Abstinence Education: Is It Reasonable?

I recently had to explain to my 13-year-old daughter what “cum” means because someone had scratched the word into the side of the bathroom stall, and she, like me, is incurably curious.

I have this rule that governs my parenting decisions in this department, and it goes like this: If your kid is old enough to ask you the question, they’re old enough to receive an honest answer, and it’s probably going to be a whole lot better if they hear it from you.

And it’s a parenting win if they feel comfortable asking you in the first place. That means lines of communication are still open, and they still have at least some semblance of trust in your guidance. I have no right to claim expertise here. I’m largely figuring it out as I go, but from where I sit, it seems to me that it’s pretty healthy to maintain open lines of communication with your kids about most things, including sex.

Beyond this baseline principle, my confidence level becomes a bit less steady in my approach to the sex talk with my kids. What depth of detail is necessary and at what age? Do you err on the side of overexplaining or underexplaining? For which specific topics is it appropriate to say, “Nope. Not yet. Table that one for a few years. You aren’t cognitively developed enough to be expected to process this information fully”? These things aren’t always clear, and many of them fall neatly into my category of “Proceed with prayer and trembling, and trust the good Lord to fill the gaps.”

I know enough to realize that I’m failing my kids as a parent if I leave this education work up to the public school system. If you think I’m being hyperbolic, I assure you that I’m not. As an activist in Washington State, I spent hours and hours personally reviewing the state sanctioned sex-ed curriculum, and I was truly disturbed by what I found— to the degree that I actually encouraged thousands of people to opt their kids out of the program entirely. Samples of the curriculum included things like:

• how 12 year olds can masturbate each other or bathe together for STD-free pleasure

• how to engage in bondage or blood/body fluid play

• how men can have babies

• why parents and religious groups are to be distrusted

• why it’s mean for girls to exclude boys from their sports teams

• how to get an abortion without telling you

• how to get cross-sex hormones without your consent

• how to get an HPV vaccination without your involvement

• why porn is okay for kids

Gone are the days of the basic lessons about birds and bees. Today’s sex-ed curriculum teaches 2nd graders about boners. It includes Playboy and Penthouse magazine covers in its lesson plans. It tasks students with going out into the community to practice procuring free condoms as part of their homework assignments. Of course it’s heavily lobbied by Planned Parenthood, who has a vested interest in prematurely sexualizing their prospective clients/cash cows. It’s not just informative; it’s actually grooming. So I know that’s not the way I want my kids to learn about sex.

But on the flip side, (and I say this with all the love I can muster), the sex ed conversational model adopted by way too many church families seems entirely inadequate, too.

When I worked at the pregnancy center, we had a client come in with an STD in her mouth, completely bewildered as to how it had happened. Her explanation was something to the effect of, “But I’ve only had Christian sex.” And stories like this aren’t uncommon in communities where the sum total of a child’s education is “Thou shalt not have sex until marriage. Here’s a purity ring to seal the deal. The end.”

Of course purity culture doesn’t help, with its relentless messaging to young girls about preserving their value on the marriage market by guarding their carnal treasure. I mean, really. How many of us Christian girls grew up with youth group exercises where we had to pass around a rose to visualize our virginity? By the time the rose had been manhandled by the 30+ kids in the youth group, the petals were wilted, and it looked as good as dead. No one would want it. Just like no one would want to marry a promiscuous girl. This was the lesson. Close your legs, or you’re basically worthless.

They didn’t say it in those blunt terms, but that was, nevertheless, the message so many of us heard loud and clear.

And it didn’t really work. In my case, it spectacularly backfired, and I threw my virginity at the first guy who would have me and kept on running straight off a promiscuous cliff for the next 10 years of my life. It had catastrophic consequences for me. And I know I’m not the only one.

A loyal childhood friend who grew up in the same milieu as me called me up the other day, and we got talking about how challenging it is to know what wisdom looks like when it comes to teaching our kids about sex. We know that God’s standard is to wait for marriage, and we know that it’s a rule He made for our own good. But we also know that, statistically, kids aren’t waiting for marriage anymore, so are we setting them up for failure if we try to impose that standard upon them? These are questions with which earnest Christian parents must wrestle.

And listen. I don’t care what anyone says: Sex is a spiritual transaction. It’s meant to bond two people to one another. It’s supposed to be sacred. It’s supposed to be special. It’s emotionally consequential when it’s treated as a meaningless physical transaction. I know these things because I’ve personally experienced the agony of getting them wrong, and that may very well be my most persuasive argument when coaching my kids through the issue.

I can look at my kids and say, “Look how much it cost me to ignore God’s standard here. My hope for you is that you won’t have to suffer what I did. I don’t want you to have to navigate single parenthood or welfare or custody battles or heartbreak and abandonment and shame. There are no guarantees, even in marriage, but marriage to a good person dramatically reduces your risks, and I want that for you. My hope for you is that you will be so confident in your value and so unapologetically protective of your own heart that you choose to only give this intimacy to the one person who has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to be committed to your good.”

That’s what I want for them. And that’s what I pray for them. And I won’t apologize for telling them, “Yeah. Abstinence is best. The inventor knows best how the invention is supposed to work. It’s wisest to follow the instruction manual. This is for your good.”

But I will also teach them what a condom is and what it’s designed to do. And I’ll teach them about STDs and ovulation cycles and tampons and wet dreams and boundaries and consent all the other things that were forbidden discourse in too many Christian families. Because kids deserve to know how their bodies work, and withholding information from them won’t prevent them from making bad choices. On the contrary, it might prevent them from making good ones.

If they’re going to make decisions in this pornsick world, let them be informed ones. And let them not be cluttered with manipulation or shame but with the heartfelt wisdom of the people who love them most—their parents.

And if they fall into sexual sin, I will point them to the same cross that covers the rest of the things we all get wrong. I will assure them that it doesn’t matter what anyone else has to say about their value when they serve a God who has already declared them to be “worth far more than rubies.” And then I will remind them that we don’t glory in our own righteousness; we glory in His. And I will pray with them and ask God to give them wisdom and courage to make decisions that honor the dignity of all people involved.

At least that’s the plan at this point. I covet your prayers on the journey.

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