The simplest solution is often the best solution. Think of the almost incomprehensible number of creatures and objects and rules of physics that God had to craft with creation. Try to grasp that and you’ll see quickly what logical sense it made that He wove everything – everything! – from fractals that repeat and flip and turn and slide into place. Genesis made simple... only for God, of course, but you get my idea.
In teen out-reach (“RL Bible Study”) tonight one teen asked me point blank, “Why did God make sex feel good?”
An older grrl across the circle muttered, “It does?”
But I gave in. I played along. “You’re really asking, why did God make sex feel good if we have to wait until we’re married... or until we’re trying to conceive?”
The teen flipped her hair and shook her head, popping her gum and adjusting the belt on her jeans. “No. Not *that* kind of sex. The other kind.”
And my sharp retort of pleased/amused laughter rang off the church basement floor. I looked up at my co-teacher with great big eyes full up of joyful opportunity. He looked back at me with klaxons of alarm sounding. Oh... I looked away. Right. As Christians... we’re not supposed to *like* our bodies.
*shrug*
Too bad. I do.
And so I said:
I stood on the beach with the waves around my bare feet and cresting around my calves and she was running, laughing, her hair wet with the spray, leaving a trail of clothes behind her until she threw herself into my arms, tackling me into the waves and locking our mouths, our hips, our hearts... and it all felt so good. Why? Because I was alive. And she was alive. And we had the entire ocean to discover and each other.
And it was all a gift from God.
I danced hard in the darkness and the strobes were blue green red. The beat was heavy, unrelenting, power and sex (same thing), pleasure and passion (ditto) shaking me down and turning my marrow molten bronze and my skin into rose petals. I felt free from every care, every worry, every Suit telling me what to do, how to walk, who to kiss, how to live. I was me: Endurance. Beat. Strength. Firm, slick with sweat, wild with the night. And nobody was taking me home but me. I belonged to only me.
And it was all a gift from God.
The desert was like nothing I had ever seen. And we made love in the cool blue shade of ancient stones. His tongue traced the lines of my tats and the warm metal of every piercing and I felt my body like scripture, telling truths and stories unfiltered by politics or fear. All the fighting, all the sacrifice, all the compromise and standing ground was all right there to be tasted, to be read like Braille. My hands on his shoulders then tangled in his hair, I shouted at the endless sky.
And it was all a gift from God.
Holding you while you cried hard because he could no longer meet your eyes....
Holding my father while he passed from this world....
Holding my breath the first time you looked at me....
Holding on even when the world tells me to let go.
The only letting go I ever do is to let go, let God.
And that, too, is a gift.
“I hope that answers your question,” I say with a steady gaze and a gentle smile.
She squints her eyes at me than swivels in her plastic chair and fixes her youth pastor with an incredulous stare. “Where'd you find this chick?!”
There is laughter. Mine included. And I meet your eyes across the room.
When we are given a gift, we are thankful. We are gracious. We are respectful. When we are given a gift, a gift grant to us by our Lord and woven into our bodies in a hundred million fractal parts, we should not be ashamed. We should not second guess.
We must celebrate.
EJ
