Cultic Studies Review, Vol. 2, No. 2, 2003, Page 85
the time and did not feel as though I fit in there. At an outdoor service, Julie introduced me
to Angela, an eye doctor in Atlanta. She was part of the Dunwoody sector in North Atlanta.
She asked me to join her for the services up there. Dunwoody was an instant hit! I met up
with Marissa again, the woman I met the first day with Julie, who looks like me! She was
very outgoing and funny and we became instant friends. She shared an apartment with
Sharon and Sunni in Dunwoody, and invited me to stay with them while I worked the
Olympics. I was delighted to accept and loved the friendship, activities, and energy in the
Dunwoody sector. Dunwoody was the professional sector with lots of doctors, lawyers, and
other white collar workers, as well as sports people. Athletes, agents, and trainers were in
that sector. It seemed to be the sector of the ―beautiful people.‖ Gorgeous women and
handsome men were there. They were very successful at bringing visitors to church on
Sundays and mid-week. Dunwoody women were usually the ones working the registration
tables for any church sponsored event, such as the singles retreat, or the Southeast
Conference. I heard us referred to, more than once, as the ―Dunwoody Babes‖. Very
spiritual.
I was so excited to be part of something where I felt special and loved, and treated others
that way, that I decided to stay. I moved my furniture out of my Winston-Salem apartment
and into storage. I would be staying with Marissa, Sunni, and Sharon while I looked for a
job. I did not have to worry about paying rent, utilities, or tithing while I job hunted!
Athletic training is not a big field. I could not find a job, even at an orthopedic clinic. I was
running out of money and had to do something. I took a job waiting tables. My first day of
training, Angela called me, desperate. Her optician had fallen off the cocaine-recovery
wagon the previous week and then this day, her receptionist called in and said she would
not be in for a while. Her father had shot her step mother and she had to go help him.
Angela was left as the only person in her optometry practice in an unsavory part of
downtown Atlanta. She could not see patients and keep the store open for people to pick
up and order contacts and glasses. She needed me to come help her, if I could. I agreed
and drove downtown. She trained me to file Medicare and Medicaid forms, make
appointments, measure for glasses and bifocals, place orders for contacts and glasses,
repair frames, and even tint lenses! It was an entirely new field and I enjoyed it. I would
drive from my place in Dunwoody to Angela‘s place in Buckhead, and we would ride into
work together. We knew all of the same people from church and would talk about our
studies and struggles and support each other. She was a great friend and a terrific boss.
Downtown was an interesting place. We were only a few blocks from 4 Points, the Coca-
Cola museum, and the Underground, but we were on the ―other side of the tracks‖. We
would pay to park in a small lot next to the Korean grocery. We would walk by the
homeless people on the way to the store. Sometimes one or two would be missing a day or
two, usually in jail. Matthew was one of the homeless men whom we would pay to do odd
jobs, like pick up supplies and minor repairs. We would pay him cash, and in return, we not
only got his services, but also his ―protection‖ in the neighborhood. He would make sure
that we were safe on the way to and from the car. One day he even prevented a robbery
when several young men walked in and spread out in the store. Matthew happened to be in
the back, saw them on the camera, and he walked out front yelling at them, asking what
did they want and they backed right down and left. I figured, if anyone needed God, it was
Matthew. I repeatedly asked him to church. I told him I would give him the train fare and
he could meet us there. One Sunday he finally agreed. He showed up at a service asking
for me. He was drunk and dirty. He stayed for most of the service, then wandered off. I
thought that I had done a great job getting someone who was ―lost‖ to come to church.
Little did I know that I would be rebuked for bringing him to Dunwoody. I was told to seek
out other ―sharp‖ people like myself to invite to church, not to go after the homeless. (Now,
this makes me think, ―What would Jesus do?‖)
the time and did not feel as though I fit in there. At an outdoor service, Julie introduced me
to Angela, an eye doctor in Atlanta. She was part of the Dunwoody sector in North Atlanta.
She asked me to join her for the services up there. Dunwoody was an instant hit! I met up
with Marissa again, the woman I met the first day with Julie, who looks like me! She was
very outgoing and funny and we became instant friends. She shared an apartment with
Sharon and Sunni in Dunwoody, and invited me to stay with them while I worked the
Olympics. I was delighted to accept and loved the friendship, activities, and energy in the
Dunwoody sector. Dunwoody was the professional sector with lots of doctors, lawyers, and
other white collar workers, as well as sports people. Athletes, agents, and trainers were in
that sector. It seemed to be the sector of the ―beautiful people.‖ Gorgeous women and
handsome men were there. They were very successful at bringing visitors to church on
Sundays and mid-week. Dunwoody women were usually the ones working the registration
tables for any church sponsored event, such as the singles retreat, or the Southeast
Conference. I heard us referred to, more than once, as the ―Dunwoody Babes‖. Very
spiritual.
I was so excited to be part of something where I felt special and loved, and treated others
that way, that I decided to stay. I moved my furniture out of my Winston-Salem apartment
and into storage. I would be staying with Marissa, Sunni, and Sharon while I looked for a
job. I did not have to worry about paying rent, utilities, or tithing while I job hunted!
Athletic training is not a big field. I could not find a job, even at an orthopedic clinic. I was
running out of money and had to do something. I took a job waiting tables. My first day of
training, Angela called me, desperate. Her optician had fallen off the cocaine-recovery
wagon the previous week and then this day, her receptionist called in and said she would
not be in for a while. Her father had shot her step mother and she had to go help him.
Angela was left as the only person in her optometry practice in an unsavory part of
downtown Atlanta. She could not see patients and keep the store open for people to pick
up and order contacts and glasses. She needed me to come help her, if I could. I agreed
and drove downtown. She trained me to file Medicare and Medicaid forms, make
appointments, measure for glasses and bifocals, place orders for contacts and glasses,
repair frames, and even tint lenses! It was an entirely new field and I enjoyed it. I would
drive from my place in Dunwoody to Angela‘s place in Buckhead, and we would ride into
work together. We knew all of the same people from church and would talk about our
studies and struggles and support each other. She was a great friend and a terrific boss.
Downtown was an interesting place. We were only a few blocks from 4 Points, the Coca-
Cola museum, and the Underground, but we were on the ―other side of the tracks‖. We
would pay to park in a small lot next to the Korean grocery. We would walk by the
homeless people on the way to the store. Sometimes one or two would be missing a day or
two, usually in jail. Matthew was one of the homeless men whom we would pay to do odd
jobs, like pick up supplies and minor repairs. We would pay him cash, and in return, we not
only got his services, but also his ―protection‖ in the neighborhood. He would make sure
that we were safe on the way to and from the car. One day he even prevented a robbery
when several young men walked in and spread out in the store. Matthew happened to be in
the back, saw them on the camera, and he walked out front yelling at them, asking what
did they want and they backed right down and left. I figured, if anyone needed God, it was
Matthew. I repeatedly asked him to church. I told him I would give him the train fare and
he could meet us there. One Sunday he finally agreed. He showed up at a service asking
for me. He was drunk and dirty. He stayed for most of the service, then wandered off. I
thought that I had done a great job getting someone who was ―lost‖ to come to church.
Little did I know that I would be rebuked for bringing him to Dunwoody. I was told to seek
out other ―sharp‖ people like myself to invite to church, not to go after the homeless. (Now,
this makes me think, ―What would Jesus do?‖)
