Popular: Boys, Booze, and Jesus

by Tindell Baldwin

  Penny Lane could be any girl, someone who fell in love and fooled herself into believing that when push came to shove, the man she was having sex with would pay the price for her. But why would he? She’d already given herself for much less. I gave myself for much less. I wanted love, so I traded myself for something that felt like love, and then when another offer came along, he traded me. I made out with other guys because I was insecure in who I was and insecure about what others thought of me. I cheated because when you get drunk enough, your morals don’t matter. Mostly though, I cheated because I didn’t care about anyone more than myself and making myself feel good. Because we didn’t have the foundation of commitment to make it work, he left. I’m not justifying my actions, but I can promise you that if we were married, it wouldn’t have been that easy. Walking away is a lot easier than staying. Staying requires hard work and sacrifices, and walking away requires nothing more than somewhere to go. We never know what Russell said to Penny behind closed doors, but I bet it wasn’t much different than what I was told. Words are cheap, but commitment is hard work. You deserve a relationship that is safe, one that doesn’t leave you questioning your worth in this world.

  The thing is, if you’re in a relationship but you aren’t committed to that person, then you’re replaceable. I was replaceable. After a few months apart from me, the “love of my life” found a new love, and seeing them together the first time was so hard I went to my journal to let some of my feelings out:

  That was supposed to be me, not her. I know I leave in a month and I won’t care who he is with, but right now it hurts to know he cares about someone like he cared about me. I want to think I was unique. I want to think he didn’t take everything I had and leave me with nothing but a broken heart. However, his promises were nothing more than words written on his tongue, easily forgotten and washed away. I thought what we had was real, but how real? I know everyone comes to the point where their old relationship breaks away and the new one ties strings around their heart, but do I even want that?

  Just like every other girl in love, I wanted to believe that what my boyfriend and I had was special. But when “love” is only built on feelings, it’s always replaceable. I wanted to be unique, because something inside of me told me I was. Deep inside, I knew God made me different from other girls, but I needed someone to validate that. I wanted to be unique, because standing out from the crowd was just as important to me as being part of the crowd. My parents always affirmed that God created me uniquely, for a unique purpose, but this relationship left me feeling like one more in a long line of replaceable girls. When it ended, I felt used and no different from any other girl who’d been dumped, and this challenged my belief. If I was so different, then how could he treat me like just another girl? He confirmed my biggest fear, that I wasn’t special.

  What are you trading your love for? What have you fooled yourself into believing? Do you think he loves you, but your heart feels insecure? Do you think he’ll never love someone like he loves you? Is he asking things of you that feel cheap and leave you empty? I don’t care what life has told you in the past; you’re worth more than fifty bucks and a case of beer.

  I traded my values for what I thought was real love. It didn’t last, though, and I was left living with the decisions that I had promised myself I wouldn’t make.

  CHAPTER 4

  A DIFFERENT KIND OF AA: ADDICTED TO ATTENTION

  LONELINESS WAS A feeling that seemed to follow me through the halls of my high school. Even when I became part of the popular crowd, I would write in my journal that although I was surrounded by people I still felt all alone. I would drink to cure the loneliness and wind up more lonely than before. I was never really a casual drinker, more like a line-up-the-shots kind of girl, and after six or seven I would wander around looking for someone to hang on.

  My friends joked that I got clingy when I was drunk, often hanging over whatever boyfriend I had at the time. I wasn’t like this when I was sober. When I was sober, I was normally moody and disconnected. But when I drank, I smiled that sloppy vodka smile and hung on everyone I saw. When I was sober, I was angry, desolate, and hurting, but I couldn’t show anyone that, because in terms of high school I had it all.

  I was finally deemed pretty, popular, and cool, and although it was everything I had wanted, it didn’t matter. The pain was greater. The pain of heartache and broken promises was a biting reminder that the life I’d invested my soul in was a lost cause. I’d given up everything that mattered—my family, my faith, and my body—to chase after this life, so I drank to get a good buzz and become who everyone expected me to be.

  After I lost my first love, I tried to move on. I found someone new to love, and I fell faster than I thought I would. But then spring break came, and he told me he wanted to be able to make out with other girls, so he broke up with me. Heartbroken again, I turned back to my first love and tried to get love in the only way I thought I could: sex.

  Sometime Senior Year

  After months of silence, he decided we could talk. I was so relieved. I still hadn’t gotten over losing my virginity to him, and I’d do anything for him to hear me out.

  We’d been talking for the past couple of days, unable to break the chains of our old relationship. He told me how much he missed me and that it wasn’t supposed to have ended how it did. I just kept apologizing, hoping he’d find the strength to put me before his pride. My best friend had a class with him and had been working to convince him that he should put the cheating thing behind him, that we belonged together. I didn’t know if that was true, but I knew that I didn’t want to be alone.

  It was a Wednesday night, and my parents had a Bible study at church. My best friend and I planned to get drunk in my garage apartment. She brought over a water bottle of vodka, and we went shot for shot while we listened to Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying.” It was our new favorite song, and it hit especially close to home since her mom had just been diagnosed again with cancer. We never talked about stuff like that, though. We weren’t good with handling our feelings; they had too much truth in them. So we got drunk and talked about how stupid boys were.

  I decided to text my old boyfriend and invite him over. I promised I’d sleep with him if he’d just come and see me. A tiny voice in my heart told me it wouldn’t work, but I drowned that voice in vodka until it slurred. My best friend left, telling me to call her as soon as he was gone. When he pulled up, he called me, and I met him outside. He gave me a deep kiss, tasting the vodka on my breath. He laughed; he knew I had to be drunk to have sex.

  I expected him to tell me he still loved me, that he forgave me, and that we could be together again. Instead we had sex and he left. I called my friend in tears; I was reliving the heartache all over again. She tried to make me feel better, but nothing she said could mend my broken heart. I waited for him to call or at least text me, but nothing happened. He didn’t say anything to me until a party the next Friday night, when he announced to our whole group of friends that I’d given him “breakup sex.”

  ♥

  This isn’t how God planned for me to use my body or my beauty, but I didn’t know who else to turn to for love. I didn’t know who to take my broken heart to except for the person who broke it. He wasn’t any better at handling it, though. He got what he wanted and left me with the pieces.

  But you trusted in your beauty and used the attention to give your body to anyone who asked. You lavished your love on anyone who passed by and your beauty became a part of many who did not deserve it. You took your clothes off and prostituted yourself. Such things should not happen, nor should they ever occur. You took the gifts I gave you, the things of you given by me, and you made for yourself male idols and gave them whatever they asked for. And you offered every special thing you had to them, your heart you placed before them.

  EZEKIEL 16:15-18 (MY PARAPHRASE)

  I didn’t understand that my body wasn’t a tool I could use to get love. Because I was so lon
ely, I would do anything to feel loved. I traded so much for moments of attention to ease my aching heart. My addiction to popularity and boys led me to do things I will always regret.

  God intended us to use our bodies to honor Him; it’s one of our greatest gifts, so in it lies one of our greatest weaknesses. If Satan can convince you that you aren’t worth being honored, if he can make you believe that you’re worth nothing more than a Friday-night hookup or a dirty picture message, then he can convince you of so much more.

  Your body is tied to every decision you make, and your heart is tied to everything you do to your body. If Satan, the Tempter, can break your heart and fool you into believing you can take your body out of the equation, then he can keep you brokenhearted and downtrodden with each hookup you experience.

  The truth is, you can’t take your body out of the equation. I couldn’t take my heart and my body and separate them. My heart and my body are one, and who I gave my heart to was tied to who I gave my body to. They were not and never will be separate entities.

  Defeated, used, and destroyed. That’s how I felt each morning after a night of drinking and giving my body away. I don’t know many girls who wake up from one-night stands, pat themselves on the back, and say, “Good job. I gave myself to Mr. Nobody, and now I feel so much better about who I am.” Attention is like a drug. It feels great in the moment, but it never lasts and only leaves you wanting more.

  Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.

  1 CORINTHIANS 6:19-20

  In high school I was addicted to attention. I loved being noticed. I wore clothes that sent this message loud and clear, and I was only happy with a Friday night if I ended up making out with someone. Every Saturday morning I would wake up and feel more alone than ever; a tiny, evil voice in my ear would tell me, “You didn’t feel alone last night,” and I couldn’t deny it, because there was some truth in it. For that split second I hadn’t felt alone, but the feeling never lasted. So I’d do it all over again. I was covering the huge hole in my heart, where God belonged, with one-night hookups. It was like putting a Band-Aid over a bullet wound; it covered the gaping hole, but soon the blood would flow and break through. I never gave guys what they wanted just for them; it was always mostly about me. I needed the attention. I needed to know I was worth looking at. The cycle was always the same: I used them or they used me; I got tired of them or they got tired of me. In the end one of us always left. I got so used to the pain that I didn’t feel right unless someone was leaving me. There were a few that were different, a few that wanted to stick around, but I was in no position to be anyone’s girlfriend. I was much better at being someone’s Friday night.

  The challenge with this attention deficiency is that it doesn’t go away just because you become a Christian. You have to deliberately fill the void in your heart with God’s definition of you. Even now, whenever I don’t have my heart fully focused on the Lord, I find myself slipping back into my old ways, subtle signs that remind me how human I really am. I watch for a man’s eyes to follow me as I walk, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m still found attractive. I know it means nothing, just a chemical reaction, but if I’m not careful, those small looks will turn into my self-definition.

  Today I’m happily married, but I’m still a flawed human ruled by my senses, which means I have to fill myself deeply with the Holy Spirit to fight what seems natural. As much as God has healed me, there still remains a scar that reminds me who I used to be, a tiny place that can fester if I don’t keep the ointment of His Holy Spirit slathered on.

  He is the only thing that can keep me from slipping back into the pit, and believe me, that pit is never far—just a hop, skip, and jump away from God’s will. I read chapter 16 in Ezekiel, and I see my life played out like a novel. I read it and hear my story. More than that, I hear the breaking heart of a Father. I see God noticing my shame and tears, covering me when I beg Him, and then watching as I run back out and give my heart away again. He comes to me, placing His protection around me and sheltering me with His cloak, wiping away my shame with His blood. I take it off, though, when some silly boy catches my eye. I throw off the cloak of my King to run after my male idols. I run after them and offer anything they want, a desolate, desperate girl trying to get love where it can’t be found. Read the words at the beginning of Ezekiel 16 and fill in the idol with whatever it might be for you. What keeps you from taking God’s hand and letting Him fill you? What are you chasing after?

  We tend to think of prostitution as something that happens on some distant street corner and doesn’t affect us. However, prostitution could be seen as simply giving yourself in exchange for something else. You lose a little part of yourself with each transaction. But there’s no amount of money that could be used to buy you. If there were, why would Jesus have hung on a cross? He wanted your heart. If getting your heart were that easy, why not pay for it and be done with it? Because your value is beyond any coin; it comes from the death of a God who came in human form. The only thing worth your heart is a sinless man dying on a cross. Next time some guy grabs you and gives you a sly wink, give him two pieces of a tree, three nails, a hammer, and a crown of thorns, and tell him to prove it—prove that he can pay the price it takes to get your heart.

  It’s All Downhill from Here

  I never thought that sex would be the level-five rapids that would plunge me to near death. If sin is the killing of your spiritual soul, then my spirit had terminal cancer. I was dying inside, and the only thing that mattered was making myself feel good, even if it was temporary.

  After my traumatic breakup, I didn’t know how to be alone. I surrounded myself with people so I could drown out any voice pleading with me to see reality. Drinking went from a weekend event to an everyday need. My friends and I could always find something that needed to be celebrated or something we wanted to be distracted from. I went from smoking pot occasionally to needing it most days before school. The parties got larger, the drinks got bigger, and the hangovers were worse than ever. By the middle of senior year, I had a growing stomach ulcer and a need to be loved that was so large I was finding anyone to fill the void. I was reaching my end. Each day my will to live got a little smaller, and my need for drugs and alcohol got a little bigger. What was once social now became essential, and when I couldn’t drink, I found my way into my mom’s medicine cabinet, where she kept a small supply of sleeping pills for traveling and painkillers for when her migraines got unbearable.

  My mom told me later that there were many nights she would come up and watch me breathe just to make sure I was still alive. I spent most of my time grounded, but whenever I managed to get out, I got so drunk that I’d spend hours throwing up.

  Finally one day, after I’d spent the morning throwing up, my behavior had become so severe that my parents worried I had a death wish. My mom had spent most of that year on her knees in prayer. My youngest brother was just as well-behaved as my older two, but he was getting lost in the shuffle. My parents had to devote almost all their energy to keeping me alive, and I was ungrateful yet needy. At this point my dad realized traditional grounding wasn’t working, so he decided to try a different tactic. When my parents caught me drinking and driving at three in the afternoon, they took my car and made me drive my brother’s ’86 Accord. That stopped me from drinking and driving, and it also taught me a lesson. Because I cared so much about my appearance, my parents knew I would refuse to drive my brother’s car—it was old and beat up, and there was no way I’d be caught behind the wheel. The only reason I was allowed to drive at all was because my mom was so sick she couldn’t worry about getting me around.

  Then the book Blue Like Jazz, a Christian memoir about Donald Miller’s life and his journey to Christ, came out. My dad assigned it as reading, and to his surprise, I loved it. Miller’s raw, honest approach made a big impact
on me. After the first fifty pages, I told myself that if I made it out of this lifestyle alive, I’d write a book. My dad also gave me community work to do, made me spend time at home, tried to monitor what I was doing, and basically tried anything he and my mom could think of that would send a message about the decisions I was making. There was more he could have said, but in the end, he said enough to make me realize I was doing something wrong.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough for me to change. In fact, the only reason I remotely listened to him was because we had a relationship before my rebellion started, and he continued to have a relationship with me through it. I think this is something that’s hard for a lot of parents of teens to do. My dad was tough on me, but he’d still take time to be with me. He’d take me out to lunch or dinner just to show me that no matter what I was doing, he deeply loved me.

  My parents were wonderful at showing me what Christlike love looks like. They were abundant in their love, yet thorough in their punishment. I was so far down my road at this point that I never questioned whether their beliefs could be relevant for my own life, but I also never questioned whether they loved me.

  By then, I’d completely lost my way. I stopped caring at all about my values and started giving my body to anyone who would take it. Anyone who could make me feel loved for a minute could have me. I had a few sporadic boyfriends but no relationships that amounted to more than a few months and more breaking of my already shattered heart. The message I kept receiving was loud and clear, like a megaphone in my ear: “You’re not worth loving.” Each decision I made fed into the lie that I wasn’t worth any more than this lifestyle. I wasn’t worth a future or a family that loved me.