MY LOVE STORY (SO FAR), PART ONE: PURITY RINGS AND SELFISH PROMISES
Part of me really does not want to write this blog post.
For one thing, it has very little to do with being an author or writing consultant or story explorer, which are the main points of this website.
For another, I’m a fiercely private person—especially in the romance department. My love life is something I guard like a bulldog and rarely ever discuss with, well, anyone, let alone the whole world.
And, finally, I like being liked. I don’t enjoy making people uncomfortable, I hate being offensive, and I never want to purposefully do something that would either cause someone to laugh at or be angry with me (or even to roll their eyes, which I’m pretty sure is going to happen with some of you reading this).
Yet, here I am, writing it, because I believe that’s what Jesus wants me to do.
So here goes…
I almost entitled this series “A Tale of Two Promise Rings”. Those of you familiar with the Purity Movement probably understand “promise ring” to mean a ring you put on your finger to remind yourself of a commitment to sexual abstinence, to save yourself physically until united with your husband or wife. Others of you may know the term by its more recent meaning, as a ring you give your significant other in a commitment to love them forever, whether or not you ever seal that commitment with marriage. The difference in these two definitions is rather colossal, but they are not why I almost called this blog “A Tale of Two Promise Rings”.
I almost called it that because of my own love story.
Technically, I’ve never had a boyfriend so you could argue I’ve never had a love story. And, technically, only one ring was involved, which is why I changed the title: one simple band of silver-looking metal, so big I had to either wear it on my thumb or middle finger to keep it from slipping off. Yet, in time, it came to represent two very different commitments, so different that the ring itself almost feels like two within my memory.
I’ll never forget when I purchased it. I was thirteen-years-old at a Jaci Velasquez concert. She had written a beautiful song entitled “I Promise” as a statement about her personal commitment to abstinence and had promise rings for sale on her merchandise table. I still remember standing there, heart pounding, feeling the significance of the moment as I picked one perfect ring out of the bowl of so many others and handed the concert volunteer my money. I knew as it slipped onto my finger my life would never be the same. I would be faithful to my future husband even before I met him and, some glorious day, I would proudly give him that ring as a sign of my eternal love. It was a sincere vow and I meant it with all the earnestness my thirteen-year-old heart could muster.
The problem was, it was selfish.
Interesting how an abstinence commitment could seem so self-less—after all, I was committing to forgo temporary pleasure for the good of my Future Husband—and yet be so self-ish at the same time. Certainly, that’s not the case for every person who makes such a choice; I didn’t even realize it was the case with mine. But I was making that choice on my terms. Yes, I loved my Husband and, yes, wanted to be faithful to him…but I also wanted him to be wealthy. And politically prominent. And drop-dead gorgeous. I wanted him to live in a penthouse in New York City so I could drive a Ferrari and vacation in Tahiti and buy my clothes from Saks Fifth Avenue and Victoria’s Secret (this was also during the days when I wanted to be a supermodel, much to my Mom’s concern). And I wanted to wrap him around my finger so I could feel the power of holding a man’s heart like putty in my hands. A hopeless tom-boy, up until that point my romantic life had been pretty blank, comprised of secret crushes and silent rejection. Losing the boy I liked to the gorgeous cheerleader while I remained planted in the infamous “friend”-zone was an all too common tale. But as I entered my High School years I vowed that would change and in the same spirit of self-effort I bought that promise ring.
Don’t get me wrong: I genuinely wanted to love my Husband selflessly. I genuinely wanted to be pure and good. I even genuinely wanted to live a life that pleased God.
I just wanted all those things on my terms.
But fear gnawed at me. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t a fear of not being able to keep my promise—which is especially amazing to me as I think back on it. Truly, I should have been afraid about that! I had already failed in the faithfulness department pretty royally by the age of thirteen. Even as a homeschooled middle schooler, sexual sin found its way into my life. Not that I was “sleeping around” (by the mercy of God) but lust was a common companion: ever eager to tempt me towards forbidden pleasure only to torture me with guilt afterwards. For years (yes, years…you think children don’t struggle with this stuff?) I had lived with shame over my inner sin. Over and over I cried out to God for the forgiveness I knew I needed and knew He offered, yet never truly felt like I received. You’d think if I had been afraid of something it would have been over my own pitiful weakness to live a faithful life.
But that wasn’t what I was afraid of.
I was afraid of Jesus.
Because even as I slipped that ring on my finger I knew He wanted it. He wanted my promise. He wanted my dream. He wanted my Future Husband and every hope of the life we would have together. He wanted all my desires: the penthouse and beach house, clothes and cars, prestige and power. He wanted my ring and everything my ring represented.
He wanted my love story.
He wanted my life.
He wanted me.
But He wanted me on His terms—not mine.
“Out of the question!” I argued. How could I possibly trust God with my love story? With my life? Didn’t He specialize in dressing people in “sackcloth and ashes”? I had already trusted Him for salvation, wasn’t that enough? How could I give Him more—and more than more: everything? It was unthinkable! I knew what the Holy God of the Universe did with people who gave Him complete control of their lives…and I wasn’t about to allow myself to get shipped off to Africa to live a life of misery married to a fat, balding missionary! “No, Sir!” I said, putting my foot down, “I’ll take the millionaire and the penthouse on my own terms, thank You very much!”
What I didn’t know then was that my terms were about to expire.
(And am I ever glad they did! 😊)
CHOOSE Heroic,
CHRISTIS JOY
