Thank you,
Emily
What you are about to read is a true story.
A twelve year old girl with an active imagination sees a
movie scene in which a couple sleeps together.
She sees another. Her parents had
standards of what was appropriate but Dad thought “it’s not that bad, they
don’t show anything graphic.” So he doesn’t fast forward. But this girl is already beginning to
experience the inevitable changes and growth that puberty brings. Her hormones rage and the scenes leave large
impressions on her creative mind.
On her own time, she imagines stories of grand adventures
and great heroes. They will someday be
written down into famous novels, she thinks.
But soon her stories take new turns.
The princess falls for the knight and they find themselves alone. Reality and imagination begin to intertwine
and our twelve year old girl finds that she can finish the story on her own. Over and over again.
One scene from a movie, I don’t even remember which one now,
was all it took. The images were burned
into my twelve year old brain. For over ten
years I have struggled with the beast that youth pastors and purity conferences
imply belongs to men. I didn’t need to
return to the images; watching films like “A Walk to Remember” or “Titanic” at
girlish sleepovers and talk of the latest crush was enough.
It didn’t matter how many sex, dating and relationship
series’ I heard in junior high and high school youth groups. It didn’t matter how many times I heard
clichés like “guard your heart.” How
could I guard my heart from the pervasive infection that had already taken
hold? Not one of my leaders, women of
wonderful faith, ever suggested that my sin was something that women struggle
with. In truth, I loathed our annual
dating discussions at youth group because I felt the overwhelming shame of
being freak. “Normal” girls dealt with
self-image, knowing her boundaries if/when she started dating, and attributes
of good, Christian men worth dating. The
Boys (I assumed) covered issues of sexual urges and porn. I actually longed to be a part of their
conversation, believing that they addressed ways to not objectify the opposite
gender. They were learning how to fight
the beast.
They all knew that they were affected visually and they
could keep each other accountable. I was
alone. I continued the façade that I was
committed to purity. I wasn’t like
“those girls” who slept with their boyfriends even after they’d made the “true
love waits” promise. I had never even
had a boyfriend or been on a date. But
the thick and putrid tar of impurity still covered my heart. I may have blushed at innuendo or been
shocked by public high school exploits, but I turned an even deeper shade of
red when I heard verses like Romans 1:24, I Corinthians 6:12-20, or Ephesians
5:3. In the presence of many Christians,
I felt the burning shame of the woman caught in the act of adultery and I
wasn’t even exposed.
I saw more movies, more images burned into my brain that I
could not escape. Still cannot. Friends got older and silly little crushes
turned into deeper infatuations that only fed the disease, no porn
required. I hated myself when friends
got together for pool parties or games of ultimate Frisbee and all I could see
were the shirtless men. I dressed as modestly
as I could, knowing that I did not dare wish upon my guy friends the same
impurity that I possessed in spades.
I wish I could tell you that at some point, I have had an
incredible encounter with the Lord and experienced complete freedom from the
bondage in my body and soul. I
can’t. I do have an amazing relationship
with my Savior but it is tainted. I give
up and give up and give up my sin again and again. But like a dog returns to its vomit, I return
to the dark crevice wherein my beast resides.
I pray hard and long about freedom, earnestly desiring to surrender to
my God, and am then distracted by the impeccably dressed, attractive man
playing guitar with the worship band.
But I don’t confess it to anyone.
I suffer in silence.
You know me. I am your
roommate, your sister, or your best friend.
I might even be you. I agree that
some actor is attractive. But I don’t
tell you that the conversation or the poster on your wall, or the movie you
want to watch is feeding my beast. I
don’t admit that I avoid eye-contact with my guy friends because I don’t want
to objectify them or that I fear having ruined myself for any potential
relationship in the future. I doubt that
you will remain with me if you learn the extent of my depravity. I know that my beast, my sin, will only be
eradicated when it is brought into the light.
But I feel like there is no one to flip the switch. Will anyone let this harlot confess?
