This Two Becoming One

Sex is an act of hospitality – the giving of oneself and the receiving of another. In our sex craved culture where people are objectified, where pleasure is something easier achieved by yourself, and pornography is rampant and acceptable as television humor, it’s easy to forget just how intimate and divine the coming together of two bodies really is. When I married, no one told me sex would reveal some of my heart issues. I had no idea it would be a source of conflict in my very happy and satisfying marriage. I did not anticipate the reality that babies would morph my body in a way that would cause insecurity to hinder vulnerability. No one warned me that what seemed so appealing and exhilarating, would one day be the very last thing I wanted to do when I crawled into bed with my mama fatigue! That I would actually meet my touching quota during the day with all the little hands holding and tugging and all the little bodies on my hip or in my arms. So when darkness and stars settled in, I ignored the twinkle in his eyes, and pulled the covers up over the body that everyone seemed to love. Everyone but me. You see, those babies came fast for us. One right after another, like softballs firing out of a machine at the batting cage, spinning us out of the newlywed phase we had hoped to relish for awhile. And when you spend nearly every waking moment caring for someone who can’t care for themselves, you seem to neglect the one who isn’t as needy, the one who can make do without you. I reached a point early in our marriage where sex became another thing someone needed from me. Another expectation to heap upon the ones I already struggled to meet. But I adored my husband! We were compatible in so many areas of our life. Our spirits connected deep, and our emotional beings found great comfort in one another. We thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company, and we confidently joined God in the writing of our family’s story, one of adventure and passion and ministry. But this! This area of our relationship struggled. We faced this brokenness with deep love and persistence. Often times we felt like we were flailing, trying to grasp some sense of normal and a picture of what a healthy sex life looks like with spit-up on your shoulder, pacifiers hiding under your pillows, and exhaustion settled into your bones. We have been embarrassed, we have failed, we have laughed, we have cried. We’ve resented each other, forgiven and taught each other. We’ve asked questions, found victory, discovered great pleasure, and most importantly we laid this before God to redeem and make new. Because in our marriage we want to give and receive. We want to welcome and respond. We want to always be coming together as one. In everything we do. A lack of hospitality in anything is recognized by many boundaries, a lack of vulnerability, fear, and the instinct to protect yourself — the roots of a person who struggles to welcome. The same is true of sex. And when invitations are rejected, or when it doesn’t go as planned. When either person turns to other pleasures more than each other. When we’re not honest, and when we don’t consider the other person – we slowly build walls around our heart and body, much easier to construct than tear down. Mark and I are thankful for the place of freedom we’ve discovered as lovers. Sure, so much of it was climbing out of our sleep deprived comas. But also, we intentionally and prayerfully engaged our brokenness. We didn’t want our season to become our pattern. So we considered how our expectations had been shaped by the broader dysfunctions of our culture, as well as our own sin. We discarded false teachings {from church & culture}. We identified sinfulness. And we asked God to reshape our expectations in a way that helped us to be better givers and receivers of love. Because, for the woman, she can feel like she’s the open door, she’s the one always hosting (wink wink). And for the man, he can feel insecure as the eternal guest. But in hospitable sex, both partners are givers, and both are receivers. The goal of all hospitality is to welcome the other to share in you, and sex can be one of the most vulnerable of these acts. In our learning to welcome each other, we striped down and faced the naked truths we had tried so desperately to cover up. And when we surrendered to the intimacy, it brought such life and pleasure. And now we don’t always wait for the dark to settle in. We sneak away behind closed doors. With greater wisdom, we delight in the way our bodies have matured to reflect our years and the life that surrounds us. And we pull the covers up….together. This two becoming one. It’s a good thing. And one more thing…. If I were to counsel anyone in ways of sex and intimacy, I would begin with this teaching: Pornography and control are destructive. Period. No exceptions. They serve as tools to minimize, dehumanize, and objectify yourself and others. These sinful acts are motivated by instincts of our flesh and they hinder the spirit within us. They bypass the relationship, the very place sex and shared love was intended to exist within. They fool you into a false sense of satisfaction and draw you into deep selfishness. They lead to death, rather than life.