Sovereign Spirit | One Woman's Path from Shameful Sheep to Spiritual Sovereignty | Chapter Four, Part Two

Sovereign Spirit
..One Woman's Path from Shameful Sheep to Spiritual Sovereignty

Chapter Four, Part Two

I wasn’t always boy crazy, but when boys came on my radar in the third grade, two years before I ever had the sex talk with my mom, the boy crazy train just never seemed to stop. I’m not sure if it had something to do with my lack of a constant father figure in my life, or if I just really enjoyed getting extra attention from the opposite sex. Or, maybe I was just a normal girl with normal desires and instincts. It’s hard to tell what is natural and normal in a society which tries to force us into strict social norms so that we all feel and think and act alike. Combine that with a religion which tries to suppress natural desires and instincts all together, and a recipe for a severely confused and/or repressed individual is born.

Regardless, I was pretty into the whole boy thing.

In the third grade, there were two boys in my class who liked me. One would often come to school bearing gifts for me like a necklace (which he probably stole from his older sister’s jewelry box) or some sparkly rock he found in his backyard. He was loud and always made a big show about the fact that he was bringing me a present. It was embarrassing, and I didn’t like the kid. But, I did like that he liked me.

The other boy that liked me sat in the desk behind me, and tried to talk to me all day, everyday. He had big blue eyes, shaggy brown hair, and an infectious smile. He would get in trouble a lot because he talked to me so often, and during inappropriate times, like when our teacher was trying to go over our multiplication tables. I was, on the other hand, was miss model student, terrified of getting into trouble. I would never dream of talking during class. The risk of getting into trouble with the teacher and thus, my mother, was far too high. But, for some reason, when this boy with the big blue eyes started whispering his stories to the back of my head, I couldn’t help but turn around and listen. Sometimes I would turn my head somewhere in the middle, so that my ear was facing him, but I could still turn my eyes towards the front of the classroom where our teacher stood. I thought it was a win-win this way, but my teacher didn’t agree.

Eventually, Ms. Conklin had to move our desks away from each other, but I still noticed the way that the boy looked at me, and I knew he still liked me. I really liked him too. But we never said so out loud.

In fourth grade, I walked into my new classroom, thankful to see that the boy who had brought me gifts all year in the third grade wasn’t in my class. My teacher approached quietly me with a small package of crumpled up tissue paper, messily tied together with some ribbon. She told me a boy had come by and left it for me.

I hoped it was a surprise from the blue-eyed boy. Instead it was another sparkly rock.

In the fifth grade, on the last day of school, a boy asked me to be his girlfriend for the first time. I said yes, but I was mad because summer vacation started the very next day, and I knew I wouldn’t see him all summer, and what good was a boyfriend you wouldn’t see all summer long anyway?

Sixth grade began middle school, and the art of note writing and intricate note folding began to flourish at Zebulon Middle School. If you’re a child of the nineties, you know the kind of note folding I’m talking about.

It wasn’t long before a boy asked me to “go with him,” for the first time, and we actually did go places together. His mom took us roller skating, and she picked me up once for one of his soccer games. We held hands on the way to class and passed innocent love notes back and forth. Pretty soon, I had my first kiss. It happened on the bleachers of a Junior Varsity football game on a Thursday afternoon.

Our relationship didn’t last long, no more than two months, and that was considered a long time for kids our age. We’d practically been married.

From there, I skipped right along from one boy to the next, never staying with one for very long before breaking up, being totally crushed for a few days, and then falling head over heals for the next boy who I thought was cute and paid me attention. I loved the attention. I craved the feeling of being wanted.

Daddy issues. Trust me. I know.

Over the years, I dated a vast array of interesting characters. There were good church boys which my mom approved of, and then there were the “bad boys.” They were never really bad, just unchurched. Unchurched or unsaved boys were considered bad influences on me, and there was often conflict between my mother and I over these boys. I became good at lying so that I could see them when she wouldn't allow me to, and being somewhat devious became second nature to me.

Of course, asking for forgiveness from God for devious acts like telling my mom I was just going for a walk alone when I was really going for a walk to meet my boyfriend became more and more common. I never got into anything seriously wrong when I lied to my mom; I wasn’t a bad kid. I just wanted to walk along the streets of our small town and talk with my boyfriend while he held my hand. I felt that the restrictions placed on me by my mother were too suffocating, and it was never a question of if I should find a way around them, but how, despite the finger-wagging Bible verses that always seemed to worm their way inside my head. Living within the limitations my mom set forth felt like prison, and I couldn’t help but bend the bars a little to escape now and then. Besides, I reasoned, I could witness to the unsaved boys, and help them to know Jesus.