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Christian sex education kids online

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That morning at boot camp they slapped pancakes on our plates, which seemed simple enough, a meal even I could deal with. Miss Dotty was one leader who was not happy about this.Small, pale and sour, she radiated hate toward us and by the end of the day I knew she relished dishing out “special blessings,” punishments that involved picking up rocks and putting them in piles.

Here we were told to lie down on the floor and go to sleep, so I did.I kept mine in a mesh bag and hung it on a tree in our team’s eating area, a wobbly circle of wooden benches.My first test of courage came that morning as we went down the breakfast line.Each team’s wall was painted with a different word: Doubt. In my head I panicked — nobody could find out I’d caused this, just like they could never see that I wasn’t trying to climb the wall, that I never finished my food.But at the same time, a hard kernel of stubbornness was forming in my chest.I wanted to back out as soon as they sent my packing list: six-inch boots, a bucket for washing clothes, a hammer, long pants and loose shirts to hide my budding curves from boys.

Along with the list came videos I had to review: How to Hit a Nail, How to Dig a Ditch.

I dreaded meals, even at home: certain foods made me gag around their textures like a reflex. Eventually I learned to hide what I couldn’t eat in the dead leaves under my bench.

My mother stood over me at our kitchen table and yelled while I choked down my collard greens, then gave me her disappointed look when I puked them back up on my plate. Over breakfast we met our team leaders, students at the TMI Bible School who were forced to lead our team as part of their education.

In exchange for donations I handed out prayer cards to sweet old ladies at church, my parent’s friends, my grandparents, aunts and uncles.

The prayer cards read “Serving the Lord” above a picture of my face.

“I want you to be better than me,” my mom would say, working to mold me into a beautiful, righteous woman.