A Letter from Catlin...from book Every thought captive

Letter From Caitlin:
Growing up in a loving Christian home and at a Christian church, attending a Christian school, having Christian friends, and being spoon-fed the purity stuff my whole life, I never dreamed I’d be writing these three words prior to my wedding night: I had sex.
For years I had read the books, listened to the talks, drilled it into my mind deeply and forcefully: Whatever you do, don’t have sex before you’re married. To me, that was the worst sin a Christian could commit. But when I left high school and my life started spinning out of control, I began slowly chiseling away at what I thought of as my rock-solid virtue. In the span of a few months my parents went through a messy divorce; my mom left my father, taking my three sisters and me to live in Arkansas, where she started a whole new life; my boyfriend of a year left me—for a man. If everyone was going to betray me like this, I figured I could give myself room for a little modification of the “Christian rules,” too.
And then I met Brady—at church. “That was safe, right? After all, my motto had always been, “As long as the guy is a Christian, go for it.” So we started to spend time together. At the beginning of our relationship, being with Brady made all the heaviness of life seem lighter.
Though we met a church, I quickly discovered that Brady and I shared no spiritual bond. Our relationship was Christian only in name. And there was little emotional attraction—we disagreed and competed constantly. But my hurting, nineteen-year-old self, hungry for intimacy and love, did began to experience a intense sexual attraction to this man. My mind felt as if it were on fire.
Brady became my “first” of a lot of things I never thought I would do before I got married. At least it’s not sex, I rationalized. It could be worse. Slowly, I chiseled away at the rules.
On June 13, neither pressured nor intoxicated, I slept with Brady. I really wanted to have sex with him, so I did. Sounds simply for something that has made my life so incredibly convoluted.
I regretted it right away, but I convinced myself we were in love. I thought I would marry him. At least if I married him we’d be each other’s “only one.” Things wouldn’t be that bad. We’ would have made a mistake, but it was one that cod be redeemed by our everlasting commitment.
For a while, this justification pacified my guilt. Then we started planning our day around having sex. You sort of have to stop calling something a mistake when it happens over and over again, intentionally.
I loved being able to please Brady. If I fulfilled a desire of his, I felt valued. If I could offer him something he wanted, I felt needed. A relationship that I now realize should have lasted only a few months dragged on for two years. Two long, depressing, self-defeating years through which one thing kept us together—sex. This thought tethered me to Brady: I have to marry him; he has to be the only person I’ve been with.
Everyone else questioned my attachment to Brady. I suppose they could see it for the destructive force all the time. But he was always there. The comfort and security of having someone seemed better than the loneliness of being on my own.
Brady broke up with me on January 26. I thought my life had ended. Breakdown seemed simpler than facing the reality of my sin. Breakdown seemed simpler than facing the reality of my sin. But somehow, through my shrieking, agonizing tears Mercy grabbed hold on me. He whispered to me, and I begged for His help.
Hebrews 12:1 came to mind; no, it came to life for me. At that moment, through I can’t explain it entirely, I began to throw off “the sin that so easily entangled” me. I count it a miracle that I got out when I did.
I wish I could tell you that the struggle in my mind stopped then and there, but my battle raged on. Though God had enabled me to lay aside much of my sin (and the guilt of it), my mind still needed to be transformed.
As I began to grow in Christ, the reality of my sinfulness, which went beyond the mere act of sex, became painfully obvious. Thankfully, His forgiveness and grace became more incredibly real at the same time.
When Satan brings up my past (which happens frequently) God reminds me that I have been washed white as snow, that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, that I am precious to Him. I cling to these truths, but I have to tell you that some days it’s agonizingly hard.
Now twenty-four and dating the man who could very possible be my future husband, I thank God for freeing me. My current boyfriend is hands down the most accepting person I’ve met. Through he knows my past, he never makes me feel dirty or guilty. But he’s remained pure, and when I look at him, I fight feelings of shame like I never imagined possible.
My sin has been washed and cleaned; I live forgiven. Still, my mind—tainted and scarred—deals with the consequences of my actions. I’ve learned the hard way that it really does hurt when you have to tell the man you hope to marry that you’ve given yourself to someone else.
My relationship with Brady was really a two-year identity crisis. I temporarily validated myself with a “relationship,” with sex. I lost who I was in the pursuit of what being with Brady told me I was. Now I know that no sin, not even sin that makes me feel loved and an accepted for a brief time, is worth trading my identity in Christ for.
--in the book Every Thought Captive