Stuff I’ve Shouted at the Screen While Watching MTV’s “Virgin Territory”

A couple weeks ago, I curled up on the couch, pumped for the series premier of a show I was sure would strike a chord or a nerve: Virgin Territory. In it, young adults who haven’t had sex discuss what life’s like for a virgin. Some have committed to abstaining from sex outside marriage. Others are looking for somebody with whom to sleep.

The first episode, in which MTV followed Lisa Potts during the days that led up to her wedding,  struck a chord. Potts, a Christian, saved sex for marriage. The second episode, in which cast member Mikaela went on the “honey hunt” in L.A. and cast member Kyle crafted a hot cocoa/horse-and-carriage date with a girl with whom his friends hoped he’d “seal the deal,” struck a nerve.

Both episodes, which introduced viewers to a handful of the 15 cast members who’ll show up throughout the season, inspired me to shout stuff at the screen. Here are four of the statements I shouted, with explanations:

1. TALL, TATTOOS, KHAKIS AND CHUCKS IS NOT ENOUGH INFORMATION! In a video diary-style monologue, Mikaela — a 19-year-old virgin who is interested in meeting a man with whom to have sex — described her perfect guy: He’s taller than she is, has lots of tattoos, and wears khaki pants and Chucks. I don’t know Mikaela. I don’t know if by “perfect” she means “marriageable.”  I don’t know if MTV edited other qualities out of her monologue. But what one person wears is sometimes enough information for another person to decide to date or have sex with him or her, and that is horrifying. Continue reading “Stuff I’ve Shouted at the Screen While Watching MTV’s “Virgin Territory””

How to hate discussing sex with people who don’t practice chastity.

Last week, I almost hated discussing sex with people who don’t practice chastity (If I’d gone there, I’d have a problem, as somebody whose forthcoming book is about it.).

My frustration with the conversation was rooted in an influx of critical feedback from people whose opinions don’t align with mine. But after five years of writing about sex for secular and Christian audiences, I could have seen the temptation to hate it coming. Disdain for this sort of discussion is birthed by unreasonable expectations, outlined in the three steps any chaste person ought to take if he or she wants to disdain it:

Step 1: Expect to be regarded respectfully by everyone involved in the conversation.

In direct responses to what I’ve written about saving sex for marriage, I’ve been referred to as unattractive, unintelligent, and — to quote a 60-year-old man who wrote a letter to a newspaper’s editor — “probably not a hot babe.” If you want to hate discussing sex with people who don’t practice chastity, expecting to be treated with respect is a good place to start. But if you would like liking the process of discussing sex with people who don’t practice chastity to be within the realm of possibility, let go of that expectation. You are of infinite value because you exist. Your dignity does not depend on a person’s opinion of you; your dignity is intrinsic. Accepting that you will be disrespected is not the same as denying that you are worthy of respect.You can control how often you remind yourself of your worth. You cannot control the people you encounter who don’t believe in it.

Step 2: Expect to correct every misconception of sex that comes up, as soon as it comes up.

Continue reading “How to hate discussing sex with people who don’t practice chastity.”

The Lost Art of Discernment

I smiled at the face on my computer’s screen — a MySpace profile pic of a Christian boy with bright eyes and a bass guitar.

He was 21 and part of a band made up of a handful of my friends. I was 19 and had seen enough to come to a quick conclusion:

I should date him.

We texted and talked, and felt tethered to each other before we ever met face to face. I chose him, and he chose me, and we forged onward, determined to share life without discerning whether we should.

This is because discernment is a lost art. We cross paths with a person whose gaze raises our heart rate, whose humor gets us every time, or who gets us. We are physically attracted to him or her, and mentally distracted by his or her presence (or absence). We decide with haste to date him or her based mostly (if not solely) on what we feel when we first meet, without acknowledging dating’s purpose: to discern marriage.

The result? We aim in dating to maintain the warm, fuzzy feelings that brought us together. We date without discerning. But discernment is an art we can bring back, if we ask important questions while we date, including but not limited to these:

Do I know the truth about this person? Continue reading “The Lost Art of Discernment”

Thoughts on modern dating’s ’18 Ugly Truths.’

In his fabulous April 5 Thought Catalog post, Christopher Hudspeth listed 18 “ugly truths” about modern dating — experiences so common, you have to deal with them (so the post’s headline says); experiences so universal, nary a young adult who dates can read them and not cringe a knowing cringe.

Modern dating, as Hudspeth describes it, is a game. And it’s not like Jenga, the game that brings laughter and joy to all who crowd around the tower. No — modern dating as Hudspeth describes it is like the game that ends with crying, kicking the air and a projectile deck of cards because your partner tricked you into picking the Old Maid.

The ugliest truth about Hudspeth’s post is that Hudspeth is right: dating as he knows it gets ugly — and in my observation and experience, especially in five of the 18 ways he lists. Below are my five “favorites,” and beneath each, my thoughts:

Because we want to show how cavalier and blasé we can be to the other person, little psychological games like ‘Intentionally Take Hours Or Days To Text Back’ will happen. They aren’t fun.

The worst part about the need to be blasé is that we will act that way even if we aren’t. We are aloof when we don’t want to be because, as Hudspeth pointed out in another ugly truth, “the person who cares less has all the power.” We are terrified to express ourselves, lest what we express or how we express it result in our striking the people we like as creepy. But we all know another of Hudspeth’s ugly truths to be true: “The only difference between your actions being romantic and creepy is how attractive the other person finds you.” — which means intentionally taking hours to text back is a manipulative defense against having to accept that someone doesn’t like you. It is a preemptive strike that requires us to forego a facet of relationships on which a relationship’s success is actually hinged: authenticity.

A person being carefree because they have zero interest in you looks exactly like a person being carefree because they think you’re amazing & are making a conscious effort to play it cool. Good luck deciphering between the two.

People who act blasé when they aren’t don’t solely complicate dating for their potential partners. They also complicate dating for themselves. I agree with Hudspeth: a person who actually isn’t interest behaves exactly like a person who is pretending not to be interested. But a problem arises for people who have acted not interested when the people they like are aloof. They be all like, “IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS AND HE HASN’T RETURNED MY TEXT. …but I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s making a conscious effort to play it cool.” — when what he’s actually doing is moving on. Or, they be like, “IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS AND SHE HASN’T RETURNED MY TEXT. …She hates me.” — when what’s she’s actually doing is making a conscious effort to play it cool. People hate this, but people resist changing this. But changing this is what I propose we do: if you’re interested, express interest explicitly. If you aren’t, don’t (and when necessary, express that explicitly).

Set plans are dead. People have options and up-to-the-minute updates on their friends (or other potential romantic interests) whereabouts thanks to texts & social media. If you aren’t the top priority, your invitation to spend time will be given a “Maybe” or “I’ll let you know” and the deciding factor(s) will be if that person has offers more fun/interesting than you on the table.

Do people opt for “Maybe!” to avoid missing out on better plans, or do people opt for “maybe” because they’re wusses? The fear of yes indeed has power, but so does the fear of no. There is great discomfort in discovering that a person in whom you have no interest has misread your social cues and invited you out. And what about an invitation from a friend, but to do a thing that doesn’t interest you? No is hard to say because no is hard to hear. But when we want to say no and don’t, we create false hope.

The text message you sent went through. If they didn’t respond, it wasn’t because of malfunctioning phone carrier services.


With the exception of an app I use to text (which is notorious for not notifying me when I get new messages), this ugly truth is true, too. But it is not necessarily true that silence is the result of hatred, anger or offense. Phones die. People have jobs. While sometimes, a person doesn’t text back because they don’t want to, more times, a person is on the toilet and didn’t bring the phone. (Consider that “assumptions are the termites of relationships,” to borrow a quote from Henry Winkler.)

You aren’t likely to see much of someone’s genuine, unfiltered self until you’re in an actual relationship with him or her. Generally people are scared that sincerely putting themselves out there will result in finding out that they’re too available, too anxious, too nerdy, too nice, too safe, too boring, not funny enough, not pretty enough, not some other person enough to be embraced.

It is because of this ugly truth that we “want to show how cavalier and blasé we can be,” as discussed in an earlier ugly truth. It is this ugly truth that stamps out any shot we had at creating a relationship conducive to what all of us truly crave: love. But we want it without the discomfort of discernment — without the discomfort of disclosing who we are before we agree to commit so a decision to commit (or not) is informed. But we can’t discern a relationship with a person if we don’t know who a person is. And we can’t receive love if we aren’t being who we are. 

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Click here to read Hudspeth’s 18 ugly truths in full.

Thoughts on being alone.

I sit today in a silent church, the only one in the pew.

The only one in the building.

I think about the time I was a bridesmaid, buzzed because of a drink but sobered by my status:

Single.

The only single person in the bridal party.

Totally unattached, no prospects.

I shook it off, because so what? I can dance alone. I can eat alone. I can be alone, and be ok. I can even be alone and like it. Because, you know, freedom and me time and I’ll do what I want, and stuff.

But being alone and being ok with it isn’t a constant.

There are the ups, like flying solo (literally – I like to travel alone), and the time and space and energy to get to know God or your friends or yourself. But while you get a little bit louder now, while the DJ plays “Shout” at a wedding, you don’t really think about the downs.

You don’t really think about the frustration of always hearing from the people in whom you have no interest and hardly hearing again from the people in whom you do. About being so distracted by the desire for a significant other that you waste your time, space and energy dwelling on what you don’t have instead of enjoying or learning from what you do have. While you dance, you don’t really think about the “maybe I am supposed to be single” thought that looms a lot, or the realization that “maybe I haven’t yet used this time wisely.”

It is in these downs that we don’t think about the truth.

The truth is that while I sit in this silent church, the only one in the pew, the only one in the building, I’m ok with it. And I like it.

I like it because it reveals that I’m not actually alone.

That I – totally unattached and no prospects – am not alone.

I am not alone, because Jesus. I am not alone, because the Church. I am not alone, because every guy I meet is my brother and every girl I meet is my sister.

Because I wasn’t put on earth to find a person to love. I was put on earth to love every person I meet.

Because I meet people every day, and every time I forget it, God finds a way to remind me.