13 VOLUME 11 |ISSUE 2 |2020
I
t started off as a normal September afternoon. I was standing
at my kitchen stove, one of those janky ones with coils for
burners, and my friend Luke was sitting at the table next to
me while I made us dinner. I was telling him about a recent hike
I went on with a new guy friend of mine when, suddenly, Luke’s
whole demeanor shifted. His shoulders tensed and his usually
gentle voice took a sharp edge. He started interrogating me,
asking who was this guy? Did he like me? Did I like him?
I struggled to answer Luke’s questions without showing my
nervousness. I had never seen him that upset before, and I’d
known him for a couple of years. His questions also confused
me. Luke knew I didn’t date. He knew I was saving myself for my
future husband, and that I had never even kissed or held hands
with a guy. I figured Luke was just being overprotective—I was
only 17, and since he was 20 and like an older brother to me, I
told myself that he was just looking out for my safety. But his
questions wouldn’t stop. He seemed suspicious. Angry, even.
Finally, I called him out on it.
“It seems like you’re acting jealous,” I said. “Why?”
“Because,” Luke said, staring straight into my eyes. “God told me
you’re my future wife.”
Everything slowed. The light seemed to tunnel out of the
kitchen. All I could hear was the whirring of a fan, and only my
hand resting on the stove kept me upright. It didn’t occur to
me to ask Luke how he heard God. I never knew how God told
anyone anything.
Something inside me wanted to cry out in protest, to tell Luke
that he couldn’t be my future husband, because I didn’t love
him, not in that way. But I silenced that cry out of sheer terror.
I believed Luke’s revelation was God’s revelation, and I couldn’t
go against God. I didn’t have time to think, and so I made the
split-second decision to go along with it. I felt I had to go along
with it, because to do otherwise would be to defy God, and to
defy God would allow Satan to drag me to hell.
Luke was smiling at me. I smiled back, desperately hoping to
cover up the betrayal I felt. I felt like Luke had betrayed me.
God had betrayed me. And one week later, I felt like my father
betrayed me.
I was sitting on my couch in numb silence when Luke called
my dad to formally ask for my hand in marriage. I didn’t realize
how much I was hoping my father would say no until Luke’s face
broke into a smile. My heart felt like someone dropped it. Luke
passed me the phone, and I heard my dad tell me that God had
shown him a while ago Luke was the man I would marry—he’d
been wondering when he’d get this call. Luke called his mother
next and as though God wanted to make extra sure that I was
convinced marrying Luke was his will, Luke’s mom said that
she, too, had heard from God that I was going to marry her son.
God’s will couldn’t have been clearer.
When the calls were finished, I turned to Luke, forcing another
smile I didn’t feel.
“So are we engaged now?” I asked.
He grinned at me. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
It didn’t seem possible. I’d never had a boyfriend. Now I had a
fiancé. I blinked back tears, not knowing why I was so shocked. I
had been groomed for that arrangement my whole life.
Purity Culture
I grew up in what is now called purity culture. Purity culture
taught me that my love life would unfold in three ways: (a) I
would remain a virgin until my wedding night, and I wouldn’t so
much as hold hands with a guy until I was engaged to him (b)
As a girl, I would dress modestly and be faithful to my husband
all the days of my life, including before I knew him and (c) I
would never date, but I would know who my future husband
was because God would confirm it through my spiritual elders,
and especially through my dad. This is exactly how my story
unfolded.
Purity culture is based on the belief that sex should be had
only within heterosexual marriage, and that all lustful thoughts
before marriage are sinful. In the Christian churches of my
upbringing, merely having a crush on somebody was not only
a sin, but also an act of betrayal toward my future spouse. One
youth pastor said that we girls were like white porcelain dishes,
and when we gave ourselves away, we let people spit all over
our dish. What man would ever want to marry us and eat off a
dirty dish?
The Bible says that, among God’s holy people, there must be not
even a hint of sexual impurity.1This teaching played out in my
youth groups, with girls being handed oversized, baggy T-shirts
if they showed up in a tank top that bared their arms. Not even a
hint meant boys were urged to publicly repent if they watched
pornography, so that the rest of us could hold them accountable
for their sin. Not even a hint meant that, when I was accused
of flirting with all the guys on a youth-group mission trip, I
had to go to each one of them personally, with a pastor, and
apologize to him for being a distraction. My crime was wearing
baggy cargo shorts, and treating the guys too much like actual
brothers instead of brothers-in-Christ, as evidenced by my
comfortability around them. That was the first time I was made
aware that the lust of men was my fault.
The shame that imprinted itself in me left long-lasting scars. By
the time I was betrothed to Luke, I was instilled with a fear of
my womanhood and resigned to the fact that my life would be
ruled by the men God placed in it.
By the time I was betrothed to
Luke, I was instilled with a fear
of my womanhood and resigned to
the fact that my life would be ruled
by the men God placed in it.
I
t started off as a normal September afternoon. I was standing
at my kitchen stove, one of those janky ones with coils for
burners, and my friend Luke was sitting at the table next to
me while I made us dinner. I was telling him about a recent hike
I went on with a new guy friend of mine when, suddenly, Luke’s
whole demeanor shifted. His shoulders tensed and his usually
gentle voice took a sharp edge. He started interrogating me,
asking who was this guy? Did he like me? Did I like him?
I struggled to answer Luke’s questions without showing my
nervousness. I had never seen him that upset before, and I’d
known him for a couple of years. His questions also confused
me. Luke knew I didn’t date. He knew I was saving myself for my
future husband, and that I had never even kissed or held hands
with a guy. I figured Luke was just being overprotective—I was
only 17, and since he was 20 and like an older brother to me, I
told myself that he was just looking out for my safety. But his
questions wouldn’t stop. He seemed suspicious. Angry, even.
Finally, I called him out on it.
“It seems like you’re acting jealous,” I said. “Why?”
“Because,” Luke said, staring straight into my eyes. “God told me
you’re my future wife.”
Everything slowed. The light seemed to tunnel out of the
kitchen. All I could hear was the whirring of a fan, and only my
hand resting on the stove kept me upright. It didn’t occur to
me to ask Luke how he heard God. I never knew how God told
anyone anything.
Something inside me wanted to cry out in protest, to tell Luke
that he couldn’t be my future husband, because I didn’t love
him, not in that way. But I silenced that cry out of sheer terror.
I believed Luke’s revelation was God’s revelation, and I couldn’t
go against God. I didn’t have time to think, and so I made the
split-second decision to go along with it. I felt I had to go along
with it, because to do otherwise would be to defy God, and to
defy God would allow Satan to drag me to hell.
Luke was smiling at me. I smiled back, desperately hoping to
cover up the betrayal I felt. I felt like Luke had betrayed me.
God had betrayed me. And one week later, I felt like my father
betrayed me.
I was sitting on my couch in numb silence when Luke called
my dad to formally ask for my hand in marriage. I didn’t realize
how much I was hoping my father would say no until Luke’s face
broke into a smile. My heart felt like someone dropped it. Luke
passed me the phone, and I heard my dad tell me that God had
shown him a while ago Luke was the man I would marry—he’d
been wondering when he’d get this call. Luke called his mother
next and as though God wanted to make extra sure that I was
convinced marrying Luke was his will, Luke’s mom said that
she, too, had heard from God that I was going to marry her son.
God’s will couldn’t have been clearer.
When the calls were finished, I turned to Luke, forcing another
smile I didn’t feel.
“So are we engaged now?” I asked.
He grinned at me. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
It didn’t seem possible. I’d never had a boyfriend. Now I had a
fiancé. I blinked back tears, not knowing why I was so shocked. I
had been groomed for that arrangement my whole life.
Purity Culture
I grew up in what is now called purity culture. Purity culture
taught me that my love life would unfold in three ways: (a) I
would remain a virgin until my wedding night, and I wouldn’t so
much as hold hands with a guy until I was engaged to him (b)
As a girl, I would dress modestly and be faithful to my husband
all the days of my life, including before I knew him and (c) I
would never date, but I would know who my future husband
was because God would confirm it through my spiritual elders,
and especially through my dad. This is exactly how my story
unfolded.
Purity culture is based on the belief that sex should be had
only within heterosexual marriage, and that all lustful thoughts
before marriage are sinful. In the Christian churches of my
upbringing, merely having a crush on somebody was not only
a sin, but also an act of betrayal toward my future spouse. One
youth pastor said that we girls were like white porcelain dishes,
and when we gave ourselves away, we let people spit all over
our dish. What man would ever want to marry us and eat off a
dirty dish?
The Bible says that, among God’s holy people, there must be not
even a hint of sexual impurity.1This teaching played out in my
youth groups, with girls being handed oversized, baggy T-shirts
if they showed up in a tank top that bared their arms. Not even a
hint meant boys were urged to publicly repent if they watched
pornography, so that the rest of us could hold them accountable
for their sin. Not even a hint meant that, when I was accused
of flirting with all the guys on a youth-group mission trip, I
had to go to each one of them personally, with a pastor, and
apologize to him for being a distraction. My crime was wearing
baggy cargo shorts, and treating the guys too much like actual
brothers instead of brothers-in-Christ, as evidenced by my
comfortability around them. That was the first time I was made
aware that the lust of men was my fault.
The shame that imprinted itself in me left long-lasting scars. By
the time I was betrothed to Luke, I was instilled with a fear of
my womanhood and resigned to the fact that my life would be
ruled by the men God placed in it.
By the time I was betrothed to
Luke, I was instilled with a fear
of my womanhood and resigned to
the fact that my life would be ruled
by the men God placed in it.
