The Words of the Anderson Family

How I Spent My Easter Vacation in 1977: My Death and Resurrection (or My Kidnapping Testimony)

Mary Jane Anderson
March 1, 2011

Before you read this testimony, I wish to recognize the special people in my life who helped make it possible for my "resurrection" or my just walking out the door of my "tomb" after three months away from my beloved church family.

I wish to thank my spiritual mother, Merlinda Skow Fournier, who gave me the courage and perseverance based on her great faith, for Col. Bo Hi Pak who gave me the truth and understanding in my first lecture on the "Fall of Man" -- Celebration of Life, 1974, and for Rev. Ken Sudo who taught me / showed me unconditional love as seen in the heart / life of Jesus Christ. And last but not least, I thank Dan Fefferman who patiently guided me through the transition of coming back "home" -- he was my 'Jewish Mama!'

I pray that this story may help others who went through this type of trial and tribulation; to help them to go over the hill of resentment and pain and to overcome the deep hurt that follows seemingly forever. May it help show how only by letting go of fear, guilt, shame and intense hate and by replacing it with love, truth, hope and forgiveness, can one become truly free; to soar to even higher places of experiencing the Love of God.

I also hope and pray that my WFWP sister of Japan, whom I met in the Bridge of Peace Ceremony in 1975, Eiko Sato (we share the same birthday), is well, happy and exempt from such suffering; kidnapping in Japan is a torture more intense than I ever experienced and has and is going on in Japan still today -- I pray for her forgiveness of me for not writing and giving her the tools should it ever happen to her. We can, by following True Parents, together sing out loud and strong: "We are Crossing over the crest of the Hill, Let us sing Together with a New Heart, We will see the dawn of the Great New Day! Arirang."

My story:

In 1977, thirty-four years ago this April, I was 25 years old, a college graduate and a fairly new RN. Now working as a missionary, I decided to visit my family over the Easter weekend. It had been about eight months since I saw my parents, but longer since I was home. In 1974 I joined a new religion, Unification Church, which was very different from my Lutheran background -- at least by all accounts in the newspapers which were not kind to new-age faiths. But to me my new-found faith was an answer to much prayer and seeking; seeking my parents did not or could not fully understand.

I won't take the time now to explain how I met the faith, but it was pretty miraculous, at least to me and because of that "one of a kind" experience I would have to undergo a whole lot of torture to make me recant or give up my beliefs -- beliefs that I feel have been with me since I took my first breath out of the womb. I had found my home. I had a profound conversion experience, but try to explain that to my parents… not so easy.

My joining a new church was hard for them, but they accepted it the best they could until someone called them on the phone -- seemingly out of the blue. The caller gave them not much choice: "We can save your daughter… she is in danger… if you want to ever see her again you can hire us and we can get her back… etc."

These were deprogrammers who like vultures were looking for vulnerable parents who could be propositioned for the right fee. Any parent would want their child safe, no matter what their age. Trusting them and the media over me, I was now on the "snatch" list.

I made it quite easy for them as to their surprise I called and said I'd be coming home for Easter. No need for a complicated kidnapping as I was going to walk right into it. However, knowing about other members who got "kidnapped" I knew the possibility existed for me too, but another voice said, "No, my parents wouldn't do that;" a possibility, but highly improbable, I thought. But just to cover all bases, I stopped in at the local church center on my way home and told them if they did not hear from me in three days they could assume the worst. In the seventies it was becoming quite popular for parents to deprogram most any "child" from some undesirable group or cult -- being 21 or older did not make any difference.

Originally the plan was for me to arrive sometime on Saturday, but I decided to surprise them and arrive on Friday afternoon. About three o'clock in the afternoon, I pulled up in a borrowed church vehicle but didn't sense their nervousness. I found out later they had to rearrange their schedule to accommodate my early arrival. I also didn't notice the windows nailed shut in the bedroom as I took a little nap before supper. After a supposedly uneventful meal, I went down to the basement to get something when my luck changed big time. My father spoke first, "Honey, I'm so sorry to do this to you, but I must." He, then with the help of my two brothers-in-law, tied my ankles with plastic straps as well as my wrists behind my back. I was carried to the garage and squeezed in between the two guys in the back seat of the car as my dad drove two hours to Minneapolis, Minnesota.

It was a very tense ride for me -- I don't remember much of it -- we were all in an ordeal never experienced before. (Deprogrammers never do the dirty work if they can help it -- they don't want to be caught in a crime -- better to let the family do it). It was dark when we arrived -- I couldn't tell where we were. (It was surreal, I sort of felt like Dorothy in the "Wizard of Oz"--this isn't Kansas anymore! When would I wake from this nightmare? Soon I realized, I was about to meet the 'wicked witch' of faith testing and her small band of soldier-monkeys.) The street light was shining brightly onto a group of kids--but they weren't sweet munchkins--playing in the street. I began to scream as they opened the car door, but my screams were drowned out by the kids making their own noise. It turned out they were planted there, kids of the chief deprogrammer, to distract anyone from hearing my screams -- and to make it more useless, a gag was placed into my mouth as I was carried into a new basement. Here I would stay for about six days.

I was placed on a twin size mattress on the floor in a recreation type room that had its own door. Since it was late, I was allowed to sleep-a sleep that I don't recall, but I guess now must have been pretty difficult. The room was totally dark. Others who I later learned were "employed" by; I will call Judy, the head deprogrammer, slept around me especially in front of the door. I was always escorted to the bathroom and was never alone even while peeing. Shampoo was diluted so I wouldn't drink it and cause an inconvenient trip to the hospital.

The first 24 hours were fairly bearable -- no heavy faith de-bunking. Easter Sunday came and I was presented with a huge plate of ham and all the trimmings. They wondered why I picked at it -- any bite made me quite nauseous. At some point the real reason for my confinement began: The interrogation phase. From the minute I woke up to the minute I was allowed to sleep, I was bombarded with ridicule and abased with degrading remarks. Anything I said was used against me in some way or another.

If I said nothing, I was called a zombie without a brain cell left etc, etc. It was me against three to five about 16 hours a day. When one deprogrammer got tired, another one would take their place. At some point my family's pastor was allowed in the room to watch. He put in his "five cents" of supportive knowledge from the Bible time to time. Another person not known to me was also allowed to watch for a few days. Later I learned she was a reporter from the main newspaper in the city. Everything that came out of mouth that seemed outrageous or seemed to support their image of a brainwashed zombie was jotted down; must have made great reading material for inquiring minds. It appeared front page of the Sunday paper a few days later.

I tried to tell them things that I thought they wanted to hear. For a couple days I thought it was working -- they weren't so hard on me. Then at some point there was a moment of silence…they stared at me and commented in a slow and commanding voice… "Sweetie, we believe you as much as we believe the Man in the Moon!" And, "You are so full of s***, your eyes are brown!" I was devastated. What do they want me to say? How much more can I take? -- my patience was running thin… At some point after this new affirmation of not believing me, I remember running for the doorknob and trying to escape.

Judy, who was on the plump side, was in my way. With my right foot I kicked her in the gut as hard as I could and out of my mouth came the best expletive curse word I could muster, not one to ever swear in my whole life: "Boy, you're FAT!" But for some reason that is what they wanted to hear and see! I was showing some emotion, some actual reaction, some LIFE! Being a religious zombie defines you to be blind, deaf and dumb so any fighting emotional outburst was a moment of victory for the deprogrammers. I'm sure they could now give my dad and step-mother hope. I was coming back to life. (My father was not happy with the early part of my "treatment." I heard later he wanted to take me out, but wasn't permitted to do so).

When I began to learn how to get into their minds and to think how they thought, I began to take a "step" out of the basement. After they thought I was worn down enough, they let up on the constant bombardment of demeaning remarks and started the next stage. I guess they thought I was ready for logical proof and so the next phase consisted of reading pages and pages of negative articles printed through out the years against my faith. With all this "truth" I would then hopefully have an epiphany. I would rejoice and be thoroughly grateful for my "salvation" from the awful, mind-robbing cult I unknowingly was entrapped. My deprogrammers would now be my rescuers and I would be forever indebted to them.

After a week of little sleep, little appetite and no defense, I didn't have a whole lot of energy for rejoicing. But that was to be expected…They knew I was actually just beginning the real deprogramming! But at least I was finally permitted out of the basement -- even if it was to start stage three: The Rehab Stage. This is where I joined all the other newly "saved" folk and together we learned each day how duped we all had been. One guy was from the Hari Krishna Hindu based faith, one was from a fundamental Christian Bible Study group with a charismatic leader, and I was from another new and Oriental/Christian based group. When after daily group sessions where I had to think up some good reasons for attacking the "cult" I was saved from or naming faults of the "cult" leader, I was given more privileges. I was like I was a rat in Maslow's laboratory. I was taken to bars, parks, movies, bingo, waterskiing, river rafting, and golf. I was forced to do things I didn't necessarily liked to do, but it was my therapy so that was that. I won money at bingo and secretly stashed the money for later use.

The house was well equipped with "booby traps" for anyone thinking of taking a hike. Wind chimes at every door. Triple locks and even the phones were tampered with. The mouthpieces were removed and so you could hear the caller, but the caller couldn't hear you. Judy usually kept the mouthpiece in her pocket for her use only.

One early Sunday morning, the Hari Krisna guy decided to make his break. Somehow he managed to escape those sleeping by the door, ran up the basement stairs and broke through the side door. Running right behind him was a deprogrammer in her pajamas. He, wearing just his shorts, quickly jumped in the back seat of an elderly couple's car on their way to church who were stopped at the stop sign. I wondered what they thought of these two strange people sitting in their backseat arguing with each other! They just took them to the police station to handle the problem and went on their way to church. The officer asked him his age and when he said he was over 21, the cop gave him a phone and said call whoever; you are free to leave. I wish I had been so lucky, but I had to act sad that he got away. Lying is very hard for me to do so all of this was torture. They watched every gesture and word I made.

Probably, the biggest test was yet to come. By this time four weeks had lapsed and I was beginning to wear out my welcome. I guess they didn't expect me to stay there forever. So, the next phase was for me to make a public speech against my cult and tell how wonderful it was to be out and free. If one publicly renounces one's beliefs, I assume it would be harder to go back. But, I thought to myself, "Oh, no. Not that!" I could never renounce my beliefs -- they are who I am…I would have to deny myself. I may be a zombie to some, but I'm no hypocrite.

My heart had never left my religion and to fake it in a public place was too much -- I was definitely not a good actress either. But as I had told God, if I ever got kidnapped, I would never leave until I had substantial proof or witnesses to bring deprogrammers into a court of law and put this insane practice to an end once and for all. When they told me I was to speak at a school nine miles from my hometown, I started to rethink the plan. If there were a few people in the audience that I knew, I could always use them as witnesses if I planned something like a getaway.

I told myself, "If they want me to talk, OK, I'll talk." Just give me a mike and I will talk plenty, but it won't be what they want me to necessarily say! I knew I couldn't do this alone. I needed help to escape after my talk. So, I told Judy I'd like to call someone from my high school class who should come and hear me speak. She agreed. I decided to make the call while everyone was eating and not paying too much attention to my conversation. Luckily, the phone had a long cord and I sort of danced around gleefully talking to my girlfriend telling her about the time and place etc and that I'd love for her to come. Except I wasn't actually speaking to a girlfriend; I was speaking to my church's center director. As I danced over to the basement stairs I hastily said in a whisper, "George, please be there, I need you to help me escape!"

I began to form my speech in my mind. It wasn't hard. I would just speak from my heart and give the folks a side that was hopefully believable. I hoped not to come off as a crazy person, but someone who cared enough for them and who thought they deserved to hear the truth.

We got to the school. It was quite a crowd. I guess the whole town wanted to hear how deprogramming saved the three of us. Just like I thought, I did know many people in the audience. I asked to be last. George wasn't there yet so the longer I waited the better the chance of him getting there in time before I spoke. But when it came to my turn, he was still late. I thought, "Well, here goes, George or no George. This was something I had to do, help or no help,"

In a nutshell, my talk consisted of three main points. The first was to praise the audience for offering me a great community to grow up; one with many churches giving me faith and strong commitment to family values. I told them truthfully that I felt the whole world needed this same type of community, a feeling where all of mankind could be in harmony with one another. In college I met people from many different cultures and longed for a way to unite them all. It was then that I met a new religion. (At this point George entered the back of the room and my speech takes a new turn -- later the deprogrammers believed that when I saw him, I was instantly brainwashed again and snapped back to my zombie state! I never bothered to show them my whole speech and how it had been written out in its entirety while driving to the school long before I started to speak.)

I began explaining what deprogramming was really like. I stated that if this was from God, then I didn't want anything to do with God or religion. I went into detail of the step by step humiliation that was bestowed on me for last few weeks and thankfully, no one stopped me. I concluded with the fact that as an American I have the right to assembly, the right to free speech and most importantly, the right to believe in any religion I so choose…and with that I thanked them and said, "And now I wish to do just that! God Bless America!"

Upon my conclusion, I raced for the back of the room to get to George who thankfully came with another guy to help. I was so happy to see them. But my happiness was short lived. George and his helper were soon chased out of town by the sheriff and I was caught leaving the building by two people. One took my right hand and held it up against the outside wall of the school and another took my left arm and it soon appeared and felt that I was looking like someone on an invisible cross. The main audience was kept inside so few saw what was going on.

A relative came up to me and she told me how Satan comes like wonderful light and can deceive easily, meaning I was deceived by believing in my new religion. It then hit me hard; I felt, even if it was a small iota, I could feel the heart of Jesus at the crucifixion when he uttered, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." This was now my own public crucifixion and I too was again all alone. George was long gone. It was just me and I actually began to wonder, "Where are you God?-have you forsaken me too?"

It was soon apparent that all I had worked to do, to come to this relative phase of freedom was now gone. I would soon be back in the basement. This time certain people took it upon themselves to "save" me. Even my parents didn't know where I was going. My new abductors must have understood that they were apart of a crime and had to hide me quickly. The deprogrammers couldn't trust my father anymore -- he being a righteous soul could blow the whistle on them all -- this wasn't what the deprogrammers had bargained for at the start of the evening!

I was whisked away in a car and taken to my childhood second home. This neighbor and his wife had been like second parents to me growing up… their kids and my sisters and I played together all the time; Sunday school together, swimming lessons, and tons of sleepovers. I was grateful for a familiar place even though I was highly frightened of what was to come next. Yet, there was a feeling too that I was no longer alone-- maybe the Holy Spirit was with me? It was a comforting feeling. I felt some assurance that all would eventually work out. I was no longer on the defense; the deprogrammers now were and I had done that with my little talk and attempted escape. Maybe I didn't fail after all! I sensed they were scared more than me -- this was a great feeling. I guess their tail and horns were starting to show so to speak.

I didn't know it at the time, but George had the insight to go straight to the county attorney and tell him what had happened at the school. The county attorney was obligated to do his job and investigate. He began asking people what happened and most importantly, "Where is she?" Produce the body, but nobody knew because nobody saw who took me away. Or if they did, they lied to "protect me" and "save me;" I understand that this was done out of love -- they were willing to risk everything for me. Nice, but it was a reversal of what God really wants for us -- freedom without conditions. No one had the right to tell me how to live my life -- I wasn't a child, I was 25 years old!

The deprogrammers started a phone system. No one answered the phone unless it rang once…hung up for a few seconds and then rang again. Then they could be assured that the caller was on their side. I was rather amused that I had started such a commotion. At least at this house, I was allowed to rest and talk privately with my "mom." (Since my biological mother died when I was young, this lady was like my mother, more than my step-mother). I was able to talk freely even though I wasn't actually convincing anyone that they should let me go. I guess love is love and in their eyes they loved me enough to risk everything -- even jail -- if need be, for me. Deep down, I felt this love and I will always think of them in a loving way as well. Maybe it was my own mother's spirit coming to me and giving me comfort too. I hope I made her proud. She was such a religious and faithful woman.

It was Sunday, Mother's Day, and my "mom" was busy getting ready to play the organ at the little country church just a few yards away from the house. I was allowed to go take a shower that was in the basement next to the beloved Finnish sauna I had used so much as a child. I also knew that a phone extension was also in the basement, one that the deprogrammers didn't know about. I turned on the shower and made all the sounds like I was actually bathing. I was instead making a call to George or whoever answered to let them know where I was and to tell the county attorney, Ed, as fast as they could. In having to talk so fast and quietly, Karen, who answered the phone, got the message but not as clear as I would have liked.

When she called the county attorney, he assumed that I must be at the Nelson warehouse (business), not at their farm home. So instead of looking for me at the house where I was, he went to the warehouse in town. Joe, who happened to be at the office that morning must have been quite alarmed when Ed came walking in asking him where I was? Or should I say, he asked, "Is she here? Not really lying, all he needed to say was, "No, she is not here. Look around if you like." So, Joe thought, "How could Ed have connected me with himself when no one was to have known my actual hiding place?" Especially Ed, the county attorney! Somebody must have tipped him off, but whom? Whoever it was didn't matter now; I had to be moved right away!!! -- before the authorities start looking on the farm.

So, my second attempt to escape was foiled, but at least I found out someone was still looking for me. I just had to endure a little longer. Soon, I was in a car again. I guess when Joe called the farm using the special code, telling them of his recent visit everyone went crazy trying to think up a new plan: where do we take her now?

Well, they took me, blindfolded, for about an hour's drive to another county. And, yes, I was put in their basement. I was back to being really watched, every second and definitely no where near a phone! I was in the home of a medical doctor whose daughter was successfully deprogrammed sometime earlier. The deprogrammers tried very hard to hide the location from me by the blindfold and also by not letting me see any faces of the owners of the house. But, I knew, because I helped witness to their daughter and knew her name. By overhearing certain things in the house, I put two and two together and I knew exactly where I was. The deprogrammers were digging themselves and a whole bunch of other people into their sinister h*** day by day. If free, I could have them all arrested-at least two families and counting! Boy, were they nervous. For me, I wasn't feeling too bad.

By this time I was back to reading over and over the same old articles. By now, I should have had them all memorized. The basement was musty and the rug smelled of dog urine. I really wanted to sleep on the floor because the couch was the kind with very thin cushions that slanted backwards. My back was killing me, but it was better than lying on the stinky rug.

Luckily, I didn't stay at this house very long because either the law was closing in or the family was getting too nervous and didn't want me there anymore. So, back in the car we went, blindfolded as well. This time, they drove me not too far away but out in the country. I remember stopping, someone getting out opening a gate, driving a ways more, stopping opening another gate until we finally made it to this old abandoned farmhouse. There was some furniture, but limited and I don't think there was any running water or electricity. All I remember was the bed was an old feather tic type and it wasn't helping my back any -- I was starting to feel sick. Besides, the birds that were flying around inside the house were making too much noise for me to sleep. When would this ever end?

It turned out to be a temporary place while calls were being made on where to put me. My dad still didn't know where I was. About three in the morning, I was awakened from a sleep that took a long time in coming. I was thankful to get off that bed! Blindfolded again, I seemed to be in the car forever. This time I was in another county in the southern part of the state.

This was a family whose husband had deprogrammed his wife out of a fundamental Christian group. They were willing to help. Being in another new county meant I was farther and farther away from help… I wondered if they all gave up looking. I had my driver's license with me which they didn't know I had. (My dad had sent it to me when they started taking me to bars and I needed it for an ID). At the doctor's place, I secretly hide it under the corner of the carpet. If I ever had to prove I was in that house, all I had to do was tell someone where to go to find my driver's license. Well now, I was out of bread crumbs.

This was a nice home, but again out in the country. I was locked in a bedroom. They took the shade off the ceiling light so just two 100 watt bulbs burned down on me all day long. I was really getting sick. I found that if I pulled the bed away and sat on the floor behind the head of the bed, I could shield myself from the glaring light and heat. When they realized I was too comfortable, they made me move. It is now late May and the weather is getting warmer outside too. The window was never opened –actually it was boarded up so I could make no indication of my presence to anyone driving by.

It was back to reading stuff over and over all day long. At some point a new face was introduced to me. They called him Stan. It turns out he was a psychologist/hypnotist from Chicago. I wondered how much my poor dad was paying to fly him up here and pay his fees besides. I guessed they thought I had enough dirt on them all by now to send them to jail for a few years, so they could do either one of two things to me -- kill me or hypnotize me! Good grief! Stan did his hypnosis thing on me and I'll spare you the details. The craziest thing was that before he woke me, (I faked it), he wanted me to express to him in my most intimate manner a way to thank him for his help. What a test! Is this how he was testing me to see if I was under or not? Go to bed with him? I gave him a peck on the cheek and he seemed satisfied.

But, no one was going to let me go "home" just yet. It wasn't until they heard me give a reason why I was resisting so much? I had to come up with something good. I could only think of this: That I was so afraid of going to hell if I left my faith. Well, that must have been the magic words, because it worked. After a good cry -- I can't remember if I faked it or not (I needed a good cry by this time, anyway), I was allowed more freedom in the house. My dad was allowed to visit and I was soon returned back to the rehab house.

Things may have been easier now. They were definitely tired of me and pretty much left me alone. I spent my day reading books of my choice and playing guitar. But it was getting back to the basics that started me on the road to real freedom.

I started to get my prayer life back again. God seemed so far away and I wondered if God was sleeping on the job…I really could have used a break here and there and a little spiritual intervention would have been very welcome!

Somehow, I asked God, "What would You have me to do?" What is Your will for me? I sought an answer in the Bible. I randomly opened the book and I knew I received my answer. I had automatically opened to Matthew 5: 43-48. Reading it I knew God had never left me; He was trying to teach me something very important…it would be my key to unlock the door to freedom.

43 "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers, [1] what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Love my enemies…be perfect in my love? Could I do it? And how would I do it?

I began by serving Judy. I voluntarily cooked, cleaned and dusted. I even baked her an apple pie. Soon she was very nice to me. She took me out for coffee. She talked; I listened. She told me many things. Things like how she felt when her husband had left her and married an ex-nun. Many other hurts came out. I began to see a different person, one whom I could love and have compassion for. I now understood the reason for why she was doing what she was doing. My heart began to change. I was forgiving her for everything.

Miracles began to happen, small but real. While cleaning the kitchen table one day, I picked up the ash tray. Stuck to the under side of it was a postage stamp. I used it to secretly get a letter out to my brothers and sisters in the church to let them know I was ok and not to worry -- I would be back soon. It was a trick to mail it, but God gave me a means to do that too.

Judy asked me if I would mind taking her kids over to the mall and I could use her car! Wow, how easy it would be to just drive away. But, it could be another test… I respected her enough to return her car. Maybe I could gain another liberty and sure enough it happened the next day. I asked her if I could look for a job. She liked the idea very much. My idea was to walk to the nearest bus stop and get on as quick as I could. I walked about three blocks from the house and sat down at a bench to wait for the bus. It was in front of small group of shops. While I was sitting there, a bus didn't come but instead it was Judy in her car.

I thought, "Oh my gosh, she'll catch me sitting here, at a bus stop…here I go again, back to the basement!" But no, she did not suspect a thing -- we had a trust built between us (funny, I felt I was betraying her!... but just a little tiny bit!) I quickly told her I was deciding on which store I should go into next and had to sit down to think. She accepted my little lie and suggested that I get into her car and go with her to the mall where I might have better luck. So I got back into her car and was soon in a large store with her, filling out an application so she could watch me do it. I told her I would apply at a few more places and that I would see her later on, another little lie.

But I hid out there for an hour paranoid that I would run into her again. When I felt confident I could make it, I ran to the far side of the mall and waited for another bus. With the three dollars I had won at a recent bingo they took me to, I got on the bus and ran to the back where I could stare out the back window looking for Judy to start following me at any moment. The paranoia was intense. I shouldn't have been afraid, but I was. I guess my post traumatic stress syndrome was starting. But it was the first taste of freedom, a feeling I had not had for a very long time--it was glorious!! My emotions gave me a whole new meaning to the "great and terrible day of the Lord?!"

I started to relax as I went mile after mile. I got downtown and went into the largest skyscraper I could. I phoned the church and was dismayed, but smiled, "This number has been disconnected!" I knew George must have let the phone bill lapse for one reason or another…I phoned NYC and spoke to people at national headquarters. Within an hour I was on a plane to Chicago.

From here I called my dad to let him know I was OK. I told him to let me live my life and I prayed things would be better between us in the future. Many wonderful and humbling things happened since then; I continually see God working in my life with every new step I take. "Glory, Glory Hallelujah, His Truth is Marching On." 

Table of Contents

Tparents Home

Moon Family Page

Unification Library