9
Putting Fantasy in Its Place
We have spent a great deal of time exposing the deeper meaning behind our sexual thoughts, particularly fantasies that are most confusing or dangerous. But before we wrap up our discussion completely, I would like to explore the deeper meaning behind our healthy sexual thoughts that lead to personal integrity and relational safety. Why? For the same reason that a bank teller is trained to recognize counterfeit bills not by examining counter feits but by closely examining the real and the genuine.
We can think about fantasy as rehearsing for a play. Many of our fantasies are relatively unedited and can lead us into sexual compromise very quickly, especially given the vast number of sexually compromising situations we witness in the media. However, if we intentionally fantasize about how to nip an inappropriate entanglement in the bud and do the right thing early on, it will never blossom into a full-grown nightmare.
I have been warned multiple times by multiple people: “Leading a ministry such as yours paints a big, red bull’s-eye on your forehead!”
I have always known it to be true, yet I was still taken by surprise over the events that transpired on June 15, 2011. As it was all unfolding, I suspected that I would need to write about this eventually—both as therapy to process it for myself and, hopefully, as preventive therapy for my readers.
As I arrived at Dallas/Ft. Worth International Airport on June 14, I was informed that if I flew into Los Angeles, I might be stranded there for several days. A volcano in Chile had erupted, sending an ash cloud over New Zealand’s airspace, which would prevent planes from heading in that direction any time soon. Due to speak in Christchurch, New Zealand, within seventy-two hours, I begged airport staff to let me on that plane in spite of the warnings. I knew my chances of getting to New Zealand would be much greater if I were already in LA than if I were still in Dallas.
When I arrived in LA, I learned that my New Zealand flight was canceled . . . indefinitely. Although “acts of God” usually mean that you are responsible for your own lodging, Qantas was kind enough to put all of us stranded travelers in a very nice Marriott hotel near LAX. I got settled into my room around 3:00 a.m., slept until 10:00 a.m., enjoyed a leisurely Starbucks breakfast, and then headed to the swimming pool for some exercise since I had almost twelve hours before the next possible flight left the United States. I felt as though I had been given a free twenty-four-hour California vacation, and I was soaking up every minute of it.
I was minding my own business in the shallow end of the pool when a handsome fortyish guy in jogging shorts, tank top, and iPod earbuds strolled by. He obviously had just completed a jog and was contemplating the hot tub. He asked how the water was, and I gave him the thumbs-up.
Casual conversation evolved so naturally I can’t even remember what the first words spoken were. I eventually asked if he was also stuck in LA due to the ash cloud. Negative. He was a pilot on sabbatical until his next flight later that evening. He then asked why I was heading to New Zealand. I explained that I was an author doing a three-week speaking tour. Predictably, he asked, “What do you write and speak on?”
I gave my standard as-brief-as-possible answer so as not to bore him to death. “Healthy sexuality and spirituality.”
Bored? Obviously not. Intrigued? Maybe. He replied, “So . . . if I read your book, I’ll learn how to have better sex?”
Again, keeping it as brief as possible, I responded, “Well, if your wife reads my latest book, The Sexually Confident Wife, I guess she might learn a few things.”
Sensing it was time to wrap up the conversation and move on, I wished him a good day and started swimming toward the opposite end of the enormous pool.
Mr. Pilot-Guy had been long forgotten in the 2.5 minutes it took me to reach the deep end. My mind was already in Christchurch, praying that the volcanic ash cloud would clear and that their recent earthquake aftershocks wouldn’t prevent my plane from landing once I actually arrived.
Suddenly I hear a deep voice chuckle, “You’re going to have to swim a lot faster than that to get any exercise!”
I look up to discover Mr. Pilot-Guy’s toned and tanned frame casting a shadow over me in the California sunshine. He squats down, extends his arm for a formal handshake, and says, “I’m Kyle [not his real name, of course], and I was thinking it would be great to have lunch with you. You seem like a really interesting person, and I’d love to get to know you. So . . . what do you think?”
I can’t recall ever being at a loss for words in my entire life, but color me speechless in that moment. “Well . . . uh . . . I . . . uh . . . I don’t know if I’d really have time.”
He interrupted my stammering to rescue us both from the awkwardness. “Look, I have to eat anyway, and I’d love to eat with you. I’ll be in the hotel lobby at 12:30. If you’re there, great. I think we’d have a really good time together. If you’re not there, well, I understand.”
My crushing reply? “Uh, okay.”
And then I swam away in the other direction with a million thoughts ricocheting through my brain. Well, maybe just seven thoughts. Seven thoughts that I’d like to share with you as to why I had no desire to turn this common fantasy into what I knew would become a painful reality. (After all, what woman hasn’t fantasized about being found attractive and desirable company to a handsome stranger in an exotic location with nothing but time on her hands and no one present to hold her accountable?)
1. I have other things I’m more passionate about.
As much as I’d love to tell you that my first mental response to Kyle’s lunch invitation was totally God-centered and super-spiritual, I confess that it was not. My very first thought? Honestly? (Promise not to laugh or think less of me!) My knee-jerk reaction was, “I just got in this pool! And if I had to choose between a leisurely lunch with an overly attentive, handsome pilot or continue swimming for ninety more minutes in the California sunshine, I’ll keep swimming, thank you very much.”
You may not love swimming like I do, but my point is that when you fill your life full of things that you absolutely love doing, it’s much easier to stay on the right track when temptation comes knocking.
Think about it. One of the main reasons men and women get so sidetracked by inappropriate emotional entanglements is that their lives are way out of balance. On one extreme, we can fill our days with all kinds of stresses and pressures, but that kind of pressure-cooker environment makes human beings very susceptible to releasing those pressures in some pretty inappropriate ways. On the opposite extreme, we can also let our days become so boring and mundane that we are tempted to spice things up with something way out of the ordinary, such as an extramarital fling.
But what if we created a life that positively fueled us—emotionally, mentally, spiritually, physically, sexually? Would we feel the need for that affair when the opportunity comes knocking? I didn’t. I didn’t feel the need at all. Thank You, God, that I didn’t feel any need for anything more than what I had already been given in that moment!
God has given me such a feeling of purpose and meaning— in my ministry, in marriage, in motherhood, in special me-time moments, such as swimming, sipping Chai tea, nibbling dark chocolate, or lighting a candle and staring at the flame, as I count my blessings—that an afternoon lunch affair couldn’t possibly pull me away from my true passions. Is your life filled with so many healthy passions that you don’t have the time, energy, or inclination for any unhealthy passions to develop?
2. I refuse to trust people more than I trust my God-given instinct.
Okay, so my next thought after Gee, I’d really rather keep swimming! was, What’s this guy’s real motive here? I mean, sure, Kyle could have had the purest of motives—absolutely nothing on his mind but an innocent conversation over a leisurely lunch. And Elvis may actually be resurrected from the dead and hiding out in various Dunkin’ Donuts shops around the country . . . and my Maltese puppy may give birth to a litter of humpback whales while I’m in New Zealand—humpback whales that are able to swallow the Pacific Ocean in one gulp.
Seriously, I guess there is a slight chance that “just lunch” was all he had in mind. But why take that risk? He could also have had a lot of other things on his mind, things like getting a big fat ego stroke, a feather in his cap, a notch in his belt, and so on. In the words of my friend Terrica, “Oh, he totally was hitting on you! Pilots are famous for their traveling trysts! I know one and he’s always talking about how pilots get so much a-a-a-a-ction!” I also realized that the situation could be far more dangerous and have a lot more at stake than just falling into a hotel room romance (as if that isn’t bad enough). I’m no dummy. I realized that Kyle may have been a clean-cut, handsome guy with personality plus, but so was Ted Bundy—you know, lawyer by day, serial killer by night. And for all I knew, Kyle was only posing as a pilot. He was wearing jogging shorts, not a uniform. I didn’t ask to see his badge or ID, not that he couldn’t have crafted those things himself. While he may have the personality of Ryan Seacrest, he could also have the mentality of Jack the Ripper. Glad I didn’t hang around to find out.
So before you decide to let some sweet-talking eye candy lure you into some sort of compromising situation, think of someone like Natalee Holloway. I am sure at some point she certainly wished she had never left that Aruban nightclub with those three men. And so do her grieving parents. And so do we. What happens to women at the hands of sick and twisted men is more than a crime. It is absolutely heinous.
And the only way to try and prevent something similar from happening to us is to trust our God-given instincts.
3. I realize when I’m trying to rationalize stupidity.
It wouldn’t have taken much justification to press through the warning flags and “just do lunch” with Kyle. I could have easily entertained thoughts such as:
• As long as we stay in a public place, it’ll be okay. There’s no real danger in meeting him in the lobby restaurant.
• It will be one hour, two at most. That’s not enough time to be unfaithful to my husband.
• No one at this hotel knows who I am, so it’s not like I’m going to get caught.
• This may be God opening a door for me to talk to Kyle about Jesus! (Yes, we Christians often use evangelism as an excuse to follow our flesh.)
Fortunately this was not my thought pattern this time, although fifteen to twenty years ago, I’m pretty sure it would have been. Praise God for transformation!
The thoughts that were rolling through my head regarding the logic of such a lunch date were more like:
• Okay, let’s say I agree to one lunch. What then? A yearning for another lunch in another city someday! And another! And then lunch won’t be enough!
• Why stir up insatiable yearnings that ultimately lead to Heartbreak Hotel when I can just mind my own business here at the Marriott and keep my heart intact?
• You know one hour of conversation will not scratch his itch (or yours if you start this thing). It will be like scratching poison ivy, making it itch even more, causing it to spread and do even more damage!
• If you give him an inch, he’s going to want a mile. If you give him the impression that you’re friends now, he’s going to start contacting you whenever he wants an ego stroke.
• Do you really want to be some pilot’s little plaything?
• There may be no getting rid of him afterward. He’ll want to exchange cell phone numbers or start e-mailing you.
• He could easily become a leech, sucking more and more life out of you with each contact.
You get the idea. Sometimes women can easily romanticize the notion of such an innocent-yet-intimate rendezvous with a handsome stranger in an exotic location, but, sweet pea, this ain’t Hollywood, nor is it a Harlequin romance novel.
This is real life, where people get hurt, hearts get ripped out and stomped on, marriages get damaged (sometimes beyond repair), and children get caught in the crossfire and wonder, What in the world happened to our family? Not going there. I’m just not going there. I hope you won’t go there, either.
One of my favorite sayings has become, “Don’t stick your head into the lion’s mouth before praying ‘Lord, save me from the lion!’” A much better strategy is not to go into the lion’s den at all. Then you don’t have to worry about getting devoured. “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8 NIV).
4. God’s grace is sufficient!
In those split seconds of swimming away from Kyle, I sensed I was not alone, and I’m not just referring to the outgoing, handsome pilot standing there. I could feel the Holy Spirit deep in the fibers of my being, washing me with wisdom as I freestyled my way back toward the shallow end.
I was quickly reminded of where I came from many years ago (a deep pit of desperation and compromise as a love- and sex-addicted teenager), where I was now (walking in victory and helping thousands of others do the same), and where I was heading (toward even greater levels of spiritual intimacy with my heavenly Bridegroom, both in this life and in the next).
Of course, Satan was also trying to get a few words in edgewise. Why not just go for it?! Sample a little forbidden fruit. It’s been a long time, and who knows if you’ll ever have this kind of opportunity again? No one is going to know. Come on; live a little! After all, God is not going to love you any less. Remember? His mercies are new every morning! (Yes, Satan knows Scripture and will use it as a weapon against us if we’re not careful!)
Whether God would love me or not if I took such a big step backward has never been a concern for me. He loved me in the midst of my deepest, darkest, most secretive moments. Is there any depth, any level of darkness, any secret that would cause Him to love me less? Not a chance. “Nothing . . . will ever be able to separate us from the love of God” (Rom. 8:38–39 NCV, emphasis mine). That passage means exactly what it says—nothing could change God’s love for us. Absolutely nothing! Zip! Zilch! Nada! Not one thing. Not even one million things!
Sure. God would not love me any less. And His mercies are new every morning. But why would I want to go around this same stupid mountain again when I was already living in the promised land? Why put shackles back around my soul when I’d already been set free? It just didn’t make sense to me, and I’m thankful for that knowledge. It wasn’t always there.
Even the best of Christians stumble into sin on occasion, but sincere followers of Christ don’t use God’s mercy as a license to do stupid things or live dangerously. Sin is easily forgiven, but the price that Christ paid for my sin was far too high for me to just sin without second thought.
Yes, God would indeed forgive me. But as freely as God gives us mercy in our time of need, He also gives us grace in our time of need.
What’s the difference? Mercy is God’s ability to forgive our sins after we have committed them. Grace is God’s power to avoid that sin in the first place. I couldn’t ignore the grace that I felt flowing directly out of my intimate relationship with Jesus in those speechless moments of shock and surprise. Yes, mercy would be there if I needed it, but grace was there first. Grace was there first. And I welcomed her with open arms.
Jesus may as well have been wading in the shallow end, eavesdropping on the conversation, watching anxiously to see if I’d be slipping out of the pool and into the shower to get ready for my rendezvous with Kyle, or if I’d continue enjoying this special little preconference retreat time He’d carved out for me.
He knew what I’d choose. He has taught me well. Basking in His lavish love is so much more intoxicating than the attentions of any other man.
Are you so completely satisfied through your intimate relationship with Jesus that humans pale in comparison?
5. Reality is better than fantasy.
In addition to realizing what amazingly unconditional love God has for me even if I were to choose lunch with Kyle over swimming with Jesus, I also thought of my husband at home. And although I preach endlessly against making comparisons, I did go there. Only because I knew that Greg would come out smelling like a freshly plucked rose.
Kyle struck up a simple conversation. Greg struck me more than twenty years ago as a man I simply couldn’t live without.
Kyle had extended his hand with interest. Greg had asked for my hand in marriage.
Kyle was offering a single lunch. Greg has offered me his entire life.
Kyle was willing to give me the time of day. Greg is willing to give me all the days he has remaining.
Kyle may have wanted a little afternoon delight, no strings attached. Greg wants to delight me every afternoon he can, and he doesn’t mind the strings at all.
Kyle wanted to lead me down a dangerous detour. Greg wants to lead me down life’s path with honor, dignity, and integrity.
Kyle was in search of stirring up some relational intensity. Greg is in search of stirring up genuine intimacy.
Sure, Greg has his flaws. His introverted nature can drive this social butterfly a little stir-crazy at times. He leaves whisker shavings on the bathroom counter and dirty dishes in the kitchen sink on occasion. He snores. He forgets. He doesn’t read my mind and doesn’t do things the same way I would. But he’s there. He’s there every day, longing for my love; he’s there every night, happy to do nothing more than sleep in bed next to me if sleeping is all I have energy to do.
He loves me. This flawed man daily chooses to love this flawed woman. And I feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.
Conclusion: Why would I jeopardize the startling beauty of the life we have built together? Why would I want a hamburger when I have prime rib at home? It just wouldn’t make sense. In fact, it would be sheer stupidity.
Even if you don’t think your marriage is anything to shout about today, it certainly has that potential tomorrow. There is always hope for a marriage miracle, and God is an expert in that very business. So, ladies, before you let some sweet-talking stranger or any other person woo you into stroking his ego (or any other body part), remember the weeks and months your husband pursued you with honest intentions; the years he has worked hard to provide a good life for his family; the overwhelming (sometimes paralyzing) desire he carries in his heart to prove himself worthy of your love; the multiple ways he teaches your children what it means to be loved by a father, by the Father; and how desperately the little boy trapped inside that grown man’s body longs to be affirmed and respected by the special woman that he has dreamed of, longed for, prayed over, and pledged his entire life.
Gentlemen, remember how your wife has given up all other romantic possibilities to love and serve you; the years she has taken such pride in caring for you, your children, and the home you share together; and how desperately the little girl trapped inside that grown woman’s body longs to be cherished and celebrated by the special man that she has dreamed of, longed for, prayed over, and pledged her entire life.
By either putting fantasies in their place or indulging carelessly in them, you hold the power to make or break your marriage and family.
I hope you’ll choose to make it.
6. An affair isn’t what I really want.
I have been reading a book called The Broken Image, by Leanne Payne,1 and she uses two words together that have jolted me awake with their truer combined meaning.
First word: genital
Second word: intimacy
Genital intimacy. Obviously it means the physical touching of an area of the human body that is intended to be pleasured by (and provide pleasure to) another human being. One human being. Not your boyfriend or girlfriend, your lover, or even your fiancé, but your one lawfully wedded spouse.
I envision a movie theater ticket stub that boldly states “ADMIT ONE.”
That is what God intended. Not one-until-you’re-tired-of-him or one-after-another but simply one. How I wish I had understood that thirty years ago before many premarital regrets were conceived.
Why would God design our minds, hearts, and bodies in such a way that we thrive in relationship with one but can utterly destroy ourselves in relationship with multiples of one? Could it be that God, when He designed human beings in His image, created us to be “jealous” (wanting someone all to ourselves rather than sharing) because He is a jealous God? (See Exod. 34:14; Deut. 4:24.)
Ironically, on the day I first began journaling about this California Dreaming experience, I completed the reading of the book One Thousand Gifts by my dear friend Ann Voskamp, which is about how she learned to count her blessings and lavishly give thanks to the Giver of all gifts. I am startled, yet stirred, by the passion in her pen as she writes:
God—He has blessed—caressed.
I could bless God—caress with thanks.
It’s our making love.
God makes love with grace upon grace, every moment a making of His love for us. And He invites the turning over of the hand, the opening and saying the Yes with thanks. Then God lays down all of His fullness into all the emptiness. I am in Him. He is in me. I embrace God in the moment, I give Him thanks and I bless God and we meet and couldn’t I make love to God, making every moment love for Him? To know Him the way Adam knew Eve. Spirit skin to spirit skin.
This is what His love means. I want it: union.2
Wow. Almost makes you blush with anticipation, doesn’t it? The very thought that we are designed by God as the fulfillment of His deepest longings—to be in relationship with, in communication with, in communion with, in love with Him. He in love with us, and we in love with Him.
And if we are created in His very image, this explains why we feel so compelled to fully experience loving, intimate relationships. We crave them in the fibers of our being, like we crave air and water.
Only we sometimes get it wrong. So very wrong.
Rather than look for love in relationship with the God who created us and the spouses He blesses us with, we assume that’s simply not enough. Like Adam and Eve, we want more, failing to realize that more—something other than what we’ve been lovingly allotted—isn’t better. In fact, it’s bad for us.
But the problem isn’t in the wanting. Even God wants intimacy. The problem is where we look for it, what we settle for.
We have misguided passions and misguided gratitude. For example, would it make sense for us to be filled with a heart full of gratitude for a gift that God has given and then turn and offer thanks to another god completely? Of course not. But how many men and women are stirred by God to be sexually intimate with the one God has given yet turn and share that passion with another “one” entirely? Rather than channel those sexual and emotional yearnings in the ordained direction we have been given (called marriage), some open themselves to another.
And most usually grow to regret it within a very short time. One man I know thought the grass was greener and the sky bluer on the other side of his marriage fence. So he divorced and married the woman who wooed him over to her side of that fence. And then he discovered that she had given him much more than he had bargained for, including herpes and thousands of dollars’ worth of debt he wasn’t aware of when he made his decisions in the heat of all those moments together.
Or a young woman who mistakenly assumed that she wanted sex (genital intimacy) with an old high-school flame, when all she really wanted was a listening ear and some encouragement to work through the abundance of emotional baggage she had dragged into her marriage. Turns out, the “other one” wasn’t interested in her baggage, only her body.
But regardless of how many times we’ve gotten it wrong in the past, we can allow our sexuality to be fully sanctified by our spirituality. We can develop such an overwhelming appetite for healthy fruit that forbidden fruit loses its appeal altogether.
7. One is all I need.
All of this contemplation about the connection between spirituality and sexuality has led me to this ultimate conclusion about why I didn’t go there with that pilot who invited me to have lunch: Why would I want to share myself with another “one” when I’ve already been given “the One” by God?
To climb down off the high spiritual plane and put it into practical, earthly terms, Greg knows me. Knows every stretch mark, every dimple. Knows what turns me on, what turns me off, what I fantasize about, and where I draw the line. He pushes my buttons, not my envelope. My “one” knows me sexually, satisfies me sexually, and celebrates me sexually. I don’t need to be known in such a way by another.
One is all I need, all I desire. And my one shares my last name, my address, my children, my bank accounts, my bed, my dreams, my goals for our future together. My one shares my passions, especially my passion for the God who longs for us to be one with Him.
Perhaps you don’t feel nearly as strong a sexual or spiritual connection with your spouse today. There have been many days over the past twenty-three years that I didn’t either or that Greg didn’t. Regardless of where your marriage is today, know that there is always hope for your future—as long as you are looking to God to guide you on your path toward deeper levels of sexual and spiritual connection.
BEHIND THE CURTAIN:
FREE AT LAST!
Lilly had struggled for years with inappropriate fantasies and dreams about being in prison and subjected to sexual seduction and rape at the hands of the other prisoners, both male and female. These images had brought great confusion, guilt, and shame since her teenage years—that is, until she asked God to either take away this fantasy completely or give her deeper wisdom and insight about what it actually means in her own mind.
“God, what is my brain trying to heal itself from with this distorted recurring dream?” Lilly prayed.
As the only child of a single mother, Lilly had never been sexually abused. She wasn’t exposed to pornography until early adulthood, and she felt no draw to continue in that direction once she became aware of it. In her early thirties, Lilly wasn’t married and had never had sex. So I could see why this dream was so bewildering to her.
We began paying closer attention to the details of the dream. I asked her to describe the prison cell, what the inmates were like who pursued her sexually, how she felt about the experience, and so on. Interestingly, once she gave careful consideration to such details, certain things stood out to her. Her prison cell wasn’t just a single bunk with a concrete floor and gray walls. It had carpet on the floor and curtains on the windows and a frilly bedspread on the double bed, yet there were still iron bars separating her from the rest of the prison.
“Describe to me how you felt growing up, Lilly. What was the emotion that surfaced most often in your day-to-day existence?” I asked.
Lilly responded, “I remember wishing like crazy that my mother would get married and have more children because I desperately wanted brothers and sisters. But that never happened.”
“And do you remember what emotion being an only child elicited in you? Were you lonely? Bored? Depressed?” I inquired.
“I was definitely all those things, but more than anything I think I felt responsible for my mother’s emotional health. Since she was without a husband or other children, I grew up knowing that I was her only source of real connection with another human being, and the weight of that responsibility felt suffocating at times. I didn’t go out with my friends many evenings or weekends simply because I thought it would be cruel to leave my mother at home alone,” she recalled.
“Did your mother communicate to you, either overtly or covertly, that she had this expectation of you? Or did you put this expectation on yourself?” I challenged. (I felt it incredibly important to clarify whether this was a decision made by choice or by emotional manipulation.)
Pondering the question for a few moments, she replied, “I can’t think of a single way that my mom would have given me that impression. It’s just always been an assumption that I made, I guess . . . or perhaps it was really an excuse, with my introverted personality, not to have to venture out and be social.”
“What would ‘venturing out and being social’ mean to you, Lilly? What would that have required of you?”
“That I get over my fear of people and my fear of being around them. I guess I masked that fear behind being a social martyr for the sake of my mother’s well-being.”
“Why was being around other people such a scary proposition for you?”
“I just wasn’t very socially skilled. I felt awkward around people; I still do! I’ve always felt stupid when I can’t think of anything to say in conversation. That’s probably why my mother forced me to go to public school, so I could maybe conquer my shyness,” she considered. “But I don’t know how much good it did. I’m still pretty shy.”
“So in light of how you felt as a child and how this feeling persists in adulthood, is it possible that your dream is merely a symbol of the ‘mental prison’ you’ve lived in your whole life?” I asked.
She didn’t toy with the idea for long before nodding in agreement that this was a very distinct possibility. “And could this mental picture also be a representation of how you’ve often chosen not to get out of the house and experience other people, so you’ve unconsciously longed for them to come to you?”
Again, more positive nodding. “For people to pursue me is always my preference because I don’t have the courage to pursue them. But I don’t want them to try to have sex with me! That’s just crazy!” she exclaimed.
Lilly was getting the idea. Sex with prison inmates was not what she wanted for her future. But she couldn’t ignore how the recurring manifestation of this fantasy in her dreams must surely symbolize something much deeper. It symbolized her loneliness, her desperation for human connection, her paralyzing fear over the possibility of having to pursue friendships, her concern that anyone on the planet would ever find her and want to usher her out of the mental prison of being her mother’s only playmate. She feared becoming her mother, only without her own child to connect with.
Once these fears were acknowledged, we began strategizing how Lilly could find friends and create deeper relationships than what her job as a bank teller allowed. She became active in a local church with a large adult singles group, and she also began volunteering with Habitat for Humanity. “Making friends is a lot easier when there’s a common goal you can focus on. Swapping life stories with people while swinging hammers and painting walls together isn’t nearly as difficult as sitting in Starbucks over coffee thinking, What am I going to say next?”
The prison fantasy invaded her dreams far less often, which was a huge relief to Lilly. But believe it or not, one night she had a similar dream, only the details were much different:
I was lying on my bed in the prison cell, but this time the other male and female inmates weren’t being allowed in my room to have sex with me. Instead, they were being kept out by a particular prison guard who looked at me through the bars with such compassion. But after seeing how lonely I’d become in my prison cell all by myself, he began letting himself in and crawling into my bed with me. He didn’t try to seduce me or be inappropriate at all. He just held me tightly, comforting me with his strong protection.
This continued night after night. In fact, he began working the day shift, and instead of going home after clocking out, he’d come to my cell and spend every night with me. So he was watching out for me both night and day. I felt like I had my own personal bodyguard.
Then came the day that I learned I was being let out of prison on parole. I was filled with such mixed emotions. On the one hand, I wanted out of that cell like crazy! I wanted to experience the world I’d been locked away from for so long! But the thought of not having this prison guard in my world twenty-four/seven shook me to the core. I simply didn’t want to leave him.
On the day of my release, I was escorted to an awaiting taxicab by two guards—one was the man who’d kept me company all this time, and the other was someone I didn’t recognize. The back door was opened for me, and I climbed in without a glance because I couldn’t bear to let the guards see me crying over the thought of having to leave—not the place, but the person I’d fallen in love with.
Then I saw this man remove his badge and unfasten his key ring. Handing them to his partner, he walked around to the other side of the cab and climbed in! He was leaving the prison to continue being my personal bodyguard, my constant companion!
And that is when I finally recognized this man.
Jesus. He’d held me in my captivity, and now He would walk with me in my freedom.
Jesus is always near. Regardless of what kind of mental prison you have been in, regardless of the fantasies or dreams that invade your mind, regardless of the sexual thoughts you (or those you love) have been enslaved by, know that our sovereign Lord is always there to help you understand them, to protect you from them, and to comfort you through them.