This is Chapter 2 of my story about femininity, sexuality, and faith. Read Chapter 1 first.

Sex ed is rather straightforward when you’re home schooled.

As the oldest of six kids, I was the first to experience the “Passport to Purity” tradition. (As my mom always joked, I was the “guinea pig” of the family.) When I turned eleven, my mom took me on a special weekend getaway, just the two of us. We watched The Polar Express in the theaters, awestruck by the lifelike visuals. We stayed in our own hotel room.

And we spent long car rides listening to some very intriguing tapes about puberty and… human reproduction.

Every kid reacts differently when they first learn about the birds and the bees. For me, I took it in with scientific curiosity. I felt a lightbulb go off in my head. Why of course, this made perfect, logical sense! I had studied illustrations of chicken reproduction from a nature book once. Why hadn’t I worked it out that people made babies the same way animals did?

As I learned about the changes my body would soon go through, and the ways I might be “tempted” as a teenager to do impure things with boys, Mom often paused the tapes so we could talk about them. None of these talks felt awkward for me; I had an open mind, and I was comfortable with my mom.

At some point, she mentioned homosexuality.

“Sometimes, men will have sex with men, or women will have sex with women. Both the men and women who do this are called ‘gay’; the women are called ‘lesbians’. But we know, according to the Bible, that this is wrong. This is a sin.”

I don’t remember her exact words, but they were something to this effect.

Like everything else I learned that weekend, I accepted it without question and tucked the information away in my brain.

Not long after this brief conversation about homosexuality, I was staring out the window, watching the scenery go by. At this point, we were taking a break from the tapes, and I let my mind wander.

I noticed a billboard advertisement with three female models. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered what those women looked like under their clothes.

I flung the thought away as soon as it appeared, surprised and disgusted. It was the first sexual thought I’d ever had. Sure, I’d had a crush on a boy once, but that was all emotions and innocent, buddy friendship, nothing more.

As soon as I discarded the inappropriate thought, another slid in to take its place.

“That’s what you are,” it whispered, referring to the conversation I’d just had with Mom. “A lesbian.”

I took this to be the voice of Satan, trying to tempt and confuse me. But I just laughed internally at the idea, finding it as absurd as if someone had said, “You’re a hippo.”

“No I’m not,” I responded in my head, and never gave the incident a second thought.

Not for years.

I was thirteen when Dad gave me my purity ring.

My parents always framed it that they couldn’t, and wouldn’t, make us save sex for marriage. But they believed it was the right thing to do, and that such a decision would save us from much heartache in life. Ultimately, it was still our choice.

But it was with love that they strongly recommended we make a promise for ourselves, for our future spouses, to save our virginity for our wedding night. To save yourself for your spouse was to give them a precious, holy gift. To have sex before marriage was to corrupt that gift.

Heck, the choice seemed clear to me. I was in.

So, when I became a teenager, Dad took me on a sweet father-daughter date to a fancy Thai restaurant. After dinner, he pulled open the drawstrings of a tiny, red pouch, and presented me with my ring.

I loved it.

It was a simple, silver band engraved with the words “True Love Waits“. I thought it was all deeply romantic: Slipping this band onto my right middle finger, and making a promise to the spouse I hadn’t met yet, with my father as witness.

My dad prayed for me, and then encouraged me to pray, too. I felt a little awkward, and said the only thing I could think of… the only thing that felt right.

“God, please help me to keep myself pure for my future husband.” It felt like an empty prayer. This wasn’t something I struggled with. I felt no temptation to have sex. I added, “And please help my future husband to keep himself pure, too.”

There. Simple. Straight to the point. What else could I say? Dad hugged me, his eyes warm with love and pride.

True love waits.

What could be more romantic than those words? What could be sweeter?

And what could be easier than waiting?

Next: Read Chapter 3.