***I wrote this 3 months ago.  But, it’s still relevant, every bit.***

It’s hard to write this, I’ll admit it.  I wrote an article about, um, yeah, cheating that was recently published in the book,   We wanted to answer the question: what happens when young Christian women speak the unspeakable about our experiences in faith?  We all hoped to move past, push deeper than the typical Christian women talking points.

Christians can go on ALL DAY about godly submission but what about how God feels about divorce, about gay Christian women getting married or Christian couples choosing (and loving) their choice not to procreate? Also? Christians are a little slow to touch on lust issues, when we don’t love our kids well at all or when we cheat…or least kinda sorta want to.  So I took that one on.  I wrote it for the broken woman.

I wrote about being an attempted cheater.  I put it out there not as a one-time wow-factor story. No, no, no, no, no.  Here’s the thing: this IS my struggle.  This IS my ongoing shame.  This IS what the Devil has used for the entirety of my life to push, shove & TKO my ass.


Three days after I decided to accept Jesus into my life, .  When Jesus said, “you don’t have to be this anymore, you don’t have to do this anymore,” I heard & believed.  I believed it was true enough that I let go of that man and I pursued a life of complete sexual purity until I married.

For a long time, I believed that Jesus could keep me.  Until one day I realized I didn’t believe that anymore.

I believed it until again the Devil came back waving that particular carrot right in front of my face, reminding me, “you, Grace have no worth outside of your sexuality.  You remember that you good-for-nothing, hoodrat, hoochie.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “I’ll remember that.” I’m too tired to argue with the Devil today, and tomorrow, and the day after that.

The truth breaks in momentarily, weekly, monthly, annually.

Somewhere in between, random men tear it down with the flick of a wand and the lies flow back in like a river pent-up under a crusty damn.

I rehearse:

I am good for nothing outside of my sexuality.

I am good for nothing outside of my sexuality.

I am good for nothing.  Grace, you are no good,  you may as well come hither men, for I have the sex demons

Join me in reading the rest of this post over at A Deeper Story?




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