**If you are new to this site, I want to gently guide you through these stories in the order they are meant to be read.

This journey begins with December 7th, the day that everything came to light about what happened to me as a teenager. That post provides the foundation and context for everything that follows..

From there, you’ll find additional letters and accounts, including other stories from other survivors. This will give larger context of what was allowed, ignored or mishandled. Each voice matters, and each story stands on its own, but they are part of a larger story.

If you are a survivor yourself, please move at your own pace.

On December 7, 1998, and for many days prior, I was sexually assaulted by Mike Gunter. I had just turned 17.

At the time, I was deeply involved in Capital’s annual Christmas production, The Singing Christmas Tree (SCT). I served on the choreography team alongside close friends, and it was something I loved. What should have been a meaningful and joyful experience instead became one marked by fear, confusion, and harm. I was halfway through my Senior Year at Capital Christian School.

What had started with an extremely inappropriate hug the Easter before, continued with behavior that crossed a line that no minor should ever experience. Over the course of this December weekend, he had made several extremely inappropriate comments about my body and even offered to help me get dressed. He came up behind me in a dark hallway and in front of one of my best friends, he put his hand on my rear. But that Monday was the final and worst day. He purposely waited for me outside my dressing room and offered to walk me to my car. Knowing I was incredibly uncomfortable with what had already taken place, I told him “No thank you, I parked close”. He kept insisting and waited anyway. I walked down the hall to the main lobby with him following behind.

Once we got to the lobby where his friend and daughter were standing, he told them he was going to walk me to my car. His daughter offered to go and he firmly told her “No, you stay here, I will go.” It was in that moment I looked at the exit door and everything in me screamed to run, but my feet wouldn’t budge.

As we walked out to my car, he told me he couldn’t keep his eyes off me that night during the performance. I was incredibly uncomfortable but awkwardly didn’t know what to do. Once we reached my car, he pulled me into a hug where his hand immediately went to the side of my breast and he started massaging it and said, “This makes Mikey feel good.” He had hugged me in a similar way months before, but this one was so much worse. I was finally able to break away, and was fumbling to get my car door open. As he walked away, he said, “I can hardly walk because of what’s going on in my pants.”

Horrified and afraid, I got into my car, backed up and positioned my car to leave. I rolled down my window to tell him to leave me alone, but he approached the car and tried to put his hand through the window to touch my sweater, but I shrugged him off.

Once I got home, I was panicking and called one of my best friends. She told me I needed to tell my parents. Moments later, I was sitting on my bed trying to figure out how to tell them, but when my mom walked by my room. One look at me and she knew something was wrong. I told her everything. Moments later, we told my dad.

That night, they had me write everything down while my memory was fresh.

The next few days were a blur. My mom and dad took my statement to the church that next morning and met with the two music pastors, Randy Quackenbush and Rob Sapp. Based on my parent’s recollection, both pastors were extremely upset, but one of them had indicated there were already issues with him because of other reports that had come in, reports of inappropriate comments to women in the choir.

The Senior Music Pastor, Randy Quackenbush told my parents that he would take this to the Senior Pastor, Rick Cole.

During that week, they attempted to get a hold of Mike Gunter, but were unsuccessful until that next weekend of performances. Pastor Rick also called CPS, who followed up with my parents. At the time, my parents were leary of having CPS involved and in trying to protect me from invasive questioning and more discomfort, they opted out of doing anything with them. In hindsight, they have talked about wishing we had filed a police report in the hopes we could stop him from further harm.

Saturday morning, he sat with Pastor Rick and my dad and confessed to everything my statement said.

What followed was not protection, but institutional failure.

I was believed. A written statement was taken. Leadership was informed. The adult involved admitted to what had occurred.

And yet, despite a clear confession involving a minor, he was allowed to continue participating in the production alongside me for the remainder of its performances.

This decision became a defining fracture in my healing.

It took many years for me to understand how deeply damaging that choice was. Being believed matters, but belief without protective action, accountability, and protection leaves lasting harm. When institutions choose comfort, optics, or convenience over the safety of a child, the impact does not end when the event does.

Every time I tell this part of my story, that there was a confession and still no immediate removal, the response is always the same: shock. Disbelief. Silence. This reaction comes from people both inside and outside church settings, because the failure is plainly evident.

There was one woman, friend and staff member who was advocating for me behind the scenes. Reverend Kelly Stack Scott (formerly Sapp) attempted to protect me and others by reaching out to Pastor Rick to inquire about the plan moving forward. Rightfully, she did not want Mike Gunter allowed back into the program. She was told “it was being handled” and when she pressed the issue, she was told “it wasn’t her concern.”

Except, as a leader, a mother and someone who knew the importance of safety, it was her concern.

Had leadership acted decisively and placed safety first, my healing journey may have looked very different. Accountability matters. Protection matters. And when those are withheld, survivors pay the price.

Do the people who called the shots regret this choice? I honestly don’t know. I’ve been told years after the fact that he was “being watched” by ushers and security. That still baffles me.

The moment Mike Gunter assaulted me, he was someone who didn’t just sin against me and God, but he broke the law. Even more sadly, his consequences were almost nonexistent. If Mike Gunter had been seriously injured, or had a life-threatening emergency, the SCT and church leadership would have needed to find an alternative. But confessing to a crime wasn’t enough to have him removed.

I did the rest of the weekend shows feeling his eyes on me the whole time. Knowing he had been caught, with a full uncontested confession didn’t deter him from continuing to violate me from afar.

On top of this, I also spent the rest of the weekend dodging disturbing interactions with his family members and friends.

Overall, it was a horrific experience. My last year performing in the SCT should have been a joyful memory, but instead I was relieved when it was over, and it will now forever be part of my memories. The rest of my Senior year was spent in survival mode as I was faced with his family members on a weekly if not daily basis while on campus.

Years later, I learned that this was not an isolated incident. There were others before me, and others after me from multiple offenders. This is not surprising when harm is minimized and consequences are insufficient.

I’ve been asked…” What were Mike Gunter’s consequences?”

He was forced to step down from the choir leadership for a year. He eventually resigned on his own. He was also mandated to a year of counseling in the church counseling center. To my knowledge, the police were not called, but CPS was called. I’ve learned since then that when you are a minor, CPS must be called first and then it’s up to the CPS and the victim to call the Police and file a report. We did not file the police report. Not even 2 months later, I saw him in the same hallway flirting with another teen girl. He was not deterred. I went and reported him AGAIN.

In the years that followed, life continued. I graduated, went to college and then trade school. I got married young, and eventually became a mother to 3 daughters. I built a family while carrying trauma I had not yet named or processed. Like many who go through these types of things, I learned how to function long before I learned how to heal.

We even returned to Capital, and served faithfully during those years, not because the harm was resolved, but because it had never been fully unpacked. I had not yet been given language, support, or space to understand what had happened or how deeply it had shaped me. Survival became normal. Healing took time and I’m still in it. I still struggle even now, not to downplay it or question if I’m making too big a deal of it.

In 2018, I published a blog called “#METOO.” In this blog, I told my story but didn’t name him. 4 Years after publishing that blog, I found out I was one of at LEAST 3 victims. I say “at least” because I cannot fathom that he stopped completely after my incident, especially with the lenient consequences. As it stands right now, I was the 3rd one. One victim was from 5 years prior, and one was 6 months prior. I came to find out that Mike’s family knew about the one from 6 months before mine and they still acted shocked and some harassed me after I came forward. I would only guess that there are more in that 5-year span and only time will tell if more come forward.

What remains unchanged is my conviction that silence and inaction enable harm.

If you have experienced abuse within a faith setting, I want you to know this:

What happened to you was not your fault. You deserved safety, care, and advocacy.

On that note, if you or someone you know are a victim of Mike Gunter, I am so incredibly sorry. You deserved better and I want you to know that you can reach out to me if you desire to. I have made my contact information available for those who may wish to reach out. If you do not wish to contact me, I hope you have someone safe to tell. Healing should not happen in isolation.

I will continue to speak, write, and advocate, not only for my own healing, but for institutional accountability and meaningful reform.

We must do better for victims.

We must build systems that protect the vulnerable.

And we must reflect compassion, justice, and integrity in how we respond.

**A Note on Discomfort

I recognize that naming someone publicly may feel uncomfortable for some readers. If that is you, I would gently invite you to sit with that discomfort for a moment and ask where it comes from.

Discomfort often arises not because something is untrue, but because it challenges what we have been taught to protect, institutions, reputations, or a version of peace that exists only when survivors remain silent.

Survivors telling the truth is not what causes harm. Silence is what allows harm to continue.

My decision to name what happened is not made lightly, nor is it rooted in anger or retaliation. It is rooted in truth, accountability, and the belief that honesty is necessary for real change.

If this brings up difficult feelings, I encourage you to reflect on whose discomfort has historically been prioritized, and whose safety has not.

My intention in sharing these words is to tell the truth fully, while walking in the power of healing and forgiveness.

Forgiveness as I understand and practice it, does not mean minimizing harm, excusing behavior, or shielding anyone from accountability. It should not require silence. I believe it can co-exist with truth telling, boundaries, and justice. Without honesty, forgiveness becomes performative rather than healing.

What I offer is not condemnation or retaliation, but clarity. My writing reflects both my commitment to truth and my desire to move forward without carrying what was never mine to hold.

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