Linda Kay Klein - Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement That Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free

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This book is dedicated to all those who so bravely told their stories to me, and all those whose stories have not yet been told.

As a teenager, I went to the sandbox in the empty playground beside my church when I wanted to be alone. I dug my bare feet down deep, cooling them in the damp sand.

God, I would do anything for you, I remember saying there one afternoon.

Anything? I imagined Gods reply.

Anything, I promised.

Would you become a missionary in a foreign land? God tested me. Giving up the lavish life of an actress that you dream about?

I squeezed my eyes shut and pictured myself a poor missionary living in a small, rural village somewhere on the other side of the world. In my imagination, I wore a thin, cotton dress and my long brown hair whipped around my face in a way that could only be described as romantic.

No , I shook my head abruptly. Not like that. God is asking if Im sun.

Yes God, I promised. I would do that for you.

Would you give up your parents? God continued.

Yes, I said quickly.

Would you give up... your boyfriend?

I winced.

Who you think about all day and every night? God continued. Who makes you feel so utterly alive every time he touches you? Who you are sure is sin incarnate, even if he is a born-again Christian and thus technically safe to date, and sure, all youve ever done is kiss, but the way he makes you feel... the way he makes you feel , you know must be wrong?

Yes, I whimpered. Yes, God. I would.

Later that afternoon, I called my girlfriends for an emergency concert of prayer.

I think that God wants me to break up with Dean, I told them, trembling. Not one of them asked me why. They didnt have to. After all, wed learned together that there were two types of girlsthose who were pure and those who were impure, those who were marriage material and those who were lucky if any good Christian man ever loved them, those who were Christian and those who... were not so sure about. So, God wanting me to break up with a high school boyfriend who made my whole body scream every time he looked at me?

Yeah.

Sure.

That made sense.

Its only now, more than twenty years later, that I can see another story beneath the only one my friends and I were able to see then. Its the story of mea sixteen-year-old girl in her first real relationship. Willing, no, wanting to be tested so she could prove to her God, her community, and herself that she was good.

After all, my sexual energy, sometimes off-color humor, and the 50s pinup va-va-voom of the hips Id recently acquired were already worrying some in my community. If I wasnt careful, they warned me, I might just become a stumbling block. And maybe I already was one.

In the Bible, the term stumbling block is used to reference a variety of obstructions that can be placed before a Christian. The concept is used in reference to sexuality

Yet, in As I have heard it said, sometimes our interpretations of the Bible say more about us than they do about the Bible itself.

In junior high, the term stumbling block annoyed me. The implication that my friends and I were nothing more than things over which men and boys could trip was not lost on me. When half the guys stripped their shirts off and began a water fight at the youth group carwash outside of the Piggly Wiggly, I thought it was unfair that it was me who got reprimanded for having my shirt sprayed by their hoses. But even as I bristled, I obeyed. I went home and changed into a dry shirt, longer shorts, longer skirts, higher backed dresses, and higher necked tops. By the time I was in high school and had my first boyfriend, I had been talked to about how I dressed and acted so many times that my annoyance was beginning to turn into anxiety. It began to feel like it didnt matter what I did or wore; it was me that was bad.

In the evangelical community, an impure girl or woman isnt just seen as damaged; shes considered dangerous . Not only to the men we were told we must protect by covering up our bodies, but to our entire community. For if our menthe heads of our households and the leaders of our churchesfell, we all fell.

Imagine growing up in a castle and hearing fables about how dragons destroy villages and kill good people all your life. Then, one day, you wake up and see scales on your arms and legs and realize, Oh my God. I am a dragon. For me, it was a little like that. I was raised hearing horror stories about harlots (a nice, Christian term for a manipulative whore) who destroy good, God-fearing men. And then one day, my body began to change and I felt sexual stirrings within me and I thought, Oh no. Is that me? Am I a manipulative whore?

My DiaryMay 1995:

My senses are never so alive as they are when Im with Dean. I dont deserve this happiness. We sit across from one another, and we are so close that our cheeks rub up against each other. If he shaves in the morning, he is already ruff by evening. I rub his back. He rubs mine. It is sweet. It is innocent. But can we be moving too quickly even in the midst of our innocence?

I think you have gotten prettier since I first met you, Dean said to me.

I dont think so.

I do. You used to be pretty, but now... He took a deep breath and gazed at me.

You are so beautiful, Dean mused, as he rubbed my face tenderly. He is always touching my face. It makes me feel precious.

What do you think it means to fall in love? I asked him.

I dont know, he answered me.

Do you think its possible that I could be falling in love with you? Puppy love?

He kissed me.

Do you think its possible, I spoke the words between kisses, that you, a long kiss, could be falling in love with me... puppy love?

Puppy love, he answered me.

I am in the middle of reading Passion and Purity: Learning to Bring Your Love Life Under Christs Control by Elisabeth Elliot in my small group right now. In it she says that her husband Jim touched her for the first time by rubbing his finger across her cheek. AFTER he was already her fianc.

So what does that mean? Once again, I worry that Dean and I are moving too quickly. We have already French kissed. You know, with tongue and all. Yeah, thats too fast.

Dear Jesus, Dean is a sweet gift from You. Please dont allow me to destroy this gift that You have given me with foolish passion. Dean doesnt want to push me. He respects me. How far we go is in my hands. But I dont want it there, because I dont know where exactly You do and dont approve of my hands being... Father, please show me what is too far.

This is going to sound disgusting, but when Dean rubs his face in my hair or breathes into my ear, my groin kind of flips. I dont know how else to put it. Is that what it means to be turned on? I dont know.

Have I turned into a slut? I feel dirty and worthless. How can respect exist when I am such a slut?

A slut.

What is one?

Who is one?

I am not a slut.

Nobody is a slut.

That is a despicable word.

But how dare I call myself a Christian? I spent my morning primping. I spent my afternoon making out with my boyfriend. Then I spent my evening leading a Bible study!