Shannon Ethridge's Blog

posted by Terrica

http://www.cbn.com/cbnnews/healthscience/2010/March/Sexually-Indulgent-Now-Marriage-Ruined-Later/

Wow, this is a MUST read article.  Science is now proving the incredibly damaging effects that premarital sex can have on marriage.  Fascinating.

What do you think?  Did premarital sex have any kind of negative effects on your marriage?  If so, how?  Need help teaching your teens or preteens to avoid the same mistakes and pressures?  Pick up a copy of the new re-released versions of Every Young Woman’s Battle (for teens and college-aged women) or Preparing Your Daughter for Every Woman’s Battle (for parents to read with girls ages 8-12).  Every Young Man’s Battle and Preparing Your Son for Every Man’s Battle, also available at www.shannonethridge.com

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posted by Shannon

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,584936,00.html?test=faces

When I read this headline recently, my heart sank. Can you even begin to imagine what motherhood will be like for an 11-year-old? I can’t.

At first, I admit, I just wanted to scream! And cry. And hit someone or something for allowing this to happen in the first place. Basically, just be angry. But as my anger subsided, something else began to surface: even greater passion, if that’s possible, to help women embrace a lifestyle of sexual integrity, and become the sexually confident wives God designed them to be! (in the appropriate season of their lives—NOT in their teens or preteens!)

A vital part of motherhood is instilling sexual values in our children. We should be teaching our daughters (and sons) what healthy sexuality looks like, by mirroring it, by talking to them about it from an early age, and by educating and empowering them to save sexual intimacy for it’s most celebrated and proper place: within marriage.

Don’t let you daughter be a headline, or even the topic of gossip between teenagers at cafeteria tables. Need help? Start by reading The Sexually Confident Wife to find or recapture your own confidence, and prepare to pass the baton of healthy sexuality to the next generation. Secondly, pick up a copy of the new re-released version of Preparing Your Daughter for Every Woman’s Battle or Preparing Your Son for Every Man’s Battle (both available at www.shannonethridge.com). It’s one of the greatest investments you can make in both your own marriage, and your children’s someday.

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In light of our most recent topic (which we’ll be delving into more in the coming weeks–so stay tuned), today seemed the perfect time to introduce Charissa Steyn, a current participant in our B.L.A.S.T. program.  We think you’ll love her entertaining yet honest perspective on beauty just as much as we do!

Skimming through pre-marital books and seeing the sketches of the more “intimate parts” of marriage, usually left me gasping for air. My eyes peeled back in shock. These reading sessions were normally quite brief, since my ability to digest sex talk was quite low as an engaged woman!

My naïve mind was still haunted by the question, “What will my husband think when he sees me naked?”

Months before my wedding I was still vividly imagining the shock on my husband’s face when he discovered my prickly leg hairs, non-existent cleavage, and fuzzy arm hair in all their glory.

Sex with the light on. Never.

Lingerie. Not me.

Bubble bath together. In your dreams.

Obviously, I was nowhere near the definition of a sexually confident wife! Nearly every time I looked in the mirror my eyes focused on the mistakes.

Here’s why…

For most of my life I only owned two white bras and boy cut underwear in polka dots and stripes. I was known as the first person to grab a towel out of the swimming pool, and the last to walk around in a bra and panties in my all-girls apartment. Never wanting to draw attention to myself, I was ashamed of the way God had made me.

The desire for a perfect figure eventually led me into the biggest battle of my life so far- an eating disorder. Instead of giving me the confidence I desperately longed for, this obsession quickly stole my femininity.

Bones stuck out through my skin, and I soon found myself feeling like an “it,” rather than a woman.  Blinded to God’s beauty within me, a thick blanket of lies had succeeded in getting me to think I would never be pretty enough.

Obsessed with my appearance, I felt worthless if my thighs rubbed together. When my belly stuck out a little I would run for an hour on the treadmill. If I noticed any sign of fat developing I would nibble on some lettuce leaves making it my only meal of the day.

The scale became more than a machine. We had formed a bittersweet relationship. The smaller numbers it gave me, the more I enjoyed standing on it.

I was starving for confidence. Dying for change.

Fast forward my story to 2010.

My mission to be beautiful and thin came to an end as I journeyed ever closer to God’s heart.

God has shown me that counting calories and staying a size two will never make me feel beautiful.  I finally allowed Him to define beauty for me.

Beauty is who we are as a woman. It’s more than skin deep. Beauty runs wildly through our veins, flowing into our soul, spirit, and body. “Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration—what a creation!” (Ps. 139, MSG)

Now, you will find me confidently sporting my two-piece swimsuit, even though my body is nothing like the women on magazine covers. The size of my thighs or how my jeans fit (even if they are a little tighter!) does not rock my world because I know that my curves are feminine. The scale only tells me my weight- it does not determine my confidence.

Although you may have never struggled with an eating disorder, perhaps, you’ve fallen into the trap of believing that binge dieting, late night workouts, and skin regimens can somehow give you the perfect body, and in return give you the confidence you so desperately desire.

Deriving our confidence from the number on the scale or the little tag on the inside of our jeans, will always leave us dissatisfied, and not to mention hungry!

Are you starving to be confident in your physical appearance?

Along with my testimony, perhaps you need a little more motivation in learning to love the body God has given you…

Being confident in your body will also unlock greater depths of intimacy in your marriage!

My husband is thrilled to see that I do not hide my body behind a towel, nor am I skittish in my lingerie, or fearful to be naked. Nothing could excite him more than to hear me say,

Sex with the light on. Definitely more fun!

Lingerie. Always!

Bubble bath together. Can’t wait!

As married women, the view we have of our body does not just affect one person, but two!

We must be able to rest securely rest in our husband’s embrace, knowing he loves every part. 

Before you try to wax off all your odd hairs, run yourself crazy on the treadmill, or complain about your awkward features- stand naked in from the mirror and accept, with a smile, the body that God has given you.

If God can take a woman who was once fearful of gaining a single pound and transform her into a sexually confident wife, then He can certainly do for you too!

Remember that true beauty is not something to be achieved; rather it is who we are as women. Our bodies are fingerprints of His handiwork.

Do you still battle to accept the woman in the mirror? What awkward features about your body (we all have them!) are you allowing to steal your confidence?

Being confident in our own skin makes us exceptionally radiant and attractive women. Better yet, it is a priceless gift we can give our husbands every day of our marriage!

For more from Charissa check out http://blushingbrideguide.blogspot.com/ and http://charsteyn.blogspot.com/

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By staff writer Terrica Smith

Did anyone happen to catch the episode of Oprah recently featuring Jessica Simpson and her new reality show, The Price of Beauty?

Body image is such a huge issue in our culture.  It’s down-right exhausting, regardless of whether you feel good in your skin or not.  I have my own thoughts, but before I launch into them I’m curious what you think…

Ladies, what did you think of the show?  What are your thoughts on where we’re at as a culture regarding beauty?

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by Terrica Smith

Has your husband ever grabbed another woman’s butt? Mine has, very recently in fact…

I must confess that I’m also guilty, however.  A few years ago in a quiet little store in Nashville, I continued to browse around while Josh stood in line at the register.  There was only one person in line ahead of him.  After a few minutes I joined him, absently gazing out through the front doors and windows at people passing by.  We stood quietly for a moment, and then as I often do, gently reached over and began to rub his back…up…down…up…down, a little butt grab and pat for good measure…up…  Then suddenly I notice in my peripheral vision (I was still gazing out the windows) his head turn very slowly to look at me, and then a loud amused grunt/snort, inches from my ear.  I froze.  Wait a sec, my husband doesn’t grunt/snort… I turned my head slowly to meet his gaze, my eyes widening in horror.  The man is at LEAST a hundred years old!  I glanced around frantically looking for Josh but saw him nowhere.  Backing away, fourteen shades of red, apologizing profusely, I stumbled over myself and bolted out the door.  I wanted to die.  I had just totally molested a man who was old enough to be my grandfather!  Not to mention that he was wearing boots, a western-looking shirt, and wranglers!  How the heck had I confused him with my husband?!

We all got a great laugh out of it for days and days.  My mother-in-law joked that it was probably the thrill of the old man’s life, no reason to be concerned.

But here’s the thing:  This girl, this woman that Josh recently fondled, she is not a hundred years old and wrangler-clad.  She’s young and tall and beautiful with long dark hair, very stylish, a professional currently wrapping up her master’s degree, passionately in love with Jesus, and yes people, yes…she has a fantastic backside.

A little different than my experience, wouldn’t ya say?

It was an honest mistake on his part, thinking it was me.  He apologized, I apologized, we apologized, and she just laughed it off making us all feel better.  I mostly felt bad for him because he was so completely mortified. (He embarrasses really easily.)

I could have gotten upset and insecure, made a big deal out of it, made us both feel awkward.  But I didn’t.  Not in the least.  For one, I know my husband and trust him completely.  But also, I’m happy in my own skin.  Am I thrilled with every single aspect of my body?  Oh c’mon!  Is any woman?  No.  But I am confident.  I choose to be.  I think feminine curves are breathtaking.  I celebrate them.  And because of that, his accidentally groping her lovely curves didn’t make me feel threatened.

If anything…I just took it as a compliment. 

Ladies, have you ever had a moment like this where your sexual confidence was put to the test?  Did you pass?  Did your confidence soar, or perhaps you failed miserably?  (Oh I’ve had lots of those moments, too.)  How do you think you would have reacted in this situation?

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I was trembling…wholly and completely stirred to my core, my very soul shaken.  Speechless.  There were absolutely no words to describe the 30 seconds we’d just experienced.  Neither of us said a word.  He drove towards home.  I stared at the floorboard fighting back tears.

To help you understand what brought us to this place, let me backtrack for a moment…

Recently Josh and I have been engrossed in an ongoing discussion about giving, particularly in regard to tithe.  We’ve been talking about what it really means, challenging each other with why we do it, how we do it, and in what ways we can do it better.  I’ve realized it’s really easy for me to get caught up in percentages, whether true tithe is gross or net, the difference in tithe and offering, etc.  If I’m honest, the legalistic view.

We had shared our thoughts over dinner with dear friends, Steven and Christine.  After listening intently for several minutes, Steven ran his hands thru his hair and sighed.  He looked at the ceiling thoughtfully, “You know, I think all Jesus is really concerned about is that we give.  I don’t think it matters nearly as much how or where, just that we DO.  Just give.”

Wow, I thought.  That’s simple and freeing in unspeakable ways.

As we gathered up our things to leave, Steven ladled some of the delicious homemade stew we’d just devoured at dinner into a large container, telling me it would be even better tomorrow.  Still hot from the stove I tucked it under my arm as we headed out into the cold night air, pondering how grateful I as for covenant friends who challenge me, and how nice it was not to have to think about what to make for lunch the next day.

Our drive back across town was quiet .  It was late, Josh was tired, and my mind was reanalyzing our latest ‘giving’ discussion.  As we exited off the freeway and slowed at the light, I immediately saw him in the darkness.  To the left, begging, a haggard looking older man in a wheelchair.  He had one leg.  “I bet he’s a vet,” I wondered aloud.  (I read an article a few years ago claiming that nearly half of Dallas’ homeless are Vietnam veterans.  It had alarmed me, broken my heart.)

The light turned green, but as we pulled forward my heart surged, “Please turn around.  I want to give him something.  Please.”

Josh hesitated, not knowing quite what to say.  It’s no secret that we disagree on the whole homeless issue.  We go back and forth, sometimes on the same page, sometimes not.  I see his point, he sees mine.  We both want to give when we see a need, but how to do that effectively and with some inkling of wisdom is always in question.

“Terrica, I just…ugh!” he whipped the car around.

I knew he felt guilty for not wanting to stop.  I felt guilty for asking him to, knowing he’d feel this way, making him feel this way.  It’s a perpetual cycle with us.  Neither of us know what to do about it.

The only cash either of us had was the remainder of our grocery money, for the month.  It was a large bill.  I held it in my hand, debating in my head and heart whether this was wise or not.

I’m admittedly moved by emotion, by impulse and feeling.  I go with my heart.  Josh doesn’t.  He’s more calculated, reasoning decisions out in his head.  I think it’s a good balance.  I knew he was going to object, rightly so, to me giving the last of our grocery money to a bum on the street.  I felt completely torn.  Go with my heart?  Submit to my husband’s wisdom?  Is there even a right answer to this?  Yes.  Submit to my husband.  He’s my authority.  He answers to God on behalf of both of us.  What I have to do to honor the Lord in this situation, is honor my husband.

“It’s okay,” I finally breathe.  “We really don’t have to go back.  It was an emotional decision.  We can go home.  I won’t get upset with you, I promise.”

“No, Terrica.  It’s fine.  I’m just never comfortable handing cash out the window to some random homeless guy on the street in the middle of the night!”

“I know, I know…I wish I had an apple or someth—the stew!”  I suddenly remembered the stew wedged between our seats in the dark of the car.  “Let’s give him the stew!  It’s still hot!  Can we give him the stew?!”

Josh laughed at my enthusiasm, “Okay—we can do that.  I feel better about that.”  He was still driving in circles trying to figure out how to get back to the intersection.  I dug through the glove compartment hoping to find a plastic spoon.  I found a fork.  Hmm…that’ll have to do.

As we neared the light it turned red.  Perfect. I saw him, his back to us, but when I rolled down my window he instinctively jerked his chair around and frantically began struggling our direction.  He won’t get here before the light turns… “I’m getting out.”

“What!?”

“Two seconds!”  I jerked my door open and jogged towards him, squatting down in front of his chair.  One leg, tattered clothes, clearly unshaven for many months, his eyes were desperate.  As I handed him the stew he clutched it to his chest like treasure.  His tongue hung permanently from his mouth, even as he mumbled a soft, sincere “Thank you.”  I apologized that I didn’t have a spoon.  Seconds were ticking like years, our eyes locked, but I couldn’t walk away yet.  I remembered what a friend had said recently of her work with the homeless, that it often touches them if you simply ask their name.

“What’s your name, sir?”  His eyes softened, hopeful almost.  Tension seemed to subtly leave his body.  He gurgled slowly over his tongue, “Tim.”

“Tim?” I repeated for clarify.  He nodded.  “Well, Tim.  It’s nice to meet you.  Bless you.”

He didn’t respond.  I don’t think he knew how.  Our eyes remained locked.  “I want you to know that we’re going to be praying for you, my husband and I.  We’re going to pray for you.”  I didn’t ask.  I simply stated it plainly, because it was the truth.

He stared at me for another moment, then gurgled again, “Thank you.”  I smiled one last time before jogging back to the car just as the light changed.

Josh didn’t say anything.  Neither did I.  I fought back a torrent of tears, not sure what all I was feeling.  After several minutes of staring at the floorboard I said out loud, though mostly to myself, “He was precious.  Like a child.  So gentle and kind, you could tell.”  I paused for a moment, trying to articulate my next thought.  “And you know what else?  That was more difficult and moving than any check I’ve ever written to a church.”  We sat silently letting the statement sink in.

At home a few minutes later I busied myself with an ongoing decorating project in our bedroom, trying to shake the emotion of stepping briefly into Tim’s world.  I was too wound up for bed just yet.  I prayed silently for Tim, asking God for help to even know how to pray.  I was standing on the stepladder when Josh appeared beneath me from the kitchen, eyes full of tears.  “Terrica, I know I don’t say it often, but I want you to know how much I love your heart.”  All of the insecurity I was still feeling from asking him to turn the car around, melted.  I reached for him, tears filling my own eyes.  He continued, “I never tell you this, but I’m so thankful for a wife who cares about those things instead of Jimmy Choo’s or Gucci bags.”  His voice was shaky.  “I’m so grateful.  I want you to know that.  Even though sometimes I make a big deal out of it, in the end, I’m always thankful when we turn the car around.”

I stepped down and into his arms, and we just stood there in the moment letting all of our gratitude and fears and unresolved theologies just hang in the air around us.  My heart surged again, but this time for my husband, “Thank you for saying that.  I’m so thankful for a husband who appreciates that about me, and tells me so.  Sometimes I just feel like a silly, emotionally-driven girl.”

He laughed, burying his face in my hair, “Well you are, but there’s nothing wrong with that!  Sometimes I’m a just selfish, emotion-less guy.”

I giggled, “Yep, so true.  You need me don’t you?” I teased dramatically.  “You’d be lost without me!”

He looked at me seriously, “Actually, in a lot of ways I would.”

Authentic intimacy in the bedroom begins with vulnerability outside, in the day-to-day moments.  Those moments include celebrating our differences as men and women, husbands and wives, learning to appreciate how God made us so uniquely male and female.  If you want to inspire rather than require your husband’s affection, affirm the unique characteristics that make him who he is.  Most of the time it’s as simple as articulating what we’re thinking or feeling, just as Josh did.  Otherwise, I would have continued to feel a little judged rather than celebrated.  Those two minutes of him vulnerably sharing his heart with me certainly inspired my affection…but we won’t go into those details

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