Sex, part 2: Why Wait?

I pretty much hate having teenage boys. 

I hate the looks they give. I hate the smells they make. I hate the skeezy little 'stache that creeps up, slow and sparse, on their upper lip. But most of all, I hate the autonomy they have.

I hate that my baby boys have grown beyond arms reach and can now wander freely in this little corner of the world. I hate that they get to choose what they're going to do and say, and that I don't get to hover over them, correcting them and coddling them and giving them the WTF-are-you-thinking-?!-eyebrow every so often to keep them in line. Hate it.

Ugh! They're independent. They are young men, responsible for their own actions. That is so scary it makes me want to barf. 

And, perhaps it's because I got knocked up at 17, but, of all the choices my kids are faced with and all the opportunities in front of them, I feel especially preoccupied with their choices regarding sex. Naturally, they love this. I mean, what teenager doesn't want their Mom constantly reminding them that it's gross and creepy to engage in sexual activity in public parks, behind strip malls, or in the recessed corner of the movie theatre?! What high schooler would hate it if their Mom sang, "Please do not have sex todaaaaay!" every time they walked out the door?! Surely not mine. 

...Yeah. The eye rolling gets pretty intense around here...

But I want my kids to be armed with the truth (and maybe with condoms, but mostly with the truth), and the truth is that they should wait to have sex.

There are obvious reasons why:

1. You could accidentally create another human being (like I did, oops).  

2. You could cause yourself or someone else emotional harm by sharing intimate behavior in an irresponsibly casual way.  

3. Most compelling, you could contract a horrible, painful, itchy, burning, smelly STD, and your penis could fall right off.

But I believe there's another really good reason to put sex on hold. 

It's that when you wait to have sex, you are creating an important connection between the very powerful urges to do things that feel really good and the ability to control those urges. Otherwise known as self-control. This practice of self-denial and delayed gratification makes you a healthier, more poised, and better moderated person (who definitely still has a penis, phew!). Ultimately, self- control is a character trait ~or *ahem*, fruit of the spirit, for the Christian folk~ that will help you be a better long-term partner in your 'til-death-do-we-part relationship. 

Listen. I don't want to kill anyone's romantic ideas about marriage, I really don't - but it's not like you get married and then you're unfailingly super stoked to have sex with the same person three times a week for the rest of your God given life. I mean, married sex can be amazing - the longer I've been married, the better it gets (19 years, Suckas!!). But it really shouldn't shock anyone to hear that married, monogamous people still have sexual thoughts, desires, and impulses which do not include their spouses. Porn happens. Crushes happen. (Seriously, everybody has crushes. Even Christianbodies have crushes.) The problem is that, in a culture that demands instant gratification and consumes sex like a drug, a quick brush with porn or a simple crush on a coworker can quickly spiral into something devastating. 

To top it off, we've done a really bad job of teaching about sex in the Church. Our approach has been to shame girls for having it, and shame boys for wanting it. And when the smart kids ask, "Why wait?", we shrug our shoulders like a hillbilly and say, "Because the Bible says." Then we give the girls a purity ring and we give the boys nothing and we cross our fingers and hope they'll cross their legs. So dumb.

We've made virginity the goal, when it is purity that we should be aiming for; They're not the same thing. Sexual purity is a life long spiritual practice that doesn't begin or end with a single sex act, just as it doesn't begin or end on a wedding night. So when we are asked, "Why wait?", we should have an answer that empowers and prepares people to choose wisely for a lifetime. We should be teaching people something they can carry with them beyond their first roll in the hay. 

Why wait? Um. Because you need to learn some freaking self-control. That's why.

No kidding, the person who is a slave to their sexual desires will have a difficult row to hoe. ←Heh. See what I did there? ;) But the man or woman who has a sense of mastery over their own sexual appetite will be far less likely to fall into the easy traps of addiction and infidelity that plague marriages today. I don't mean to imply that postponing sex guarantees fidelity – it certainly doesn't. And I don't think this is a fail safe for a long and happy marriage, but I think delaying sex is a pretty solid beginning.

So I tell my kids, much to their horrified chagrin;

"I know it's hard to be near the person you're aching to touch and kiss and do... um... other... like naked things with. I know! I get it. We all get it. But the person you're with right now? That person is not the last person you will have those feelings toward, and you need to know what it feels like to not act on those feelings, because a day will come when you will have to exercise self-control for the sake of the relationship you've given your life to - and, trust me, you will want to know how to do that. Do not relinquish that power without a fight. So, really, consider the wait. There's value in waiting. (But if you don't wait? Condom. Please. Because babies. And emotional wounds. And your penis will rot off...)

Waiting is an act of maturity and discipline that can help refine your humanity, and that of your mate. And while I still don't think sex before marriage is the biggest deal of all the deals ever, I do think waiting is a good start toward a long and healthy life with the person you've chosen to love. Plus, statistically, married people have WAY more sex than single people. So exercise self-control while you're waiting to get married, then use that well honed skill to help you stay married and – BOOM – buckets of sex for a lifetime! ...That's bad math, but still.

So, Why wait? 

Wait because self-control is a virtue necessary to living a life of purity, and waiting is just good practice. 

That's it. That's all.

....        ....        ....

Here's a link to part 1, if you missed it: Sex. 

Thoughts? 

The Taco is Amazing.

My husband is born a multi-tasker. Back in the day, when he was a cop, I liked to call him at night before I went to sleep. I'd ask him what he was doing and the answer was always something like, “Oh, I'm just driving 110 in a high-speed chase, PMing a knock-knock joke to my partner, and eating a taco.” Then I'd be like, “AND YOU ANSWERED YOUR PHONE?!” And he'd say, “Yup. Hold on a sec.”, and I'd hear him cue his radio, muttering cross streets to dispatch in his deep, serious cop-voice, and then he'd be back, “This taco is AMAZING...”

How I envy him.

Whatever the opposite of a multi-tasker is? I'm that. I'm a barely-do-a-single-thing-at-once-er. If have tons of crap to get done, I have to make a list on a piece of paper, and then I have to carry that piece of paper around with me, checking things off as I go. Sometimes I have to refer to the list when, in the middle of a task, I have completely forgotten what I'm doing and find myself standing in my bedroom, or the kitchen, or Target, or a parking garage in midtown with my face all scrunched up, like, “Wait. What was I doing?”

It's kind of a problem.

The thing is? Life doesn't give a fat turd about my to-do list. It just piles stuff on, all willy-nilly, without an ounce of consideration for my lack of capacity to get stuff done. Life is so rude. Since I know this about life, you'd think I could plan for it by putting things like “dead car battery” and “broken incisor” and “unexpected guests” on the list. You'd think I would just build in time for “stitches”and “stepping in dog poop”, but I don't. Then, when things start to pile up, I feel like I'm in the drivers seat of El Chupacabra's patrol car, racing too fast, typing a blog post, yelling at my kids, and not even remotely enjoying the taco. Because, unlike my multi-tasking hulk of a husband, I don't feel like I'm in control when there's so much going on. In fact, the complete opposite is true; I feel like I'm a split second away from crashing and burning.

And that makes me cranky.

And then nobody likes me.

You know why? Because nobody wants to hang out with the chick who's white-knuckling life. Nobody. She's no fun. And her face always looks like she just smelled a fart.

I tried to be pissy about my cop-husband's habit of doing too much at once. I told him it was irresponsible and foolish and dangerous. “You're too casual about it all!”, I fumed.

He looked back at me and said, “Um. You know I'm a trained professional, right?”

I didn't really get his point, but that statement lingered in my head for years. Until the other day - When I was going a million miles an hour in no less than 37 directions, wrangling kids and running errands, texting through hard times with a friend who needed good words, researching sex-trafficking and slavery, squealing into the phone at my sister's big news, planning an upcoming talk in my head, digging through the tangle of receipts and gum wrappers in my purse to find my 3 foot list of things yet to-do... and it felt crazy, but it also felt good. And then it hit me: The taco is amazing.

When you're smack in the middle of the space you were designed for, life is easy to savor.

I am a trained professional. I am uniquely equipped to handle my bizzness.

Yes, I have to make lists (and take medication) to function like a human being, but I have been entrusted with this job. I've been groomed to parent these boys and comfort that friend, and I've been prepped to write and speak and share stuff on the internet. I can do all of those things - I can even do them all at once - because that's what I was made for.

When I loosen my grip, my sweet skills take over, and I don't feel like I'm fighting to stay on the road. It just happens. Kinda naturally. So, even in the chaos of Crazytown, I can relax. I can take a breath. I can enjoy the taco.

And the taco is pretty much amazing. 

....        ....        ....

Do you need to loosen your grip? Maybe pick up a taco?

Where's the Sanctuary?

I was alone in the church lobby the morning she walked in.

Scummy, in sweats and a tank and a barely held together bun, my plan was to just run in and run out without crossing paths with anyone. I may have been barefoot, I honestly don't remember. What I do remember is how very much I did not want to be seen. I was just running a quick errand, so I had taken the long way through the lobby, up the stairs, and into the offices through the back door. (Fine. It's the really long way.) I was already on my way out, skittering across the wide open space like an antelope (if an antelope was slow, and derpy, and out of breath from running down stairs), and that's when I saw her. She had her hands cupped between her face and the glass door... She was searching for signs of life. And there I was. Just me. A fat clumsy antelope, trying to hide from the world.

Not gonna lie, ignoring her crossed my mind. “If you don't make eye contact, she'll never even know you saw her.” But that seemed mean, even for me, so I took the high road and let her in. 

This girl was so, so beautiful. All black hair and dark eyes, brooding and broken. She had the freshly inked outline of lilies and leaves tumbling over one shoulder and down her arm, still waiting for color, which on this day would have seemed out of place for there was no color left in her - she was all grey, from the inside out.

She told me she didn't know why she was there, she'd never stepped foot in a church before, she didn't know where else to go. She was lost, she said. Tears began to well in her dazed eyes, and the purpose of her visit came with them. “I got hammered last night... and I f*cked my husband's best friend.” Those terrible words were holding in so much, and that's all it took for the flood gates to open and a tormented soul to pour out on the floor, right there in front of me.

She cried. I cried. We cried... together... which sounds kinda weird, but it wasn't.

She talked. I listened.

And I totally want to tell you how I gave her some brilliant words of wisdom, or some bit of truth to hold on to. But I. Did. Not. Know. What. To. Say. I mean, jeez, I'm not a counselor. I don't even know what to say to my own children when they screw the pooch, y'know? Ugh! The pressure!!

So I just sat there, feeling inadequate. And scummy.

And she sat there, feeling inadequate. And probably super scummy.

We met each other where we were at in the most primal way because there was nothing false between us. No pretense, no makeup, no shoes. …Ok. She had shoes... But what more could we have done than sit and cry and talk and listen?

We stayed there for awhile and I did the things I thought a good Christian would do; I gave her my number, I prayed with her, I invited her back. Finally, she took a deep breath and stood to leave, and then she paused, “...Where's the Sanctuary?”

I motioned toward the double-doors separating the lobby from our big, boxy auditorium, and I said, “You found it.”

But I knew we weren't really talking about the same thing...

Because, in that moment, I remembered so vividly being the girl with her face pressed against the glass, broken and hurting, crushed by the weight of a world I couldn't seem to navigate. It was desperation that sent me out in search of a place of Rest and Peace and Nourishment. I was hopeless and shameful. I was starving for Love. I was lost and wandering. 

The first time I walked into a church, I wasn't looking for salvation.  

                 I was looking for Sanctuary. 

                               And she met me at the door. 

....     ....    ....

If the Church is to be the last bastion of light and hope for the world, we must open our big glass doors. To everyone. 

If the Church is to be a stronghold for the weak, the starved, the sick and dying, we must invite them in. And welcome them. 

If the Church is to lead people to the foot of the Cross, then we better have a damn good answer when the world asks, "Um, excuse me. Where is the Sanctuary?