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.is purity really worth it?

This entry was sent to me by a friend of mine and I was blown away by the shear rawness and clarity with which he stakes a claim for purity for us guys.  He first lists 25 reasons that purity is worth it, posing a set of three questions that we can ask for each issue.  He then shares his journal entry from the day he considered Reason #8. Enjoy.


There are three main factors that draw people into the Internet porn: Accessibility, Affordability, and Anonymity. Like a three-legged stool: kick out one of the legs and it will fall. – Alvin Cooper

Pornography causes impotence—an inability to function with your own sexual power. – Dr. Judith Reisman

You’re either going to give in and go for it, and sacrifice everything for pixels on the screen, or you make a commitment to what’s real – John Mandeville

Blessed are the pure, for they will see God. – Jesus

Why Purity?

1. God’s relationship with me.

2. My relationship with God.

3. My relationship with the world.

4. God’s relationship with the world.

5. My relationship with my family.

6. My relationship with my guy friends.

7. My relationship with my girl friends.

8. My relationship with my future wife.

9. My relationship with my future kids.

10. My joy.

11. My patience.

12. My devotional life.

13. My ministry.

14. My worship leading.

15. My song writing.

16. My discipline.

17. My clarity.

18. My present.

19. My future.

20. My hopes and dreams.

21. My intimacy.

22. My personality.

23. My freedom.

24. My manhood.

25. My time.

What effect does sexual impurity have on each one of those things?

What are the benefits to being pure in this context?

What are the consequences for being impure in this context?

8. My relationship with my future wife. 

Could this get any more important?  No.  Not except my relationship with God. Jesus I picture her in my mind.  Sometimes she’s blonde with a beautiful smile.  Sometimes she’s brunette with a mischievous grin on her face.  Her beautiful body tantalizing me as only a woman’s can.  She knows her power but it is under control, she is God’s woman.  She is gorgeous and wonderful and the women want to be like her and the men want to be with her, but she has chosen me.  She has her share of scars and hurts, rejections and embarrassments, but her eyes are on you Lord.  She is available.  She is a leader.  She is your daughter in every way.  I don’t know if I know this girl.  I can’t wait to meet her.  Hopefully she can’t wait to meet me either.  It excites me, inside and out.  But she is a treasure, a gift that is worth protecting even when I don’t know her.  Jesus, you know that you haven’t given any woman to me at this point that I really have taken to.  I know what it is to like a girl, and it just hasn’t happened.  I think there is a clear message from you regarding this.  Wait.  Wait Jesse wait.  You are not ready.  There are more important things to do.  I have too much to learn.  I have too much that I need to focus on that will not deter me.  A woman is distracting for sure!  But, the things that I’m learning directly impact that relationship.  I’m learning courage.  I’m learning to make decisions outside of emotion.  I’m learning purity and focus.  I’m learning resolve.  I’m in a state of flux right now. It is little wonder God doesn’t want a woman in it yet.  There is too much riding on me becoming pure, loving God and finding my way.  She needs me to be doing this.  It is intense and difficult.  But she doesn’t want some guy that isn’t focused, disciplined or pure.  She needs a man that she can cast herself onto, who will be strength and leadership in the relationship.  She needs a man that will hear from God, listen and obey.  I have only just begun.  I am a baby.  I am focused, but to what end?  I need to fall deeper in love with you Jesus.  You will help bring a woman to me who is similarly aligned.  I have much to offer her, but only because you have offered yourself to me.  Your truth courses through my veins.  When I am pure my wife and I will have intimacy that I have never experienced. We will communicate, physically, vocally, emotionally and spiritually.  It will work together.  Not perfectly, but together.  Love can grow from that.  A home can be built on that.  I will be more patient and encouraging.  I won’t try to hide away from bad days.  I will let her in completely.  There are no closets that are dark and hidden from her heart.  She will probe like you probe Jesus; she will find the places that are deep and hidden.  She will want to come in and help me clean those out.  How much better if I am already clean?  She will have solid ground which to plant herself.  She will feel respected and loved because I embrace her, but also because I have done some very hard work before I even knew her, both for her sake, and for our God.  She will feel protected because there is no competition. What happens when I am impure?  The same things that happen now will be magnified.  If I am impatient, discouraged, annoyed, angry, shamed, hidden or whatever else, she will feel it.  She will take responsibility when the responsibility was never hers.  While the secret stays secret she will feel that she did something wrong when all along it was my own sin that kept me from loving her.  Walls go up, communication breaks down; intimacy takes a nosedive.  She feels it.  She hurts because of it.  Her man is MIA.   She loses security; she doesn’t feel loved.  Her hedge of protection has cracks in it and she won’t know what to do.  She will despair because I will deny her the facts.  She knows it, but can’t force me to speak.  She doesn’t know what she has done.  She searches in vain for her weakness.  It kills her.  I deny her myself.  She feels rejected and alone.  She will turn to Jesus, but she will miss her husband.  Her heart will break because she cannot have the openness that should be there.  Her calls for sex, once greedily accepted, are now rebuffed.  My silence is deafening.  She wonders whether she should have signed up for this marriage thing at all.  Her heart is shared and she can’t take it back, nor does she want to.  But she wants my heart to fill in what she has given me.  I am sullen.  I have stolen from her.  My heart is ready to explode because I long to be whole with her.  Truth is the vehicle in which purity rides along the road of communication.  I long to talk to her, to cry, but I can’t.  She won’t understand.  I will be rejected.  I don’t figure that she already feels rejected.  After all, this whole immorality thing is based on one thing: me.  I have just forgotten.  My robotic actions and plastic answers do nothing to nullify her pain.  She works hard to stay above water, to love me despite me.  She is in it for the long haul, hoping, quietly begging God to free me from my silence.  The walls loom large, and I have too much pride to tear them down.  I am no leader.  I am a pretender.  She can barely make it through church because my mask goes on.  I am the worship leader or usher or guy in the pew-next-door.  I am happy, I am spiritual, I am dead when I get home.  Exhausted from the exertion of being someone else for a couple hours, the TV goes on and my brain goes out.  She sees my hypocrisy and despises it.  Her bitterness moves up a notch.  In my quiet moments I am horrified.  I try not to be quiet often.  I catch glimpses of the suffocation I am causing.  These moments of clarity grow.   My pride swiftly runs to catch up.  The voices inside my head say no!  Don’t tell!  There is too much at stake!  But slowly, I can no longer function.  I am dead inside.  I can’t stand to be near her.  Her once beautiful form is a reminder of what I gave up.  There have been too many women before my eyes recently; her intoxication has been desensitized in me.  But somewhere, deep down, the spark is there.  I know it is.  I know how to get it back.  Repentance.  The dreaded word.  I shove it down.  No, I can’t go there.  I can control it.   Hahaha, yeah right, and Jesse, you can fly too.  She has stopped trying to come onto me.  She knows that she will just be disappointed.  We are both robotic now.  She has to in order to stay alive with me.  The heavenly intimacy of our home has been turned into a dollhouse filled with plastic wanna-be’s and empty platitudes.  I know it is my fault.  She has done nothing wrong.  I finally accept it.  I’m past the place of denial: She hasn’t given herself to me enough.  She didn’t do this or that and it drove me away.  I deserve to be happy.  No, none of it works anymore.  My pride is dying, it’s running out of energy.  I have forgotten that Jesus doesn’t run out of energy.  He doesn’t ever stop.  He is the hunting dog that stops at nothing to claim his goal.  Truth is catching up.  I can’t ram it down into my heart anymore.  There isn’t space. The dark closet that my impurity once was is now an entire floor of my spiritual house.  It’s hard to keep it hidden.  I hear Jesus in the bushes now.  He is closer, louder, gathering strength.  I know what is coming.  The secrets will be spilled.  I now know it is inevitable.  I know he will hit me like a hurricane.  I have become brittle.    He is going to dash me into a million pieces.  I know that in a few days I will be completely undone.  God is coming and there is no stopping it.  I try to brace myself, inwardly, outwardly.  I read more of the Bible, trying to get in tune with my Savior again.  I soften towards my wife.  She notices.  A welcome change.  Maybe she thinks we have turned a corner.  She has no idea what’s coming.  I want to prepare her, but I can’t.  It just happens.  It blindsides her.  It blindsides me.  I tell her of the habits and the websites.  I tell her of the secret daydreaming.  I tell her of the masturbation and the thrill of secret sin.  I tell her the lies.  I tell her about denying her.  I tell her of the pride and the secret looks.  It takes forever.  I can’t get it all out.  It takes a couple of days.  She’s a mess.  She isn’t plastic.  I’m not plastic.  We are more like melted plastic all over the floor.  She can’t look at me, talk to me, forget touching me.  Her makeup is everywhere.  The house is a mess.  We barely can handle being at work.  I am so scared of going home.  There is more she must hear.  I know it breaks her, but she needs to hear it.  I tell her more.  She is angry.  Furious.  She hits me.  She screams and cries…loud, broken, furious cries.  She is shaking uncontrollably.  Her face red and creased.  Her teeth are gritted.  If a beautiful woman could snarl, this would be it.  It would be funny if I wasn’t scared half to death.  I’m afraid for her.  I’m afraid for me!  I’m sitting on the floor.  I can’t say anything but I’m sorry but I do it quietly because I know it’s not enough, but there are tears.  Tears!  There is emotion inside of me!  It is not quite funny, the contrast in our demeanors.  She is a tidal wave.  She is reflecting the Hurricane that came.  I am a whimpering whisper, far from the hero she married.  She is the ferocity that I married.  Her anger is terrifying and incredible.  I am broken, but wide-eyed to this presence in front of me.  As only a woman can, she changes course, breaks into tears and sobs and sobs and sobs inconsolably.   Her entire heart pouring out with her tears.  All of the plastic living is washed away in a sea of gut-wrenching weeping.  It is almost as terrible as the tidal wave.  Finally we are sitting.  I feel…better.  It is terrible to say.  All I can do is pray for my house.  Wow, its been a long time since I have done that!   The Hurricane has become a whisper and the sweet semblance of connection with my God is just starting to appear.  But even though it is just cracks, the fresh air is unbelievable.  I drink it in.  I cry.  She stares at me.   I sob, big tears.  I want to hold her but she isn’t there yet.  I cry for my wrecked marriage, my home that I defiled, the plasticity, the masks, the hypocrisy, the excuses, all of it.  I cried before but this is God-fed crying.  This is breathing in new air and freeing emotion from the spaces that have fed on only dust and poison.  She needs to see me like this.  I am human again.  She is human again.  God is here.  Nothing is going to stop me from getting this right.  Never before have I loved someone more than in that moment when she sat there watching me.  She didn’t leave.  She watched.  She is stronger than I am.  I adore her.  Everything that I fell in love with comes rushing back.  We talk.  It starts small.  The tears dry.  It becomes a cadence.  I tell her almost everything again, but we are human again, exhausted, but human.  There is no yelling.   There is freedom.  Our emotions are spent but our hearts are filling.  We are living together again, breathing in the same God again.  We stay on the floor, it’s just where we are.  On the floor.  I don’t want to be anywhere else.  The floor is nice.  Having no pride is nicer.  After so long it takes a few hours to get to know each other again.  Did I mention that she is the most gorgeous thing on the planet?  I can’t take my eyes away.  There is a lot of work to be done, but I’m…lighter.  Ready now. 

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