Acknowledging the people who contributed to the researching and writing of a book is always difficult; acknowledging the people who made possible a book you’ve been, in one way or another, writing for years and years seems particularly important and daunting.
Many, many thanks . . .
First, to my parents, Brett and Lauri. I can’t even believe how lucky I am to have you, as models and guides and sources of endless, undeserved, loving support. I try to be like you, you know. Thank you for being proud of me, even though I wrote a book about sex.
To my sisters, Whitney and Taylor. Growing up in a house full of girls was a great and wondrous gift, and I am who I am because of you. I love you, and your dear husbands, and your children.
To my grandparents Jean and Al. For sharing your stories and believing in me always as a writer, thinker, and religious leader. Thank you for your love of books and all those newspaper clippings, and for your love, affection, delight, and periodic bemusement with each other. It can be hard to be married to a perfect person, but you both do it so well.
To my grandparents Dorothy and Bert, who rest with God. For bearing witness to the romantic charge that can bind two people together over the decades. We miss you.
To my beloved, of course, for creating the space and time for me to write this book. For believing that this is important work for the church, for believing our daughters deserve to live and love in a culture that does better than the one we’ve currently got.
To John, my father-in-law, without whose support, washing of dishes, and caring for children, this book would absolutely not have gotten written. I know you think those constant hours of playing with our children so Josh and I could escape to the library amount to very little. But you are wrong.
To Fiona, Calliope, and Henrietta: my prayer is not that you avoid deep embarrassment over your mother’s writing about these things, because who am I kidding, but rather that this book will demonstrate to you that I am here to talk about whatever you need to talk about, always.
To the boys I loved and longed for, once upon a time. It is silly to lump you together, except in this: you have been uniformly gracious about this project, and for that I offer many thanks. It’s a privilege to have known you, and a delight to hear how your lives have unfolded since last we met.
To Cynthia Lindner, mentor and friend, who, when I lamented the release of a pastoral book about sexuality years before I was ready to write one, said, “Don’t worry. You’ll write yours eventually, and it will be better.” For all the books (I still have your Foucault) and the conversations, I am eternally grateful.
To Anne Hampson, L.C.P.C., whose wisdom contributed to what I hope is a wise book.
To staff and students at Rockefeller Memorial Chapel, Spiritual Life, and the Divinity School at the University of Chicago, especially Tahir Abdullah, Elizabeth Davenport, Rachel Heath, and Jigna Shah in the office, and students Emily Anagnostos, George Arcenaux, Leah Challberg, McKinna Daugherty, Joe Hopkins, Katie Kuntz-Wineland, Tonks Lynch, and Kiva Nice-Webb. For listening to me process, for reading drafts, for enduring more sermons than strictly necessary on sexuality, for distributing and taking my survey, for graciously offering time off to finish. For sharing your own stories and believing this book is important for both young adults and public religion.
To the Sunday morning worshipping congregation at Rockefeller, thank you for your enthusiasm for our ministry together.
To the people of Union Church of Hinsdale, and Senior Pastor Mike Solberg. We are just beginning our ministry together, but I am so grateful you are supportive of writing as a part of my vocational life. I could make do with a little less teasing about the content of this book.
To Kris Culp and Yvonne Gilmore of Disciples Divinity House and Stacy Alan of Brent House, both at U of C, for having me to speak with your communities about this work, and for countless conversations about these topics. Also for your friendship.
To William Schweiker, who was among the first to read my attempts to link Wesley, Tillich, and human sexuality nearly a decade ago, and reminded me that I shouldn’t leave out considerations of concupiscence.
To my writer/pastor friends: Rebecca Anderson, Magrey de Vega, Ben Dueholm, Heidi Haverkamp, Lee Hull Moses, Sandhya Jha, Jenn Moland-Kovash, Kyle Rader, Danya Ruttenberg, Erica Schemper, Wesley Sun, Laura Jean Torgerson, and Katherine Willis Pershey. Writing would be lonely and this book would have suffered dreadfully without your eyes on chapters, ears for ideas, and heart for this project. Thank you all.
To the members of the Young Clergy Women Project, for your support, enthusiasm, and ministry.
To other writer/religious types, namely Amy Frykholm, Jessica Miller Kelley, and Steve Thorngate, for opportunities to write and think through issues of love, sex, and faith—and how you write about them—with you.
To Lil Copan, who’s gone to bat for this project from the beginning.
To Lauren Winner, editor extraordinaire, who, among her many other gifts, helped this book to be all it could be.
To Carol Mann for taking me on and finding this book such a wonderful home.
To Kathryn Hamilton and all the marvelous people at HarperOne.
To all who took the survey, you are so brave, and I hope this text does your stories justice.