Okay, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about my blog—and about me—but sometimes I like to get personal without getting personal. I’m open about how I feel about issues, but I avoid saying what led to those feelings through using phrases such as “certain situations” or “recent events.” Frankly, most of the time there isn’t a particularly juicy personal story behind the comments I make. But even if there were, I don’t want my life to be the focus of my blog—or anything I write—I want it to be on providing thought-provoking, and, I hope, entertaining comments on life lessons. I’m just not the self-promotional type.
At this point you’re probably wondering where all this fanfare is going. You’ve also likely figured out I’m about to get more personal than usual. Yes, I’ll be discussing an issue I can’t address without being more open: my decision not to have sex until marriage, commonly known as a commitment to abstinence.
People who have known me for years are well aware of my feelings on “this issue”; I’m a huge proponent of it. One of my goals is to publish a book about it for teenage girls, which I’ve started, and maybe sequels for the general public and young adults. But despite my enthusiasm for it, sometimes I’m hesitant to share my thoughts outside my comfort circles. However, I recently joined an online group for people committed to the cause that got me thinking about why I can be so hesitant to discuss something I’m supposedly so passionate about.
My biggest fear is not so much what people may call me—I haven’t had a problem being referred to as a “sexually repressed prude”—I’m more concerned with how it will affect people’s perceptions of how I view them. A study recently released showed more than 90% of (adult) Americans have had sex before marriage ( See http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory?id=2738640 ). Although the accuracy of this statistic can be debated, it is fair to say that more people than not are having sex—including people who don’t believe in having it. Thus, I avoid using terms such as “Purity Commitment” because I fear—and have actually had people say—that such comments implicitly mean that anyone who has had sex outside of marriage is “dirty”—which is a total mischaracterization of my opinion that I am more than happy to avoid.
I’m also afraid people will think they can’t relate to me, and ignore what I have to say about sex—and “other related issues” (okay, let me stop). As you might know, when people find out you’re a virgin in your mid-twenties, adverse reactions abound. The comment is usually met with skepticism, the next question being “well, if you haven’t had sex, what have you done?” and then my answer to that question starts another firestorm.
But truthfully, I shouldn’t be afraid to share my commitment--which I also call a testimony--in uncomfortable situations. It doesn’t mean I need to declare I’m a virgin just because, but it should mean that when I’m given the opportunity to share my experience I shouldn’t shy away.
One reason I’m so passionate about discussing abstinence is my criticism of the Christian community’s approach to addressing premarital sex, which often hinders children from making biblical commitments to abstain. They are often taught, indirectly, that singleness is a miserable state that needs to be quickly transcended so that marital bliss—and, apparently, hot-steamy sex—can begin. As a result, so many never really experience the true joy of abstaining; they see abstinence in terms of a list of what physical acts can—or cannot—be done to still stay in the “pure” category. Questions such as “Is oral sex okay?” or “how much clothing can I take off?” dominate discussions about abstinence. Even the term “abstinence” (which I hate, but use for lack of a more universal term, as I’ve said before), focuses on the act of not having sex—not on what refraining from having sex should mean.
The real way to look at a biblical commitment not to have sex isn’t “what am I missing?” but, rather, “what am I gaining?” This means that for every physical act I choose not to do outside of marriage--sex being seen only as the outer limit--I am gaining something higher—at least in a spiritual sense. As has been said many times, God designed sex to be an expression of unconditional love to a person He has provided for you in marriage, which is also the ultimate human commitment to another person on earth, and a symbol of the love God has for His children (Ephesians 6:25). I also see “abstinence” as a critical way to show a commitment to God rather than the world (Galatians 5:19-25). By not having sex, I don’t feel I’m depriving myself of pleasure (an evanescent kind, at best); I see it as being willing to settle for nothing less than true love both in and out of a bedroom—or no sex.
The online group I joined recently reminded me of an inner debate I’ve been having about whether to celebrate my commitment with a purity ring. In the past I was skeptical of getting one because too often I’ve seen them displayed as empty symbols that are hastily purchased and soon discarded by people who don’t understand the gravity of the commitment. But after learning so many lessons about what the choice actually means, and soldering through the hormonal teenage years and the “Hook-Up Central” that is college by God’s grace, I know that with Him I can overcome any sexual temptation—even “love.” A ring, then, would be a symbol of my testimony.
This blog is my first step to being more open about my commitment—where God calls me to be…so, should I get a chastity ring? I think you’re about to see one on this woman’s finger.
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