Purity Culture

If there’s one thing I’m terrible at – well, besides snowboarding, and whistling, and technology, and picking out non-burn-inducing mouthwash –

it’s romantic relationships.

You guys, for real.  I’m the worst.

It’s all fun and games while the mystery is still there.  You know, trying to figure out if they’re into you, the inconsistent and unpredictable texting, the semi-ambiguous hangouts, the game.  But once there’s, like, intentionality involved, as in words like, “I am interested in you, and I want to get to know you better,” my mind and body go into freak out mode.  Because, in my mind, as soon as someone gives up the ruse, throws in the towel on the game, that someone just gave me something, a piece of their heart or mind or something of themselves for which I am now responsible.  Responsible to accept and cherish or to give back with a little more wear and tear than before. 

I can’t handle it.

I was in a coffee shop with some good friends a few weeks ago.  One was in a struggling relationship, another was struggling to decide whether she wanted to pursue a relationship, and then there was me:  single and free. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” one of the struggling ones said through tears.  “I mean, I feel like I’ve been told my whole life to be so careful in dating, to guard myself against impurity and being with the wrong kind of guy, but it just produced this fear of screwing up to the point where I didn’t live.”

We all chimed in with similar feelings, recalling the weight of the church youth group purity culture in which we grew up, telling us not to give ourselves away or kiss boys in places we wouldn’t want to tell our grandmas about or maybe just not date at all because really, what’s the point, and who wants that emotional baggage?  Because if you hand a guy your emotional or physical rose, or Styrofoam cup, or wrapped up Jolly Rancher before you marry him, you’re damaged goods, and nobody wants you anymore.  It was a culture of performance and fear, one that got us hyped up about our husband lists and wedding days but never told us how to become marriable human beings because we were so set on avoiding the potentially wrong relationship. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m all for the heart behind the purity talks.  I’m all for pursuing the best thing, sex in the context of marriage, the way God designed it.  But when we start exalting the pursuit of an ideal over the pursuit of Jesus Himself, things always get a little screwy. 

And, honestly, I don’t know what to do about it. 

I’m certainly not the first one to bring this up.  It seems like I’ve recently seen more blogs floating around than usual on this topic. 

I’m also not trying to chalk up my inability to function well in relationships entirely to teaching I received throughout my youth.  I’m a big girl, and I need to be able to make big girl decisions.

But I do wonder. 

I wonder what it would have been like to go about those early dating years without so much fear of making the wrong decision, of tainting my purity ring, of feeling condemned to Hades every time I went too far.  I wonder what it would have been like to focus more on Jesus Himself, on the freedom and fullness of His love that is more satisfying than professions of longtime interest over MSN chat or a first “real kiss” under the stars, a love that actually fills you up so much that you don’t even want to tread the wide road because you’re already accepted but reminds you that – though feeling broken and worthless – you are still whole and still redeemed if you do. 

And maybe it’s okay for me to receive that piece of emotional something and treat it the best I can, knowing I may not be able to return it in its original state – trusting that the God who makes me whole can take care of other people, too.