(This is Part 2 in a series on the Prodigal Son. Part 1 can be viewed here.)
Well, I wasn’t planning on two posts this month with the word “sex” in the title. But it is February. And hey…you clicked. Ha.
This is for obedient Christian singles fascinated with this mysterious thing called sex. Call it an occupational hazard of virginity.
It’s kind of understandable. When an entire civilization stampedes past on the street in pursuit of something, you’re bound to crane your neck that way. Throw in an entertainment industry that’s found its
golden calf cash cow in sex and you’ve got a powerful allure. “Wow,” we find ourselves going if we’re not careful. “Sex really does look like the answer. Wish I could get that.”
Now, I’ve never had sex.
But I’ve seen what it does for people.
Three years on an Air Force launch truck trying to block out “the guys” detailing their tech school experiences and favorite porn.
Three more years as a teacher, watching a few of my students bring their babies to class, where they’d promptly tear up any of their mothers’ homework they could reach. Cute little buggers.
Three additional years (cumulatively) at a local pizza place which, like any minimum wage job, attracts a lot of tough cases.
I do not want to sound judgmental, but years later, here’s the scorecard. Those airmen were beset with divorce and cheating. How many worst-of-humanity stories seem to center around sex? My former students are still neck-deep in a hard, impoverished existence. The minimum wage scene? Those guys can’t hold down a job, existing perpetually in the town’s scummiest trailer parks with few tools for reaching escape velocity from their addictions and debt. The turmoil crisscrossing these stories is not appealing.
But the one thing they all had more of than me?
Lots of it.
Whenever they wanted.