strange life I had chosen, and although all I found was a feeble cry from a deep abyss somewhere within, it was enough to keep me connected to myself. I would not explore the depths to locate the origins of this cry for many years. For the time being, I concentrated on the surface crevices. There were cracks in my own psyche and I thought I would block them up -- fill them in with something, never imagining that they would merely get larger and deeper. One crevice was caused by my loveless relationship with Cal, which was emotionally stressful for both of us, and it was beginning to affect all facets of my life. Perhaps if I had looked within myself at that time, listened to the feeble voice that was hardly distinguishable then, I could have found creative self-solutions, but instead, I looked to the Family for direction.

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