GOD RESCUED ME

Proclamation! | Spring | 2018 | Stories of Faith

By Nancy Paige
Granddaughter of Carrie Johnson, author of I Was Canright’s Secretary

 

My parents were rabid Adventists who settled into the “Holy City” of Berrien Springs, Michigan, the home of Andrews University. They taught the everlasting gospel of the health message, held stop-smoking seminars, and even taught parenting classes. Both were medical professionals, pillars in the church, pedigreed Ellen White-worshipers, tithe payers, mission-minded, outwardly perfect, Sabbath-keepers-deluxe. They sacrificed to put my brothers and me through Andrews University schools. We were little super Adventists.

When I was about 12, my parents gathered my two brothers and me for a family conference. We were told that we had a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, and food to eat. We did not need anything. From that point on, they informed us, we did not need them. They were now going to spend their efforts on truly needy people. 

Publicly they were generous and caring, going overboard to show non-Adventists the face of Jesus by their righteous acts. The reality? They beat my younger brother often. I was never physically beaten but was emotionally and spiritually beaten down. They helped me believe that their anger, sadness, unhappiness, and shame were my fault. They believed my older brother could do no wrong, my younger brother was possessed, and I was stupid and vain.

In spite of the way they treated us, though, we wanted to believe that Ellen White was sent by God to straighten us out. After all, we had the truth! We were the remnant church! I used to wonder why my non-Adventist neighbors could not see this obvious reality!

My dad’s parents lived close by and were very involved in our upbringing. Grandpa was a farmer, somewhat quiet, and probably the only family member who showed a bit of love. Grandma used us as her personal slaves; we did her yard work, painted her house, cleaned the apartment upstairs—and she fed us for our efforts. My parents believed that more than two meals a day was gluttony, so, for several years we were sent to school with no lunch. Grandma, on the other hand, was not able to be affectionate, but she fed us.

I remember the first time I met Ellen White’s grandson, Arthur White, at Grandma’s house in Niles, Michigan. He had tracked Grandma down because at the age of 18 my grandmother had been D.M. Canright’s secretary. Arthur White wanted Grandma to write a book about her experiences even though 50 years earlier she had been sworn to secrecy by the church leaders never to tell of her experiences during her seven-month employment. 

D.M. Canright had been one of the early Adventist pioneers; he had lived with James and Ellen White as a young man and had become an Adventist minister. He had known the Whites personally and had seen, eventually, how deceptive and cruel they were. In fact, later, he left Adventism and wrote two books about his experiences. Adventists feared the public relations scandal that Canright’s witness could have on the organization, and they developed a persistent teaching that Canright had recanted before he died and said he regretted leaving Adventism. 

When I met Arthur White, he was bigger than life to me. He was Sister White’s grandson! He was a rock star! Grandma and Grandpa eventually moved to Berrien Springs, closer to us, before her book was finished. My brother remembers many times when Arthur drove into their dirt driveway in a black Lincoln Continental, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Arthur and Grandma would sit at her kitchen table, poring over books, documents, letters, and manuscripts. 

I realize now that Grandma wasn’t really writing her own story, because Arthur would dictate parts of the manuscript to her and then demand that she fix the dictation to his liking. In fact, those meetings and the editing went on for 10 years before Grandma was finally finished with the book. During those years, she and Grandpa took many trips to visit Canright’s son. Grandma wanted Canright’s diary, but the son would not give it to her. He allowed her to see it but not to take notes. Those visits seemed to upset her, and it seemed she was always angry.

One day after a particular visit to Canright’s son, she came back in a very good mood. I did not know why, but it was so unusual that I remember it well. She was like the cat that swallowed the canary. 

The book neared completion, but about a year or so before it was published in 1971, she became angry again. Although I didn’t know the details, I knew that something about the book was upsetting her. By the time the book was released, I was 21 years old, and  I read it for the first time. I remember being confused by things Grandma had written, but I did not dare question the book’s contents.

 

Meanwhile…

By 1972, I was in a very bad marriage. My job was extremely stressful, and I was about to have a breakdown. I was really angry with God; I had been trying so hard, and my life was in disarray! Ellen White’s books had been my guide, and I thought I was following them. As an adult looking for answers, I attended Daniel and Revelation conferences at least once a year, paid my tithe, was a vegetarian, attended Loma Linda University Adventist Church, worked at Loma Linda Community Hospital, headed one of the church’s potluck teams, and was active in children’s church. Shouldn’t God have been pleased with me?

So, one night, I had a meltdown with God. If he was really God, He ought to be able to endure my anger and outrage, I reasoned. I could not hide it from Him. But where was He? What did He want of me? “I can’t do this anymore! Show me, or else!” I begged.

He showed me! I can’t tell you how He did it, but He gave me peace. I told God that I would go wherever He wanted me to go. For the first time in my life I decided to read the Bible for myself, but I cheated a little—I bought The Living Bible. Since we had been taught that we could not understand Scripture, I figured I should start with an easy-to-read version. For ten years I read the Bible every day, skipping over the things I did not understand, ignoring the guilt verses, and drinking in the comforting stories. The New Testament was truly new to me. Galatians was baffling, but I did not give up.

Ten years later God led my husband to a wonderful, godly counselor. At first I thought this provision was God answering my prayers to heal my marriage. God did heal me, but my husband became more cruel and threatening. The therapist would always pray with me and give me Scripture to fit what I was dealing with, and she brought me to the real Jesus. She shocked me when she said my parents were crazy, and I was not responsible for anyone else’s unhappiness.

As I read the Scriptures and listened as my therapist taught me what was real and true, the Bible began to make sense! It no longer had to be filtered by Ellen White. It said what it said! I ­didn’t have to make any more assumptions! Grace was grace, not “cheap grace.” Jesus did not condemn me for my failures! He loved me! I had a sense that He was telling me to keep learning; He had a great surprise for me.

I will never tell anyone that God wanted me to divorce my husband, but it became clear that there was no way to stay married under the circumstances. In fact, today I thank God that He removed me from a cult, a bad marriage, a toxic family, and really dysfunctional friends. He pulled me out of a slimy pit and put my feet in a spacious place.

 

My broken rule

As a critical care nurse at San Bernardino County Medical Center (now known as Arrowhead Medical Center), I worked with many residents in various specialty residencies. My number one rule was, “Never date a doctor. They have a good excuse not to come home at night.” But God had other plans. He sent me the most amazing man—who happened to be a doctor. We knew, though, that we could not go further into our relationship unless we agreed on religion. 

This man was so kind and gentle in giving me Scriptures which contradicted my previous beliefs. He prayed with me on one of our first dates! In fact, praying together became our standard practice for the rest of our lives. We studied the Bible, and for a year we attended church on both Sabbath and Sunday. He finally proposed to me only after we were confident that our shared faith was solidly based on God’s word alone.

Two years after I left Adventism I had my first child—right in the middle of cold and flu season. I stayed home with my baby girl for the first three weeks after her birth, and on week three the pastor’s wife from the Christian church we attended paid a visit. She wanted to know why I had “fallen away”. She asked, “When did you become a Christian?”

Her question startled me. I had always considered myself to be a Christian—why would she ask that question? I had known all my life that I belonged to Jesus. I wanted to serve Him. In fact, His word was in my heart—I had memorized my memory verses and had believed the Bible was God’s word. And yet-—as an Adventist I had not known the gospel.

Weren’t Adventists Christians? Even after all my experiences, I wanted to believe the Adventist church was not evil—just a little misled.

 

I finally “see”

About seven years ago I found Dale Ratzlaff’s books and began to see the truth about Adventism more clearly—and ironically, my veil was lifted when I revisited my grandmother’s book about Dudley Canright. Three years ago my friend Bob Holland, who had been in college at Andrews University when I was in grade school, asked me to tell the story of Grandma’s book. As I pored over the book again, red flags I had not seen when I read it 44 years before suddenly opened my eyes to the danger of her book.

Grandma had lied! Moreover, Arthur White, who I recently discovered had dictated the writing, had not risked his reputation by putting his name on it. Apparently he helped Grandma cover her lies and added many of his own. For example, in the 1950s Grandma and Grandpa had been disfellowshipped from the Niles, Michigan, Adventist church for financial fraud. Arthur would have known that fact about Grandma, yet he claimed that my grandparents were Adventists in good standing. To my knowledge, they were never reinstated nor did they attend church, except when Arthur wanted to call attention to Grandma’s book.

Last year, in 2017, my mother died. I inherited her stash of Ellen White books and something she never intended me to find—Grandma’s original manuscript. In a surprising provision of His grace, God has been leading me to connect the clues about both my grandmother’s book and about Canright’s diary—the diary which Canright’s son would not loan to my grandmother.

Besides my grandmother’s original manuscript, there were other unexpected treasures in the collection of papers I acquired from my mom. There are letters which hint that Grandma “borrowed” Canright’s diary, gave it to Arthur White, and that he then locked that diary in the White Estate vault where it apparently remains today. When I read these things, I remembered that day long ago when Grandma returned from one of her visits with Canright’s son looking like the cat that swallowed the canary instead of being snappy and angry as she usually was after seeing him.

Another of those letters states that Grandma gave a death bed confession to a professor from Andrews University. Her confession, according to the letter, suggests that she may have regretted something she did to Canright, and she wished she had never written her book.

In her manuscript, Grandma stated that all her research materials—and I am guessing a copy of her original manuscript—were given to the White Estate and kept in the vault. Yet, at the request of my mom in the 1990s, the White Estate searched for them and claimed to have no record of them. Why not? Could it be that some young seminary student might have discovered that the manuscript did not agree with the published book? 

Reading these letters and my grandmother’s manuscript during these past months has caused me to take another look at the foundation and the nature of Adventism.

Is Adventism Christian? Is it just misled? I have come to believe that it is not merely misled; Adventist leadership intentionally covers the truth in order to protect its power, its money, and its reputation.

Will God expose the dark depths of the unbelieving General Conference? I think he will.

As for me, I praise God that He rescued me from the dark and crazy-making environment of Adventism and transferred me into the kingdom of His Beloved Son. Now I can rejoice with Paul who said in Galatians 2:20-21, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, [or the investigative judgment], then Christ died for no purpose.” 

The Lord has freed me from the legacy of my grandmother. †

 

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Nancy Paige is a former fourth-generation Adventist who left the organization 30 years ago. She and her Christian husband live in Escondido, California. Her grandmother was Carrie Johnson, author of I Was Canright’s Secretary, and Nancy desires to support and help others find security in Jesus as they leave Adventism.