The Pitfalls of Sexual Indiscretion . . . Excerpt 1

This is a very sore subject that is very close to my heart, because I have personally experienced the depths to which a family can sink when faced with sexual indiscretion. My first encounter with the ill effects of this level of human degradation came as a child, when my father punctuated his acts of sexual indiscretion by deserting his family and started a new one with my mother’s best friend – and my God mother.  This very tenuous situation was complicated by the fact that my husband had confessed to at least three extra marital affairs within the first year of our marriage – with one of his paramours being a close friend, the other being a relative of a close friend.  I forgave my husband for his indiscretions, and we worked towards rebuilding our marriage.  Even so, not even five years ago, said allegations of sexual indiscretion arouse in my homestead again, this time involving not only my husband, but my three sons as well.

I can tell you that there is a lesson to be learned here, but I’m not such a good student in this arena – and so I failed the test over and over, and over again. Of course, in all likelihood, there may be more than one reason why I can’t seem to ace this class, the least of which is that I am too doggone emotionally attached to the subject, and therefore I cannot view it with objectivity.  I can even get very philosophical about it and say that God is using these experiences in my life to draw me closer to him, but that level of reasoning only opens up another appendix.  If that is the case, it would leave me to wonder why? Why does God feel that I need to be subjected to such deep emotional trauma, in order that I be drawn to him?  It’s not like I’m a spiritual renegade – and even if that’s true now, what about when I was five and six – what was his purpose then?

When I was first faced with this dilemma in my own marriage, I had to do some deep, deep soul searching. Every thorn that pricked my heart, became a petal on the rosebud of my faith.  It was as simple as mind over matter.   It was as simple as mind over matter, because I had purposed in my heart not to fail in this endeavor.  At first, it was a matter of pride, not wanting to walk away from my marriage because of a little smut – or more accurately put, misdirected semen.  In time, it became more of a purpose.  However,  I didn’t know the depths to which I would have to fall before, God would pick me up.

Like I said, the issue of sexual indiscretion cuts close to the bone. It affects me on more than a physical plain, because it stirs up something in my spirit that cannot be easily abated.  Yesterday, I watched a talk show segment that brought tears to my eyes.  As the story was told, the “victim” was a newly wed who was about two or three months pregnant.  The scenario was that she walked into the living room one night to find her husband engaged in oral sex.  She stopped short of saying with whom, so the host directed the question to her, and she said, simply, “my mother.”  The host asked, “who was giving whom,” and she broke down crying as she said, “him. I walked in, and there he was with his head between her legs.”  The image of this scenario played itself over and over in my mind all night last night.  Every time I tried to close my eyes, the image of her husband and mother having oral sex popped into my head, and I could not sleep.  All I could think of was “God, how would I have handled that?  Would your grace have been sufficient to stop me from killing them both, or would I have had a permanent place at Rikers Island?”  The updated video post card said that they “have worked through everything,” but I doubt that sincerely.  In her heart, and maybe even in her mind she thinks it’s over, but I can promise her that every time she see has sex with her husband or sees her mother, the image of that one moment in time will pop up, and it will be a continuous struggle to push it away long enough to be sexually compliant.  I watched a marathon of ghost stories, including three episodes of the Amityville Horror, and an encore performance of a A Haunting in Connecticut, in one day, and it never affected my sleep one minute.  Yet this one three-minute segment has rooted itself deep into my emotional psyche.  My husband said, “Do you really believe that those things are true?”  I said, “Yes, because it’s been known to happen.  Maybe it didn’t happen to her, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen, and that’s what makes it bad.