Can I let you in on a little secret?
The purity movement failed us.
It failed all of us. Giant F's plastered on the report cards of closest friends causing them to throw the system and rebel. Hidden shame branded onto the hearts of the most disciplined Christians as they set their highest bar. The most ambitious went for the trophy, “the wedding day first kiss," only to find themselves rushing a marriage they weren’t ready for or hiding secrets they didn’t know how to tell.
We sat and we listened as we were told all the things we couldn’t wear, do, say or touch. They didn’t call Him an angry God but He felt like one as the rumors cut ties with friends and the gossip branded girls and guys into categories. Those who could keep up and those who couldn’t. Those who could wear something like that and those who wouldn’t. As if what you wore was the determination who you were and also who you could never be.
Growing up I wasn’t told what to wear much. Mostly I was trained. Trained by the opinions of girls, guys, and gossip what I could put on and what I should cover. You could call me pure or prude, but a more accurate label would be coward. Truthfully, I craved the freedom of the more wild girls I knew. In some ways, they seemed far more real and alive than those the church considered good, fit and proper. I wanted to be alive, but more than that, I wanted to be liked by God. And I knew you had to choose, one or the other. So I did.
I called my insecurity purity and let it own me.
I didn’t let even my best friends in on my life because I knew only a sterling person could be a witness for God. He wants a “bride without blemish” and I couldn’t let anyone know the truth that it was just as impossible for me as it was for them.
I’ve been on a journey of late of how I want to teach sexuality to my kids one day. Many things I am still learning and unlearning myself, but a few things I dream for.
I dream of teaching them what is lovely rather than what is off-limits.
I dream of teaching them what it sacred more than what is defiling.
I dream of giving them permission to dream over boundaries to follow.
I dream of showing them their sexuality is beautiful, fun, and holy, not something to be stuffed and ashamed of.
I dream that they go dancing, wear what they feel incredible in, and have fascinating conversations with strangers.
I dream they have real and vibrant relationships with their friends, that they don’t question their motives or distrust themselves, but engage fully with the people around them.
I dream that when they fall in love they would discover the remarkable beauty of another soul more than the momentary high of their body.
I dream that when they make a mistake, they would know grace. They would know grace so fully and intimately that it would drown every fear of punishment. Every feeling of inadequacy and failure.
I dream they would know love dearly, so dearly they would feel invincible.
I dream of a generation that doesn’t reach for purity but knows they are pure.
I dream of a generation with something more valuable than a perfect moral report card. A generation that knows their Maker enough to know the way He made them is perfect. A people free. Free from guilt, loved from fear, and wildly in love with the precious gift of life they’ve been given.
I dream of a people awake and alive.
A people that shine, in all their imperfection, as brilliantly as the son.
