We used to live near a gas station that sold sushi. Regularly,
around the midnight hour, I would waddle my large, pregnant self past the displays
of shriveled hot dogs and waxy-looking pizza. I wasn’t there for those, stop
judging me. I was there for a half-gallon of the most perfect little ice
pellets known to man. I would hand the overnight cashier the .59 cents-plus-tax, take my
precious ice pellets home, and crunch away in bed until they were gone. For four solid months, I was addicted. I spent roughly $17,000 on small
pieces of frozen water, and I’m convinced there is a landfill out there
exclusively filled with half-gallon Styrofoam cups from months 5-9 of my second
pregnancy. But, I digress. Each night, as I would make my way back to the
register with my personal vat of ice, I would pass the sushi. I’d muscle my way past my
gag reflex and wonder, how desperate and confused one would have to be to
consume sushi from a gas station? Did those people not know that there was a
nice grocery store on that very street that sold actual sushi, not a scary, questionable version of it? Did one
develop a tolerance for it? Had anyone ever died from gas station sushi? I’m obviously
very contemplative at midnight when I’m pregnant.
I respect my teeth and the earth too much to continue my ice
habit, and I had kind of forgotten about my midnight liaisons with the ice machine… until
this second wave of 50 Shades promotion
hit. Ever since the book came out, I’ve had
some things I really want to share with you women around me. I love you like
you're sisters, and I want to see you experiencing loving, life-giving
relationships. I’ve hesitated, though, because I want to share my story, yet
honor those whose stories intersect with it.
What seems like a lifetime ago, for a long chunk of unhappy
years, pornography had a large and unwelcome presence in my life. It was
parasitic, leeching away time and innocence, trust and dignity. I learned that
it is a two-faced and nasty houseguest. It whispers hateful lies and far
outstays its welcome. It demoralizes the mother in the eyes of her son - she is
obviously not enough, doesn’t measure up, is less than… It wraps tendrils of
deceit around the heart of the young daughter, presenting an alluring but
unattainable standard of beauty and worth. It delights in entrapping people in
private shame and ambushing them with public disgrace.
Porn, in all of its varieties, is a lot like
gas station sushi. Best case scenario, it’s an icky, cheap
substitute for something awesome. For some reason, it seems mommy porn in book form has been granted a higher moral standing. To me, that seems as logical as taking a rancid portion of that sushi we've been talking about, putting it on a pretty plate, and saying, "Guys - this is actually pretty good!" You can dress it up, but it's still bad. I've been married for almost nine happy years. Compared to some, nine years isn't very long, but it's plenty long enough to tank a marriage. I'm more than grateful to be married to a man who has spent nine years building a porn-free marriage with me. Pornography is a great way to begin a slow and painful breakdown in love, trust, security and a marriage in general.
Like most other humans, I’ve seen the trailer for 50 Shades. I actually saw a display in
Target of 50 Shades kits for lovers.
Um, guys. Can we take a minute? I literally walked across the aisle and put a
taco kit in my cart. The very thing that
is being promoted to spice up our sex lives is reducing it to a kit.
I want to inform them
- the faceless entity that's marketing 50
Shades to us - that we are smart and discerning, not the weak-willed, silly
women they seem to think we are. Personally, I loathe being marketed to like I’m a vapid, desperate housewife. Beauties, they expect
that this month we will show up en masse. That we will give them our money, file into a dark room, and let them feed us 100 minutes of gas station
sushi. What if, instead, we went on dates or celebrated Galentine’s
Day? What if we skipped the cheap substitute and, oh, I don’t know, stayed home and had
actual meaningful, awesome sex with our husbands? I completely believe that how we allow them to market to us today is how they will continue to
market to our daughters tomorrow. Why don’t we go ahead tell them where to go?
(They can go back to the drawing board to try again, where did you think I meant, silly?)
Last, but certainly not least, I am a daughter of God, and
that is a position of dignity. If you are a Jesus-follower, you’ve been given
redemption and hope. Jesus took your shame and replaced it with grace and
dignity. Dignity, even if your husband has cheapened and tarnished your
marriage by bringing porn into it. Dignity, even if there is sexual shame in
your past. Dignity, even if pornography is something you struggle with.
God’s grace is free to me, but cost Him everything. I want to live a life of gratitude and love, and I am
making a choice. I will not squander that grace on gas station sushi.
