The Polygamist's Daughter

Stories, Reflections and Conclusions of Life on the Inside


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Other Cults Like Mine, Who Knew?

As a little girl I had no idea that there were other people like us in the greater world. In my little cosmos, “The Allreds” was the only true church of God. 

There wasn’t even a real name for my religion and I never questioned why.  My prophet was Rulon Allred and when he died during my tween years, the new prophet was his brother Owen.  I knew there were other members of our organization in Utah and Mexico, but it was all kept so secret that I had no label for my system of belief. I just knew that our way was the only way and we were the only people God really loved.

After I ran away from home, I moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, the only logical place I knew to go. Then I moved around the country in search of myself and my own truth. Imagine trying to explain a religion that had no name as I traveled from city to city and state to state. More than a decade later I discovered that I had been a “Fundamentalist Mormon.” Who knew? It took me a while to understand the label and it came as a great relief – I could at least answer the question of “what religion were you” without feeling like a fool.

About 10 years ago or so, I started diving deeper into my personal history and the history of my childhood religion, in a desire to understand. I wanted to make sure that my memoirs, when they were released, were as accurate as possible, based on the information I could gather. I began to discover the “other” groups I had only heard brief mention of in my younger years.

As a child I knew they were the wrong religion because they had the wrong prophet, and that was all I knew. 

In my search for greater understanding I found myself as entrenched with the story of the F.L.D.S. (Short Creek is how I knew it as a child) along with everyone else in the country. Perhaps even more because I understood the underlying dogma. I found myself visiting Colorado City (Short Creek) on several occasions, shooting footage for a documentary that sadly still sits on the cutting room floor. I met extraordinary people and heard extraordinary stories of what really went on at Y.F.Z. Ranch and still goes on today in the F.L.D.S.

Yesterday, one of those extraordinary women shared a blog post that I am forwarding on to you. Brenda is a woman of amazing courage. I’ve never met her in person but when I first met her through a Facebook group she was fresh from the farm, so to speak. She looked and sounded exactly the way you would expect, having just left her uncultured home, fortunately with kids in tow.  Since that time she has educated herself, become a prolific writer and supporter of those who are looking for life and truth outside of the F.L.D.S.

Here is her most recent blog post and an update on what really happened in the raid on Yearning For Zion Ranch and in Colorado City as Warren Jeffs fades into memory, yet not far enough. Check it out HERE.

Until next time BE FEARLESS & FREE!

Victoria Reynolds Signature

 


Surviving The Great Apocalypse

Here is another snippet from my book Fly, Fly Away. It gives readers a quick glimpse into the reason people are so afraid to leave once they join.

Fear is the greatest controller of the human body, heart, mind and spirit.  

The night following Hannah’s nearly tragic accident we held our weekly Family Home Meeting. Wednesday evenings throughout the community, were reserved for family meetings. Each family spent the evening at home in spiritual study, conversation and prayer. Typically, the subject for our family meetings was apocalyptic prophesies regarding the last days. My father seemed clearly obsessed with the doom and gloom predictions that every prophet since the beginning of recorded history has made about the end of times, and he painstakingly ingrained those stories into our innocent, young, impressionable minds. The dreams of Daniel, Revelations of Isaiah, predictions of Nostradamus, and forecasts of Joseph Smith and other Mormon prophets, and my father’s own interpretations were wrapped up into one end-of-the-world melodrama that was guaranteed to happen in my lifetime. Most definitely before the year 2,000, which was seen by us as the beginning of the seventh day, (each day represented as a thousand years) of earth’s existence, and earth’s very own personal Sabbath. Those predictions were the reason we fled to the mountains, grew our own food, had years of supplies in the basement and guns to protect ourselves from the government and unavoidable intrusion from China, Mexico and Russia.

The apocalypse was upon us at any moment!

The battle of Armageddon and the second coming of Christ, separation of wheat from chaff, (we of course were the wheat), the ascension of only a chosen few and the resurrection of the bodies of Mormon Saints being lifted up and restored to wholeness, was inevitable. World War III and America being attacked from all borders, missionaries rotting in the streets of Jerusalem and pestilence against those who were sinful loomed on our doorstep. The sun turning to darkness and blood running in the streets, wars and rumors of wars, violent earthquakes and all manner of destruction, another planet slamming into ours and tearing of the veil between good and evil, great disease, abominations, and more… were my inevitable destiny. On that great and dreadful day, God would raise his mighty hand, smite the evil-doers and cleanse the earth of sinners and all inequities. Only 144,000 people would survive the great cleansing and baptism by fire. All of the prophesies would then finally be fulfilled. And we, along with those like us, would be the only ones to benefit from God’s wrath upon His children.

These stories led to nightmares that haunted me well into adulthood, until I finally came to understand how many of the prophesies were parables and metaphors, rather than events.

The prophesies are periods of time throughout history rather than one big day. They tell of a time when fear begins to leave the planet and love returns, when the Divine Feminine is resurrected and restored to Her mantle beside the Divine Masculine and equality and harmony are restored to Earth’s children. We are in the midst of it right now and have been for over 50 years. We are all ascending, not just a chosen few. The process isn’t pretty, and we will get there, if we don’t destroy ourselves first.

We are the ones we’ve been waiting for and we are the ones who will save us from ourselves. 

As they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. We can use it as a weapon of mass destruction or use it as a tool for peace.

I am so grateful to be free of the stories that once tormented my soul and kept my spirit captive in fear. Today I am free to see what is possible for ALL of humanity rather than just a supposed chosen few.

Until next time, be Fearless & Free!

Victoria Reynolds Signature


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Witnessing A Miracle

Uncle Rulon, as I knew Rulon Allred to be, was as close to God as any man could be in my young eyes, and I was in complete awe of him.

His thick, white hair, soft blue eyes and gentle voice, gave him an angelic resemblance. We didn’t see him as often as we would like and when we did, his words and presence were precious. On his visits from Utah we felt truly honored and blessed. When he spoke, all who knew him listened intently, hanging on his every breath as though his words were directly the word of God and God spoke through him on our behalf. His instructions were God’s instructions and his voice the voice of God. We felt fortunate to have several of his wives living among us, and on occasion that he came to visit them, he shared his messages of truth and revelation with the rest of us. Not only did Uncle Rulon have the highest order of the priesthood but he also inherited the keys to God’s kingdom from his predecessor, which made him a virtual superman.

In my book, Fly Fly Away, I share the story of my sister Hannah’s drowning and near-death experience in the pond at one of Rulon’s homes on The Ranch.

… Learning of the situation, Uncle Rulon ran from the house and began performing CPR on Hannah, but to no avail. There was no heartbeat, no pulse and no sign of life. Then he did the one thing he knew would help. He laid his hands upon Hannah’s head, and prayed to the Lord to spare her young life as we all stood silently bowing our heads in reverent faith and prayer. Moments later she began coughing and sputtering back to life. While she sat on the ground crying over the trauma of the near death experience, the rest of us praised God, for we knew in that moment we had surely witnessed a miracle…

Moments like this solidified my parent’s faith in their religion and in the man who we knew as the one-and-only mouthpiece of God.

As a child, men with the priesthood had the healing power that miracles are made of. This reverence to men and their unlimited power led some men to use their power as a means of control. Now of course I know that a man and his priesthood have nothing to do with miracles. Both men and women are equally capable of magnificent works of faith, without anointed oil, without special privileges, without secret hand-gestures and without priesthood.

Yes, I do think miracles can happen, especially when many minds, and not just one superior mind, are focused on the end result. There is power in numbers and unified fields of thought. In my sister’s case, her near-death experience and return-to-life was her choice, and not one made by any of the rest of us, not even the chosen man of God.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story!

Victoria Reynolds Signature

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