She Deserved My Undeterred Love (Extreme Sexual Content)

The day was sweltering hot in the two room studio apartment. The air conditioning, rusting in it's metal encasement, rattled and whined, trying to keep up with the radiant heat of the asphalt coming in the back window. The room smelled slightly, as it always did, of a small gas leak from the old, olive green, stove on the east wall. Dishes from supper were haphazardly left on the counter with a path of clothing, torn off, to the mattress on the floor of the living room.

There I was, wrapped up in the arms of the woman I loved. We had been there for hours, kissing. Her face smelled of saliva and sweat as I traced it with my fingers for the hundredth time. She shivered as I traced the finger down her neck, over her shoulder, flattening my other hand against her back and pulling her toward me, revealing her entire back. I ran my fingers around the moles there, then down to the back of her knees.

She smelled of sex. 

I was in love with this woman. No, "love" is a paltry word...meaningless, really. What I felt for this woman, in this moment, was a passion beyond any words I could muster. My awestruck gazing at her body in front of me looked like lustful desire, but encompassed all the reasons why I carefully and lovingly undressed her in my living room that night. 

She held on to me and squeezed tighter. My heart picked up speed. I rolled her onto her back, my lips meeting hers, our eyes closed, and entered her slowly. She was tight and warm. A gasp escaped from her throat and I shivered with desire. No thoughts were going through my head. I was in the moment as I began slowly thrusting, building to a crescendo and exploding inside of her while she cried out in climactic orgasm. 

And at that very moment, my mind was shattered with guilt. I had just made love to this beautiful woman. My face, no, my whole body smelled like her. Her scent was the closest description I imagined heaven smelled like. A mixture of Aspen brand perfume, the smell of her kisses, the crisp smell of her skin, her juices, the woman that she was - and we weren't married.

Weeks later, we discovered she was pregnant. Two days before we were to be married, actually. We told no one. Instead, we suffered in our guilt - alone...together. The day we found out, she was sitting on the toilet in the studio apartment, having just peed on a stick. Standing up, she turned to me.

"I'm pregnant."

That wave of guilt washed over me again. "We aren't married," I thought. This meant everything. We were now going to have a baby sooner than nine months after we were married, making it obvious that we had been having sex before saying our vows. This was bad. My mind raced, trying to think of excuses, ways to pull the wool over the eyes of our pastors, our friends, and all the people that we knew would judge us for our carnal sins.

Once married, the guilt continued. Our happiness was clouded with the "problem" of being pregnant. The baby growing inside of her had no name, no personality, no personhood...it was merely a manifestation of a grotesque sin - the sin of making love to a woman that I cared for deeply. Enjoying her body, her enjoying mine, showing each other, sexually, what we thought of each other. A natural and awesome act of anamalistic carnality.

The suffering became so great, we began to call pastors and friends. We met an associate pastor in a restaurant and admitted our guilt. He cried. We went in front of the church we attended. Some judged, some cried, some didn't care. The sin continued to grow in her body as her belly began to expand.

I was nominated to an officership in the church. In the entire history of the church, every vote had been unanimous - until this one. I won by two votes. I was a sinful man. I had created a group of vile and evil cells inside my wife, barring me, in the minds of many, from any service to their god.

The sin continued to grow. We heard its heartbeat, watched its length expand, viewed the ultrasound of it, watched it jump around inside her uterus. I made love to my wife, trying desperately to alleviate my soul from the guilt of the sin I had created inside of her. Sex was still wonderful, but it was a constant reminder of the filth we had made.

The filth was born. There she was, a beautiful baby girl. My girl. My daughter. Our daughter. We had made her in the throes of our love. For nine months, we had looked at her as a black blot on our souls, but now, right here before us, was a living breathing, wailing...girl. We fell in love with her, deeply.

Our guilt remained for ten more years until finally, we tossed off the last shred of it.

Renaya, you deserved my undeterred love. Forgive me, my beautiful girl.

The Story of Liz Franklin, Installment 4 - Unreachable Sanctification

In Installment 3, we left off finding Liz trying as hard as she could to be perfect. Perfection was very necessary.  Without it, there was no chance of sanctification.  Without sanctification, you went to hell.  Let's continue this train wreck.

*****

Before I could be sanctified, I had to Remain Saved.  So I had to examine myself for sins, known and unknown.  Sometimes I want to reach back through time and snatch my younger self out of there.  Sometimes I want to slap my younger self up side the head for being so....mindless.  Unknown sins?  Um, okay.  Sure I got 'em, so I'll go before the lord to see what they are.  And that I did.  In spades.  And wouldn't ya know it?  I had SINS!!  Yes, mine were capitalized.  One known sin that I really focused on was lying.  I'd heard a sermon about it.  The Bible was pretty specific.  Liars shall have their place in the lake of fire, where the worm (me) dieth not, and the fire was not quenched.  So, above all, Do Not Lie.  It had become less about going to heaven than not going to hell.

There were two kind of sins, I was taught.  The sins of commission and the sins of omission.  So, the sinning could be the actual lie, or it could happen if I just let people assume things that weren't true.  That people were responsible for their own assumptions wasn't a concept that was embraced by the church, or me.  So for at least a year, I got tied up trying to not lie.  I could not hold conversations without doubling back to make sure the person I was talking to totally understood what I was saying. 

The ride to school was a long one.  We had a station wagon, so we became the school bus for the people near us who also went.  Those rides became excruciating for me.  I wanted to talk.  I was a social butterfly.  I loved talking!  But I couldn't.  I might inadvertently lie.  As far as that went, if I looked out the window for an extended period of time, I might be leading people to believe I was watching something when I was just gazing.  Another lie!  In fact, one time at home, I was hanging laundry outside, and was just gazing into the distance.  when I came back in, I made sure to tell everyone, whether they had seen me or not, that I was looking at nothing.  At the worst of this, and shortly before I just gave up, I became cruel in my truth telling.  We had gone to McDonald's, and I had fries. Mom hadn't ordered fries, and wanted some of mine.  I grudgingly gave them, and I was afraid that if I didn't say something, she'd think I was happy to give them to her.  That would be leading her to believe a lie, wouldn't it?  So I told her the truth; I don't want to give you these, but here you go.  I really wasn't trying to be mean.  I was trying to tell the truth! 

I talked to church people about this, too.  About my inability to not lie.  I even went into specifics.  I was told to pray harder, to deny myself.  It just didn't work for me.  Eventually, I did talk to someone who kindly lead me through the definition of lying.  Nothing I was doing was a lie!  But by then it was too late.  I was convinced I was a liar of the worst kind.

This was just one of the sins I couldn't quit committing long enough to get sanctified, but it wasn't the only one.  There were a lot of vague, general sins of the soul that were addressed in the church.  These were the Unknown Sins.  If I was having trouble staying saved, or couldn't get sanctified, it was because I wasn't willing.  The only concrete thing that was ever said to me about being willing happened when I was around 10.  I'd made yet another trip to that (god-forsaken ) altar (it should be burned!).  The mean pastor was praying with me.  I could not get saved, or as they put it, pray clear through.  He kept asking me if I was willing.  I said "to do what?"  He then gave me the test: was I willing to become a missionary, have my husband and kids eaten by the natives, and contract leprosy?  I'm not making this up!  Eventually, specifics were moved away from, and Being Willing became the vague whip they hit me with.  I think in the back of my mind, I was always afraid that if I said I was willing, I'd suffer that fate.  At any rate, my sin, declared the church people was that I Was Not Willing.

So life went on, one soul-murdering day at a time.  I'd go to school, hear messages there about how fallen I was, so I'd go to the altar.  On the way home, or to church that night, I'd inevitably sin again, and have to go back. In addition to all that praying at the altar, I began spending all my free time praying, imploring god to make me willing.  I quit eating, I quit sleeping.  I quit laughing.  I thought if I were miserable enough, god would surely break my will in answer to my prayer.  I thought I could stay saved for maybe 5 minutes, then get sanctified.  Then I would be completely empty of myself, and full of the holy spirit, and he would make my being a non-person easy and natural.

I became, in a way, the church sweet heart. Like I said, there were 4 of us young people there.  The future of the church!  and I was the only one who was So Serious About God.  My older brother tried as hard as I did for awhile, but I was the only one who hung in for a long time.  They quit asking me how I was doing.  They instead inquired as to the state of my soul.  How's your soul, Liz?  If I didn't go to the altar every Sunday, they became concerned that I was in rebellion.  More than once, if I hadn't gone to the altar within 5 minutes of the "altar call" the pastor's wife came to me, in front of the whole church, bawling, and asking me to go to the altar.  "You're not saying no to me, you're saying no to Jesus", she'd bawl.  Every summer, the whole church conference would hold camp meeting in PA.  Thousands of people came.  I'd go there, thinking that in the midst of all these people fervently seeking the lord, and being willing, I couldn't help but be, myself.  I usually went to that altar at every opportunity, and in fact, would go there to pray between services.  If, however, a service went by that I didn't go by myself, she'd seek me out there, too.  How she found me in the crowd is a question I still have.  I'm sure she'd say god had led her to me.

*****

Stay tuned for Installment 5, where we watch a camp meeting in more detail.

The Story of Liz Franklin, Installment 3 - Beware of All Sins, Even Imaginary Ones

In Installment 2, Liz told us how she moved from public school to church school and how the rules were rigidly applied with severe consequences if broken.  She spoke of how she was "ripe for the picking" at her young and impressionable age.  Let's listen in as she tells about how life continued to head downhill.

*****

While at school, I had the rules in my face, now, at church things were heating up, too.  The new pastor was old and cranky and loved the rules.  Until this time, we'd been having Sunday School picnics regularly.  It was a fun time, and was intended to strengthen relationships in the church, as well as reach out to the unsaved that came to church for Sunday School, then left before the preaching.  This group had more young people than the church did.  In fact, we three kids and another girl my age were the young people of the church.The picnics were in part to try to convince the Sunday School crowd that normalcy (fun even), was achievable in the church.  The new pastor stopped these short.  Young people didn't need fun, they needed Jesus.  This was indicative of the way he was to rule the church.

As a young child, I'd prayed for salvation twice that I can remember.  Once as a very young girl (shortly after Luju's friend "bought the farm" (Installment 2), as a matter of fact), and then when I was in the 3rd grade.  The first time, I remember only praying with mom and dad, but don't remember my life changing much.  The 2nd time, I do remember how free and joyful I felt after, but happiness was too transitory in my life too last long.

The church held several revival services during the year, and evangelists would come to school to preach during the day.  I'm sure there were sermons on god's love, and things more positive, but what I, and my sibs, remember most were the hellfire and brimstone sermons.The preacher would sometimes stand up there and yell at us, and spit and froth at the mouth.  

One of the traditions of revival and camp services was The Story told on the last service.  This was a story about, well, Liz.  (it was intended to scare the hell -literally!- out of people, so it was very personal to me).  Liz, the story always went, was raised in The Church.  She had been given The Truth since her childhood.  She resisted god's calling on her life all her life.  Someday, she'd say. Someday, I'll get saved. (I hate that term!  It makes my skin crawl).  Right now, though, I want to live my life.  I don't like the restrictions I have to live under if I give myself to Christ.  So, some day, Just not today.  Then one day, Liz was in a revival (camp, church... whichever the current setting was). meeting, and god moved on Liz's heart. She was miserable under conviction, but she fought against the holy spirit.  "I'm not ready to live under all the rules.  I'm having too much fun living my life.  Later, I'll get saved."  So Liz left church that night, and on the way home, she was in an accident, and died and went to hell.  I laugh at this now, but at the time, it scared me every single time I heard it.  In black and white, it is kind of humorous, but there was more theater and emotion involved when the story was told on the last day of services.

So, shortly after starting church school, I got serious (favorite church phrase) about my salvation and sanctification.   Because I felt so dirty and unlovable due to my home life, I knew I'd have to try extra hard to get god to love me.  This is why I loved the rules, and invented some of my own. The preachers reinforced this by saying we were worms, no good, etc, etc, etc.  In fact, we weren't allowed to exclaim "My goodness!" because we had no goodness.

So I sat through services at both church and school in which I was told I was a terrible sinner. 

My descent into spiritual madness was gradual.  I was stuck for awhile on obeying my parents.   During the summer months, my grandparents lived with us, and they were to be obeyed, also.  I remember my grandma telling me to be sure to rinse my hair thoroughly to get all the soap out.  I had long thick, curly hair, and it tangled frequently.  Dad didn't spring for conditioner, and at the time we didn't have a shower.  I wasn't allowed to wash it in the sink, so rinsing became a problem.  I asked my grandma several times to check to see if it was rinsed right, and it never was.  I ended up in the tub for half an hour trying to get it right.

We lived in the country, and had apple trees.  One Sunday, I was out walking in the orchard praying, and picked an apple.  Dad saw me, and yelled at me for working on the sabbath.  Then he consulted with the pastor, and the pastor agreed that that was work, which broke the "Remember the Sabbath Day" commandment.  The sabbath became a prison for me.  The rules regarding it were so restrictive!  There was a busy intersection near my home.  We'd cut through the shopping center there to avoid the light.  Except on Sunday, because what if someone saw us coming out and thought we had been shopping on The Lord's Day?  Eventually, I wasn't allowed to walk around our yard.  We went to church, ate, then took naps till evening service.  Came home, ate again, then went to bed.

Focusing so stringently on the outward was hard for me, but I could have dealt with that.  It was when thoughts and feeling, and temptations became sins that my personal hell began.  Anger was the big "feeling" sin.  I don't remember being very angry yet, but the pastor and his wife were convinced I was. I would become in time!  One of the pastor's wives favorite sayings was "Only dogs and donkeys get mad."  That makes no sense at all.  Even at the time, it didn't make sense to me, but I bought it.  I got mad, that was a sin, I was a dog.  So the race was on for me to obtain the second work of grace, sanctification.  Then, all would be well.  I'd be perfect, holy, and happy to be miserable.  What more could a girl who only wanted god to love her want?

*****

Installment 4 will find Liz trying her hardest to "remain saved".

By the Way, I'm Not Gay

***WARNING******WARNING******WARNING******WARNING******WARNING******

The following post is VERY controversial. In ways, I find that unfortunate. It is the raw scrapings of my heart and if you read it, you will discover the real me and more than likely will write me off forever due to the shocking reality of my despicable morality.

***WARNING******WARNING******WARNING******WARNING******WARNING******

I wrote a post about a week ago that mentioned many reasons that I was no longer a “Christian” as defined by that non-exhaustive list. The list included important items like who God is, who Jesus Christ is, whether or not Jesus Christ is singularly sufficient, and much more. It even included odd-ball items like not needing to eat organic foods, homeschooling, and in a later comment, tithing.

I received about half-a-dozen comments in private and in public, affirming many of the items. A few follow-up comments required some clarification on my part.

The idea I was trying to get across was that, for the rest of my life, I will be seeking the truth of who God is, whether God is, who Jesus Christ is, the basic nature of faith, how my faith fits in with the basic nature of faith, how to treat other people, how to view the Bible, and, among others, what is truth and what is fairy tale about heaven and hell. My point was that I did not have to, nor should I be required to settle on a certain creed or creeds so that others could validate my status as a “Christian”. Or, said in a different way, all Christians have different walks in life while the common defining thread connecting us is our belief in Jesus Christ.

What shocked me was the private and public disagreement on one item on the list that seemed to me to be a non-foundational issue. “Shocked” may be a poor choice of a word, keeping in mind the current sociopolitical discourse.

The item was: “If being a Christian means that I must believe that homosexuality is wrong, I am lost. ”

That's it. The thing is, I'm not settled on the answer and I never intend to be. If I do decide it is wrong, I'm going to be forced into some sort of life flip-flop every time I talk to or hang out with some of my dear friends who are gay. I'm going to have to have that nagging, gnawing feeling every time I approach or chat with my gay relatives. If I decide it isn't wrong, I will be alienating many of the people I love. In fact, the issue is so important to some, that they may reject me as a legitimate human being – one that cannot be trusted or easily dismissed as foolish, regardless of the wisdom of my words on related or unrelated subjects.

So, I rest in the gray area of, “I don't care.” I don't! It doesn't bother me one bit. I see it as a person liking ketchup on eggs, rather than mustard. It doesn't define a person for me. In fact, I have never been asked why I am a heterosexual or even been given the thumbs up for passing a “Christianity” litmus test of liking the opposite sex, rather than the same sex.

But, let us, for argument sake, say that being gay is sinful. With that premise, I am going to tell you something you didn't know about me to prove that being a heterosexual deserves a higher status in the eyes of those who deem homosexuality as the unforgivable sin.

• I have uttered thousands, perhaps millions of swear words. And no, not when I whack my thumb with a hammer. I have yelled them at my children, used them in names for my children when they did not do as I asked, used them against my wife in arguments – to win some stupid battle that seemed important at the time. I have yelled them at The Minnesota Twins, politicians, bad drivers, excellent drivers, police officers, pastors, parishioners, patriarchal types, people who disagree with me, my siblings, my mother, my father, relatives, the weather, every one of my vehicles, stinging bees, skunks that jump into my lane and lay down on the road in perfect alignment with my front passenger tire, neighbor's dogs that go to the bathroom on my lawn, people who write better than me, people who don't swear, people who tell me not to swear, those who say swearing is healthy, parents who spank, those who write me off as a bitter young man, my dull razor, the alarm clock, children throwing up, and so much more that I have forgotten.

Repulsed yet? You should be. I am a horrible person. Sure, I'm working on my mouth, but, at the moment it defines who I am. But people consider me a good person, worthy of heaven – and a person who is gay – not so much. A good person? What good person yells at children, using horrible language? What good person calls his wife names when he is losing an argument? WHO DOES THAT???!!!

I have and still do, at times.

Frankly, if anyone was deserving of hell, it would be me. The argument of “It's not the static sin, it's the LIVING in sin that is at issue so you're ok, but a gay person is not,” falls flat because, after all, who is living in sin more than me? Maybe not the swearing part, but most definitely HOW I swear and who I project the words toward.

Maybe you rate sin. Swearing is only half bad. Homosexuality is horrible. If that is the case, I challenge you to send me a list of your sin ratings and I will check off EVERY SINGLE ONE, except for homosexuality, divorce, and physically cheating on my wife.

But, there is a catch. I will be using measures that we find in Matthew 5 – 7 during Jesus' sermon on the mount.

Jesus looked at the Pharisees and acknowledged that they were following the law. But then, he said, “But I say to you...” and then he revealed the true purpose of the law. Never having murdered was most excellent and deserved the awe and respect of their fellow man. But, hating their brother? Never having committed adultery was awesome. But, so much as looking at a woman to lust after her? Yes, the law was a base standard that man could prove on the outside that he was perfect. But God cared about the heart condition. And, keeping the heart condition clean and non-depraved was impossible. Jesus said, “Be perfect!” And, “If you break one law, you've broken them all.” And later, “He who has never sinned, let him cast the first stone.”

Assuming homosexuality is a sin, I am convinced that the standard must be that we should do as Jesus so succinctly said: “All the laws and the words of the prophets can be summed up by loving God and people.”

As I stated above, I don't care to put a label on the morality of the subject. I have way too much invested in people to let a little thing like their lifestyle choice get in the way of some of the best friendships I could ever ask for. In fact, to put it in perspective, my gay friends inquire about my marriage and my love life all the time in normal conversation.

And never once have they judged me for being a heterosexual.