Truth Behind the Fantasy of Porn

by Shelley Lubben

  Not bad for an ex porn star.

  Seven years of a hard recovery out of hell, I walked out of the Champion’s Centre a fully recovered and healed Champion woman. God’s Word really did do what it said it could do. I was living proof of that.

  God healed everything in my life from a non-curable disease, bad programming from child sexual abuse, father and mother wounds, bitterness, hatred, rage, rejection, nightmares from the sex industry, sleep disorder, early cervical cancer in 2001, post traumatic stress disorder, alcoholism, mental disorders, and more. God also restored my marriage and relationships with my extended family. Even my mother-in-law loved me now!

  Everything seemed perfect. There was just one little problem. There was NO WAY I was going back to California like our extended families hoped. I wasn’t going anywhere near that hell hole again so I influenced my husband to take a job in Texas.

  Garrett was sure he was supposed to take the job in Fresno, California, but I was determined to never go to California ever again! I had worked too long and hard on my recovery to step my newly transformed foot onto the evil state that was home to the porn industry. No way!

  That chapter of my life was over. Anyway, I loved the State of Texas, the last true Christian state in America offering excellent education; I wanted to raise my children with the Texas best. So, I hurriedly drove across country from Washington State down to Harlingen, Texas, near the border of Mexico. I figured I spoke Spanish and I loved Spanish people so it was just perfect. What’s more, Garrett got offered big money to move down to Harlingen. Although, I didn’t understand why no one else wanted the job but of course I thought it was God’s Favor. Near South Padre Island, we could fish and swim and live in a big beautiful affordable house on horse property with orange trees while Garrett made the big bucks. I knew exactly what I wanted.

  A little Voice whispered, “California,” in my ear from time to time but I completely ignored it. In fact, I ignored all the signs pointing to California. With both of our extended families living in Southern California and a high paying job tailor-made for Garrett, I still insisted on Texas. Besides, secretly, I wanted to avoid the seven arrest warrants I left behind in California in 1995. I guess I still needed a little “trust” work in God done in my life. Anyway, I had a Washington State driver’s license and didn’t have to worry about the mess I left in California.

  I would simply and entirely forget about my “former” life in California.

  When I arrived in Harlingen, Texas, with the Gypsy Kings playing in the background, I was in heaven as I watched the sun melt along rows of wind-blown palm trees. It was a Mexican paradise. Spanish praise flowed from my mouth as I thanked God for the warm weather and sun!

  “¡Alabado Sea El Señor!” I shouted from my mini-van.

  No sooner had I praised the Lord when the smell of dirty diapers ascended into the air. I rarely stopped for bathroom breaks in order get to Texas in time for school to start. Little Abigail was barely two and her diapers were seeped with pee. Teresa and Tiffany were pulling their hair out along with our cat Jinx. Yes, I actually drove 2,000 miles over rattle-snaked roads with three kids and a cat. It was an insane desperate attempt by a woman who had been released from 300 days a year of dark skies and rain. As the sun greeted me on the Palm covered highway, I sang my Mexican heart out.

  I wanted sun more than anything. I loved Washington State but couldn’t live one more day in darkness. I needed sunshine!

  But as I drove along the highway into town I noticed one peculiar thing. There were no white people, anywhere. Now, I felt I was the least prejudiced person in the world due to my past “cultural” experiences but I was hoping that at least one person spoke English. I parked and went into the grocery store: no white people. I drove through Chick-fil-A to buy some fast food: no white people. I drove through the broken-down brown mall: no white people.

  “Hmmm,” I thought to myself.

  Luckily, I spoke Spanish and talked with the locals and they all said the same thing: “No hay Hueros aquí.” In other words, there are no white people here.

  I was going to KILL Garrett. He had visited Harlingen for a job interview and told me it was a wonderful place to live. He even excitedly found a house and put it in escrow to surprise me when I arrived. But when I got there and saw an old house on a dumpy street a few doors away from a junk yard, yep I was going to kill him.

  Now I’m stuck in a Mexican hell with three kids and a cat, I thought to myself. It was a darn good thing I knew Spanish.

  I angrily called my mother-in-law to vent about her son and she almost talked me into driving all the way back to California. She wanted her grandchildren so bad she could taste them. But God’s Word kicked in and I found myself submitting to my husband’s wishes. So, I submitted as best as I could, right after I yelled into Garrett’s ear over the phone. The next morning I woke up in a hotel and got my kids dressed for their first day of school. It was Teresa’s FIRST day in Kindergarten.

  Distressed by the huge mess we were in, I tried to make the best of it and put on a good Champion attitude. That is until the teacher welcomed Teresa into the classroom.

  “Hallo. Belcome to de clase room.”

  Okay, my kid was there to learn the ABC’s, not the “a, be, ce’s”. There was no way I was going to allow a broken English-speaking teacher to teach my daughter English. It didn’t take an ex La Huera Loca to figure that one out. The good mother in me spoke up and asked the teacher if she knew English and she half-smiled back.

  “We’re out of here,” I told Teresa and drove back to my daughter Tiffany’s junior high and pulled her out of school.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Tiffany asked.

  “We’re getting the H-E-double-Hockeysticks out of here!” I yelled as I threw the stroller in the trunk. The kids whined and cried while I fumed under my breath. I could almost hear God laughing.

  Almost.

  Then I drove over to the real estate office and told them to put the house back on the market, and that we wouldn’t need it. Garrett freaked out because he had already signed a contract with the hospital to hire him as a cardiovascular technician but at that point, the protective mother in me was immovable. We would NOT be raising our children on the border of Mexico after all.

  I learned my lesson and made a 2,000 mile U-turn and headed straight to my mother-in-law’s house in Chino, California, where most of Garrett’s family lived.

  But I swore to myself, that Garrett would still have to find another job in another state. I wasn’t going to stay in California.

  A few weeks went by and no other jobs opened up. Dang, I thought. Suddenly I realized God was involved and that when He gets involved, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. You may try to run from God but He will always leave the 99 to come and get you, and if necessary, break your legs.

  My Texan legs had been broken while I learned to submit to God’s plan in California.

  At least nobody knew me in Fresno, I thought.

  We hunted around for houses and of course I wanted the big beautiful 3,000 square foot home on the twelve acres of Walnut trees. I wasn’t ready to plant my feet in California and buy a house, so we rented a beautiful home in Madera, California. The school was right up the street and the view from my sparkling kitchen window was of beautiful horse property.

  It was a mother’s paradise.

  With two of my precious angelic children enrolled in Christian school and my husband working at the perfect job making FIVE TIMES as much as he did in the military, I was a blessed woman. I was so blessed that I was satisfied that I lived a perfect life. Well, almost perfect. I had a heart to preach the Gospel and teach the Champion teachings but wasn’t sure where that all fit in. So, instead I spent my time doing web design from home and made pretty good money from it while I still put dinner on the table every night. I was a multi-tasking Mama machine!

  When my hubby came home after work, I spoiled him absolutely rotten. The man will testify someday
I’m sure. He learned very quickly that when Mama is happy, everyone is happy. So, he continued to work hard and make me happy and our love flourished into a wild sizzling love affair. We were so in love, I would have given him ten more babies if it wasn’t for the fact I screwed up and made him “fix” himself after Abigail was born. Not to mention, the doctor said after my bout with early cervical cancer I couldn’t have any more children. After leaving the porn industry I learned I had HPV which led to early cervical cancer where I had to have half of my cervix removed.

  Anyway, we were happy. We were genuinely happy and I actually didn’t have one single problem in the world. Even my parents and siblings came up to where I lived and enjoyed our new life with us. I began to experience the up close goodness and kindness of my mother. She had grown nicer over the years and her charisma lit up the room. Her big personality and beautiful smile, I realized I was a lot like her! My dad, still handsome and more affectionate, had matured over the years and I saw more wisdom on him. I realized I loved them both and truly had forgiven them. It was an awesome time for me.

  My parents also spent quality time with their grandchildren. That meant the whole world to me. Finally, after all our family had been through, we were close. One big happy family, I prepared meals and threw most of the parties since I lived right in the middle of California. My brother lived up north and my parents lived down south near my mother in law so my house was perfect! And of course, I didn’t mind. I got to show off my cleaning and cooking skills, most of which were inspired by my Dutch mother-in-law. When I first married Garrett, she made it pretty clear I needed to get my act together and learn how to clean and cook. Thanks to her and Garrett taking the time to teach me the Dutch ways, I was never without a rag in my hand.

  Okay, I exaggerated a little but seriously I almost always had a rag in my hand.

  My mother was shocked when she saw my extreme cleanliness and remarked to my mother-in-law, “Well, at least she listens to you.”

  Yeah, because she took the time to teach me, I thought. But I held my tongue. In fact, I held my tongue a lot during those first few years in California. Of course, I did. I wanted everyone to love the new me!

  With a perfect new future in front of me, I never thought about the past one minute. I was on a perfect high in a perfect world and nothing could get me down. Not even the occasional lazy Christian I ran into.

  We started attending a Spirit-filled church in Madera that was much different than I was used to. First of all, the Sunday School teachers were always late to class. I couldn’t believe it as I looked at my watch every Sunday. The Champion Sunday School teacher in me was appalled.

  Secondly, the Pastor didn’t teach much of God’s Word, which seriously irked me. I thought I would die when he spent most of his time talking about the different demons over Madera.

  Like, the devil really cared about Madera that much, I thought.

  But the Pastor and his wife and family were really sweet. I figured, anyway, God was probably humbling me for a reason. I suppose I needed it. I was really puffed up in my Champion ways and didn’t understand when someone else wasn’t excellent. I had been taught excellence in everything I did from seven years at the Champion Centre. I had also attended Wisdom For Life Leadership School where I learned powerful leadership and teamwork skills. The new church I attended now didn’t know anything about the Champion ways. They didn’t even have a worship team for the children! God forbid!

  Of course I promptly volunteered to demonstrate to the church the ways of the Champion. But I learned real quickly that some churches are just like average American families, stagnant and unproductive. I wasn’t used to living a mediocre life and my Champion methods offended some of the people. Sad and confused by the laziness and lack of excellence towards God’s house and people, I was about to quit attending the church when I met a very special woman.

  Now she was a Champion.

  Her name was Pat and she had a powerful prison ministry. As well as the director and founder of an international Bible school, she held a doctorate in Theology and definitely became my new hero. She was the first woman to come along and really be a spiritual mentor to me on a regular basis. It all started the night she heard my testimony. It was the first time I ever shared my testimony in a church. Of course, I left out the porn part.

  “Shelley, you should share your testimony in prison. God has done a lot for you!” she said to me after I spoke. My heart leaped for joy! It was finally the moment I had been waiting for! I had no idea how to share my testimony but I knew I could speak. Then she handed me a prison packet and told me the rules and oh, to bring my California driver’s license.

  Ouch, I thought. That wasn’t going to work. I didn’t and couldn’t get a California driver’s license. My heart sank. I offered to use my Washington driver’s license but she said it had to be a California driver’s license. My heart sank again.

  Out of the blue God spoke to me, “Shelley, go to the DMV and get your driver’s license. Trust me.”

  Um, right, God, I thought. There was no way I would step foot into that place. But after a few weeks of God tugging on my heart to obey Him, I finally agreed to go to the “guillotine” and to trust in Him no matter what. I actually believed I would be arrested and dragged to jail, so I said goodbye to my husband and kids and told them I loved them and that, “whatever will be will be.”

  The moment I stepped into the DMV I felt extreme personal pain. I definitely did not want to or deserve to go to jail. I had worked very hard to change my evil ways and now suddenly my entire life was on the line. When I finally got a hold of my arrogant side, I decided to take a martyr’s stand and planned that if I got arrested, I would valiantly preach the Gospel behind bars as a prisoner for Christ.

  I was next in line. “God, please help me get through this,” I desperately begged Him. Then an old familiar voice came along side of me and whispered, “Just lie, Shelley. You can lie your way out of this one.” But I rebuked the low familiar voice and chose to tell the truth so help me God.

  “Name and social security number, Ma’am?” the placid lady demanded from me. I gave her my information and then she asked if I had ever had a California driver’s license before.

  I paused. The devil leaned forward. God leaned in closer and I gulped and bravely answered, “Yes, I’ve had a California driver’s license before.”

  Then the lady typed in some numbers, stared intently at her computer screen and suddenly looked up and said, “Please wait here.”

  Then she walked away. Not good!

  As I prepared for the different ways the DMV would cuff me, I prayed again to God and reminded Him of His eternal goodness and mercy. Yeah, see, I knew God’s Word by now and could repeat His own Word back to Him. God had to keep His promises according to what His Word said. I reminded Him of that.

  The lady returned and looked up at me and said, “We don’t have any record of your previous driver’s license so we will just issue you a new one.”

  Stunned, I put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming out loud. Who was I to have so much Favor with God?

  I tried to remain calm as I received my new paper license while I hid my busting inner smile. I mean, come on, how many people get out of seven warrants for their arrest just like that?

  “Ha, ha!” I laughed at the devil as I danced around the DMV parking lot like a Mexican hat dancer. As I did the cha-cha to my mini-van, I praised God in English, Spanish, and whatever Holy language came to mind. God lifted me so high that day I thought I would fly up into the sky!

  Surely, God is faithful, I sang over and over as I waved my paper license around in the air while I drove home. People in their cars looked at me like I was nuts. But I didn’t care. I knew Who God Almighty was and surely, He was on my side!

  When I got my driver’s license in the mail, I kissed it and blew a special kiss up to God. “Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered. What a good and faithful Father I have, I thought.

 
; Driver’s license in hand and ready to conquer, I showed up at Central California Women’s Facility, in Chowchilla, California, in May, 2003. The maximum security prison was literally facing my back yard. I often thought if the prisoners tried to escape, they’d show up at my house first.

  Little did the prisoners know they were in for a huge treat and I, of course, was in for my first real taste of “dirtying” my spiritual hands. Unlike the Champion’s Centre where everyone wore stylish Godly clothes and owned shiny Bibles, the inmates were dressed in all blue and carried beat up torn black Bibles.

  This place is tough, I thought as I looked around at disasters of women with greasy hair and teeth missing. Even I didn’t look that bad after eight years of hardcore hell.

  When Pat finished worship and cheerfully introduced me to the prisoners, I took a deep breath, asked God for serious help and bravely walked up onto the grungy stage. With a perfect written outline in my hands, I read every Godly word off of my paper. The prisoners weren’t impressed. Some of them even yawned.

  Maybe I need to get tougher, I thought as I allowed myself to dip back into the past. So, I put down my paper and blurted out, “I was a porn star who caught Genital Herpes and God healed me.”

  Gasps from all over the room continued as I shared all that God had done for me. My horrible past intertwined with God’s amazing healing of my life, my story turned into a powerful testimony.

  At the end of my sermon, I asked if anyone in the audience wanted to know Jesus Christ who saves prostitutes and porn stars and to my amazement, almost all the inmates ran forward and lined up for prayer.

  Wow, I thought. This is the Christian life for me!

  When one rough inmate approached me and wanted prayer for everything from addiction to sexual abuse, I laid my hand on her greasy head and prayed a powerful touch from God over her life. As I prayed against Satan and broke the power of the lies that held her in bondage, I looked down and saw we were standing in a small puddle of tears. I couldn’t believe it. The power of God’s love had touched the big frightening woman and turned her into a broken bawling child. From that moment on, I knew I was called to the prisons. I began to volunteer every week as a prison counselor where I taught the Champion teachings, prayed for and with inmates, and did inmate counseling.