When I was 14 I started my distain for Glamour Magazine. I was bored and my grandparent’s condo one day so I went downstairs to buy a magazine. I picked up Glamour thinking it would be filled with cute clothes and trends, but instead, to my dismay, I found the magazine bursting with lies justifying premarital sex.
This in mind, the reason I ended up reading an article in Glamour two weeks ago was not for the sex, but instead for a tip on eating healthy. While flipping to the page to the article I wanted to read, I came across this one…
As I started to turn the page past the article I saw the word “Mormon” and I had to read on. (Silly I know). My heart sunk as I read that she was raised a Mormon and at age 26, she’d only ever gone to what she called “boob touching.” She insinuates that it was silly of her to ever confess to her bishop about this particular action (which it’s absolutely necessary) and then makes fun of how we date.
Then she goes on and says she’s gotten close to a temple marriage, but realized that she was “miserable” living our “rigid tenets.” My heart hurt during the whole article as she described her downward spiral into premarital sex. She says in the end of the article that she doesn’t regret premarital sex, but there were two lessons learned in her sins… She learned that sex will NOT complete her. It won’t make her spiritual blunders go away, it won’t make the fact that she skipped going to the gym okay… and outside of marriage its DEFINITELY not going to complete her.
The other lesson I’ll leave in her words. This lesson is the reason for my blog… she says the day after she lost her virginity she realized something, and this is it.
And then it really hit me: I wasn’t a virgin anymore. That part of my identity was gone, and I had to face the fact that, at 28, I had no idea who I was. Tears welled up in my eyes, and a teenage memory, one I’d almost forgotten, popped into my head: A friend of mine, Ellen, a beautiful Mormon girl, had married another Mormon in the Seattle temple. After their first dance, she walked over to me and gave me a hug, looking happier than I’d ever thought possible. “How do you feel?” I asked her. “It was worth the wait,” she said. “It was worth the wait. —Ellen Morehouse,” I wrote in my journal that night years ago.
And since I’m writing this article mostly for my young women I taught last year, I’m here to say “Girls, its worth the wait.”
I finally understand what that means and understand at least parts of the full meaning of sex. The only reason I understand this though, is because I waited. I waited for the boy that other boys told, and showed me, didn’t exist. I waited for the boy who opens the door for me even when I’m in the car and he has to walk around to open it for me; I waited for the boy who kisses my forehead instead of just my lips. I waited for the boy who didn’t swear, who served an honorable mission, who loves and respects women. Who believes women are God’s most valuable creature, who loves the gospel and has a testimony… and a boy who also waited to have sex. The two of know now the importance of that wait.
While I hope that on my wedding day I looked as happy as I felt, I want to tell you that I know without a doubt the wait is worth it; and completely necessary to those who want to feel whole on their wedding night. This is a hard task, I know because I did it, but I can promise you that if you do, you’ll love yourself, the gospel and your future spouse so much more. Please, please wait. It’s worth it.