At thirteen years old, in eighth grade, I became the victim of a spiritual abuser. I just didn’t realize it for years. I attended confirmation classes in my church and sang in the choir, rang bells in the handbell choir, and participated in the youth group.  Ardent for the Lord, I led my youth group in a twenty-four-hour prayer vigil. But I was also vulnerable and awkward.  Too tall too fast and prone to saying the wrong thing, I carried a full contingent of insecurities.  So when my mother’s prayer partner and friend, (I will call her Gladys) cornered me one day after I had babysat her children for an…