: life of a never-been-kissed-ex-porn-addict child of God

I don’t have a catchy opening line. Sorry.

It’s probably because I feel really, really uncomfortable writing this post.

The whole thing is strange because I’ve written about sexual abuse and being addicted to pornography and having an eating disorder on this blog. Still, my hands are jittery as I write this out: I’ve never been kissed and I don’t really want to until I’m engaged or maybe even married. And I want you to hear that sentence apart from images of your youth leader screaming things like, "Modest is hottest! True love waits! I kissed dating goodbye!"

Because my story isn’t everyone’s story, nor does it need to be. It’s a bizarre sexual dilemma because I was abused and addicted to pornography for years but I’ve never been kissed. My purity has been stripped away, but my purity has also been spared. Ultimately, my sexual identity, righteousness, and holiness can only come from Christ. Still, though, I’ve found it emotionally taxing to battle shame about both the things I have done and the things I haven’t done.

It reminds me of my senior year of high school when I saw the devastating images of Hurricane Ike on television. It leveled out the entire town of Gilchrist, Texas, with the exception of one home. Soon, pictures of the “last house standing” circulated around the Internet and news shows. It was a bizarre sight: a charming white and yellow house surrounded by a wasteland of debris. For whatever reason, God preserved this place and not another—he preserved Pam and Warren Adams instead of the Jones family down the street. It’s in inexplicable act of mercy.

In many ways, this is how I picture my sexuality. There are years and miles of damage surrounding me, but God chose to preserve one particular area of my purity. And I’d like to say it’s because I’m so awesome and said no to all my gawking suitors, but it’s not true. I put myself in dozens of stupid situations with men in the past five years. I don’t deserve to have anything left standing. It’s an inexplicable act of mercy. It is something to be celebrated.

Many people instinctually say, “Bless your heart, isn’t that the sweetest thing!” when they hear I’ve never been kissed. This belittles the gravity of the situation, though, because it’s not sweet. The last house standing isn’t sweet. It’s a fierce act of preservation. It’s divine kindness. It is bit of treasure found in my jar of clay, “to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to me. I am afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4). It is humbling. It is grace.

I’m not sure why purity has become so cheesy nowadays, and I’m not trying to rally for “Virgin Lips” t-shirts. This isn’t a no-kissing revolution. It’s just my story, and my story’s all I have. I hope you find this to be an encouragement or maybe even a challenge. Really, I hope you see the mercy of God in it all.

(I’m going to press on “publish” and run away from my computer for the next year now. BYE.)

: my self-nomination for the Super-Christian award

Sometimes I wish Jesus sent hipster devotional videos from heaven like he sent manna to the Israelites. This one would be entitled “What to do when you’re a restless and drained Christian.”

The other night I found myself with a tired heart and tears in my eyes while talking to a dear friend about my relationship with God. Honestly, I’ve been so busy for the past two months I haven’t had the time to sit or process or be with other believers. And I’ve known something has been wrong because my heart feels restless in a way I’ve never experienced before. My soul isn’t at ease. I’m tired and abnormally stressed. It’s like I’ve switched to autopilot mode: I’m not living my own life but watching someone else live it for me. It reminds me of a verse in Psalm 39: “Everyone goes around like a mere phantom; in vain they rush about, heaping up wealth without knowing whose it will finally be.” I’m going through the motions and surviving, but that’s about it. So basically, I’m a super-Christian and I’ll give away autographed copies of my biography later this week.

Seriously though, I’ve never been this overcommitted, so I didn’t even know how to respond at first. From a practical standpoint, the way I’m living is harmful because, at best, I am doing an average job at life. Everything is a muted version of what it could be. Really, I’m not even living in the truest sense of the word. I’m surviving.

This isn’t the kind of existence God calls us to, is it? To simply survive the next eighty years until we die or he returns? It reminds me of Jesus’ words in John 10: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” God calls us to live abundantly, to live fully. This doesn’t mean unicorns will burst into song when you wake up every morning, but it does mean that you and I can experience true life, peace, and joy through the power of the Spirit.

Something needed to change, so yesterday I talked to my manager and asked to go on a nine-week work break so I could focus on school. She didn’t stone me. I cancelled some coffee dates, set aside time for writing, and bought Christmas lights to decorate my room with. I watched the Red Sox game in my pajamas for no other reason than the fact that I like watching baseball in my pajamas. I texted some friends and apologized for being absent. They didn’t stone me. I repented and asked God to forgive me for being stupid (poetic, I know) and disregarding his command to keep the Sabbath. He didn’t stone me. And no lie, I feel significantly more rested even today: spiritually, physically, and emotionally.

I don’t know why I’m surprised, because God promises to give us rest if we turn to him. Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30).

If you’re tired and barely surviving, be honest with yourself. Cut things out of your schedule that don’t need to be there and create space for your relationship with God. Do not be ashamed. Repent, ask for forgiveness, and move towards life (and life to the full).

: shame (and other things I've been controlled by)

Recently I've been reading a book about the shaming effects of sexual abuse. Going into it, I thought to myself, "Luckily I don't have any shame so this should be a quick read" but now I'm in tears after every chapter and on a Jesus-music-only diet until further notice. This book defines shame as the belief that if people really knew who you were, you would no longer be acceptable. Shame drives you into a living a life of secrets, dishonesty, and numbness.

I can't remember a time I felt ashamed before I was abused, but I have vivid memories of shame and embarrassment from every year afterwards. In fifth grade, for example, I was so nervous to say the pledge of allegiance in front of the class I made myself sick and threw up in the trashcan by our lockers. I legitimately felt like it was the end of the world. In sixth grade, I remember the look on everyone's faces when I told them I wasn't allowed to listen to the Spice Girls. In seventh grade, I remember running into the bathroom and crying after all the boys nicknamed me "Savage." In eighth grade, I remember when I cut my bangs too short and a girl in science class said, "Why did she do that to her face?" This was also the first time I remember someone calling me fat. In ninth grade, I remember the shame I felt after realizing nobody was going to ask me to homecoming. In tenth grade, I remember when a boy said he was too afraid to play basketball with me for fear of getting trampled on. In eleventh grade, I remember how embarrassed I was when I didn't get asked to prom. My senior year of high school, I remember feeling ashamed that I didn't wear a bikini on our class beach trip.

I became so wrapped up in toxic shame that I was afraid to do or say anything out of the ordinary. If I'm being really honest, I spent an entire decade of my life creating versions of myself that I believed to be more acceptable than who I really was. When that girl in science class made fun of my bangs, I pinned them up every single day until they grew out. Why? Because I wanted to be more acceptable. When everyone started wearing UGGs, I made my mom go to the mall and get me a pair because I was terrified of standing out. They are seriously the worst, most ugly boots in the entire world, but I still wore them with every outfit in order to be accepted and avoid shame.

It reminds me of a man that Jesus encountered in Matthew 8: “Behold, a leper came to Jesus and knelt before him, saying, ‘Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.’ And Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, ‘I will; be clean.’ And immediately his leprosy was cleansed. And Jesus said to him, ‘See that you say nothing to anyone, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer the gift that Moses commanded, for a proof to them.’”

Lepers were marked by shame and rejection. They had to yell, “Unclean, unclean!” if they approached anyone in the town. After Jesus healed the man (by touching him, which is a statement in itself) Jesus told him to go to the priests and offer a gift as proof of his cleanliness. How terrifying would it be to go to the very people who shamed you most and say, “I am ashamed no more. I am accepted. I am clean.” This is what Jesus does, though. He looks at the rejected and says, You are rejected no more. He touches the ashamed and says, You are accepted, there is no condemnation for you. He reaches out to the dirty and says, I have made you clean. While the world has marked you with a scarlet letter and commanded you to stay outside the city walls, Jesus invites you into the center of his Kingdom. Child of God, this is your new identity: accepted, unashamed, known, and loved.

: on the cusp of eternity

Think for a minute on the sober reality that one day very soon, the credits of your life will roll and you will stand alone before God as Judge. You will have nothing in your hands. You will not be able to point your finger and blame this person or that disadvantage. You will not be able to empty your pockets and show records of your tithing or church attendance. You will not have a world map available to mark every country in which you built a well. It will not matter if everyone on earth revered you as a philanthropic world-changer. All that will matter on the cusp of eternity is how God views you. 

You lift up your head and lock eyes with the Judge. His gaze overwhelms you with the colors of holiness, and now, maybe more than ever before, you understand just how small you are in comparison to Him. You are asked to give an account for your life. Rushing through the first decade or so, you finally get to the part when you were eighteen and listened to that sermon from a pastor in Texas. That was when your eyes were opened and, long story short, you trusted Jesus for your salvation. The Judge smirks and waves his hand for you to continue.

You tell him about the nights you spent on your knees, begging for wisdom. You talk about all the adventures and connections, moments of faith and moments of doubt. Countless celebrations, weddings, birthdays, and memories flash before your eyes. Clear as day, you see how every second of your life- every fiber of your being- shouted hallelujah after all. You cry out, Nothing in my hands I bring, only to the cross I cling, as the old hymn goes. Everything is accounted for and your eternity is staked on the love of Jesus, on the love of the Judge himself.

His gavel drops and thunder runs through your body. Accompanied by the roaring celebration of angels and saints, your life truly begins:

"Well done, my good and faithful servant."

: trust him when it hurts

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.

-Proverbs 3

Trust in the Lord with every bit of heart you can manage to muster. This won't be easy because you've probably been hurt by someone that once held your heart, but still the command remains: Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Trust him with your future. Trust him with your dreams. Trust him when it's easy. Trust him when the entire world screams that He is untrustworthy. Trust him when it hurts. Trust him when you're well. Trust him when you don't understand. 

Trust him when you find yourself at the foot of a sea with an Egyptian army behind you. Trust him when there's no way out. Remember that the One who made the sea and sky and even those Egyptians is with you.

Do not lean on your own understanding because you have a small understanding after all. You cannot predict when the sea will split open and defy the laws of nature in obedience to the will of God. Look for paths in the water, for open doors and burning bushes, and run to them. These are the fingerprints of God in your life: he has given you access to Glory. He has given you access to a new way of understanding.

He has given you access to Himself, cracking open the sea of our transgression and shame and rebellion with his bare hands. He defied reason, time, gravity, and space by wrapping inexhaustible radiance in a hundred and seventy some odd pounds of skin and bones and blood and water. This is a wildly unpredictable solution hailing from a wildly unpredictable God.

This is the One in whom you can trust, the One on whom you can lean.