The White-Washed Tomb
Have you ever really understood Jesus’ use of “white-washed tomb” when he refers to the Pharisees? I didn’t until August 2007 when Jesus revealed to me this is exactly what I had become. Oh, how it hurt to realize this about myself. This is the story of how I came to be. In so telling it to you, perhaps you can better understand Jesus’ description of the religious people, and maybe even admit to God, yourself, and other human beings you yourself as just such a tomb. This is the story of a sex-addict hidden deep within the “clean” walls of good Christian appearances, devoted family man, and career-oriented employee.
Let me describe first the white-wash. I grew up in a Christian home with God fearing parents. We faithfully attended church all my childhood. I had a good upbringing. Mom passed away on my parents’ 26th anniversary. I was never abused in any form, neglected, or in need. My childhood was a happy one, one for which I am grateful. I made A’s and B’s throughout my academic career, including college — graduating from a Christian university in 1998 magna cum laude. Throughout high school, I was considered a “leader” in the youth group, surrendering to fulltime Christian ministry in 1994, and in college I spent Sunday nights preaching in small country churches. After all, I was a Christian Studies major, with Biblical Languages as my minor. I married a Youth Ministry major during my junior year. During this time I worked for the United States Attorney’s Office and was a high school sports official. Due to my mother’s terminal cancer, after I graduated from college in 1998, I returned to my hometown, and my wife and I were soon employed as residential foster parents in [a] group foster home setting. During this time, I taught Sunday School and was a lay-leader in my church.
After our second child was born, I entered the military as an officer. I was actually living out a boyhood dream! I was considered a “fast burner,” graduating from training classes and courses in the top of all of them. I won monthly and quarterly awards on a regular basis. I worked in the most prestigious office in our organization, with the best-of-the-best of the young officers and under the mentorship of the best-of-the-best of the generation just ahead of us. I embodied everything expected of a military officer. I was liked by peers, respected by subordinates and had the eyes of superiors watching me. I had a bright, fulfilling career ahead of me. I was expected to lead and succeed. I was chosen for the tough assignments because I had the reputation of getting it done. And I was proud.
At home, I had a beautiful wife who loved the Lord and me. We had four beautiful children in six years. The oldest two had begun to attend a Christian school. My income allowed my wife to stay at home and raise the other two. The kids played soccer, went to dance, we went to the zoo and bought a live Christmas tree every year. My income was steadily rising as my career progressed. We owned a home, a brand new one; a dream come true for us. I continued to teach and lead at church, respected, liked, and appreciated there as well.
Everything in my life looked perfect—perfect family, perfect career, perfect church life–living the American dream, as defined by white, middle class, white-collar America. I had everything I wanted and indeed needed in life. My life was beautiful. Not just whitewashed; my tomb had beautifully pruned rose bushes planted around it. The lawn was manicured. The sun brightly shone upon it each day and a bright full moon illuminated it by night. Sound familiar?
But the scent of roses hid the decrepit smell of decay that crept from within the tomb. Regardless of the rays of the sun outside, inside was only damp darkness fulfilling the true purpose of a tomb; hiding the death that lies within. For you see, the life everyone else saw and respected, save for my closest family members who knew I wasn’t right, only hid the dark secret I harbored. I was a sex addict. Let me take you inside the tomb.
I saw my first sex scene in a movie when I was 7. I still see the image perfectly today in my minds’ eye, some 24 years later. At 8 or 9, I was introduced to “Hustler” magazine and even at that young age, couldn’t get enough of them. By 9, I was fantasying about a mystical woman who lived down the street who would one day invite me to enter her abode to gaze upon her unclothed body, and teach me all about it. The school kids had been talking about “doing it”, complete with hand gestures, since the first day of school it seemed. I didn’t know what “it” was, but I knew it had to be good.
I first masturbated when I was 12 or so. I had been reading some science fiction fantasy novel, and the description of how the women dressed fired me up. No one showed me how to masturbate; it seemed to come quite naturally. Then I discovered an article in an old Cosmopolitan magazine about a simultaneous orgasm. I read this article for years as a stimulant for ejaculation. My first sexual experience came when I was thirteen. The older sister of a buddy of mine found interest in me, and interest soon fell into sexual exploration. The seeds of addiction had been sewn.
In high school, the addiction became full-blown. I masturbated to fantasies of every attractive girl in school, particularly those I had some kind of friendship with. My freshman year, at 14, I had a number of sexual encounters with the 18 year-old sister of my friend who lived across the street. I had fantasized about her for a year or so before we even ever spoke! I was into heavy metal music throughout my freshman and sophomore years, and such music videos were filled with scantily-clad women. “Headbanger’s Ball” came on MTV late Saturday nights, full of “hot” women. And the late night movies on HBO and Cinemax were all soft-core pornographic movies. Everyone else had gone to bed, but I still kept my finger on the remote. A friend’s dad had a subscription to Playboy, and a “Debbie Does…” movie or two. His son and I partook of these often. Then, of course, there were Sunday newspaper ads. J. C. Penney’s, Costner Knott, Sears, etc, all highlighted lingerie sales almost every week. And what sex addict could avoid taking the Penney’s catalog to the bathroom to peruse? I was masturbating 3 or 4 times a day throughout high school. I had a steady girlfriend throughout my senior year, but thankfully she was too reserved to allow our make-out sessions to extend past kissing and “safe” petting. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want more and fantasized about it afterward.
Sure there was remorse. Sure there was guilt. Sure there was shame. Sure I wanted to stop. You did too, didn’t you? But who does a 15-16 year old kid ask for help? I knew this was sin, but, remember, I was a “leader” in the youth group. I couldn’t appear to be living in sin. I couldn’t have a chink in my armor. Besides, this was embarrassing, and who would want to help with this? Who could I trust? And in all honesty, the guilt would fade away soon enough. I was already trapped in the addict’s cycle — normal living circumstance -> something triggers an addictive thought -> preoccupation -> arousal and fantasy -> acting upon the addiction -> short-term payoff -> guilt and despair -> justification of my actions -> normal living circumstance.
Ever been there before?
Then, I turned 18! Oh yeah! One morning I woke up and realized, “I can buy my own magazines. I don’t have to be content with Penney’s ads.” And buy them I did, and would masturbate maybe twice to them, then discard them 20 minutes later in disgust and guilt. There’s no telling how much money I spent on this behavior, especially in the spring of my freshman year of college. I commuted to my college classes and there were plenty of gas stations along the way with magazine racks. And there were other gas stations with bathrooms and trash cans just across the street. Have you ever been there? And I so wanted to go to DejaVu, the strip club and the self-proclaimed “World’s Largest Adult Bookstore.” But I never had the nerve to do either. And no one had any idea.
I transferred to the Christian university (from which I would graduate) my sophomore year. I actually had a period of sobriety, no magazines, movies, etc. and only sporadic masturbation. But, it didn’t last long. Sure, there were other such periods earlier, but they never lasted either. I promised myself over and over again “I won’t do this again. I promise myself. I’ll just pray it away.” I never did.
I met my wife in April of that year of school. Our relationship turned sexual very quickly. But even though I was “getting some,” fantasies of past girlfriends or other fanciful erotic imaginations abounded in my life, of course, accompanied by masturbation. We married the following December so we would no longer be living in sin. Remember, I was a Biblical Studies major and she a Youth Ministry major. We would translate Biblical Greek together than I’d sneak into her dorm room to spend the night with her.
In the summer of 1997, I was employed by the United State Attorney’s Office (USAO). I had heard of the internet and the prolific free pornographic material on it, but never had the opportunity to check it out. I finally did at the USAO. Sure, the connection was slow, but I had my own office with my monitor facing away from the door. This was awesome! To compare, it was like the drug addict who moved from cigarettes to marijuana, then discovered cocaine. The internet made pornography free, anonymous, readily accessible, and easily hidden. Or so I thought — easily hidden. The Computer Manager found me out and told my supervisor. He understood my curiosity, but said further use could not and would not be tolerated. I told my wife. She was shocked, and felt betrayed, but she listened. I told her “no more” and she believed me. Whew! Dodged a bullet there! So, I subscribed to an IP at home, and indulged when she wasn’t home. And she knew nothing of “histories” and caches so I could hide easily from her. And I did for years. And I still had no one to ask for help. Remember, I’m preaching on Sunday nights and translating Greek and Hebrew. I had too much to lose to come out of the closet.
After graduating, my wife and I moved back to my hometown to care for my dying mother. Three months after her passing, we became residential foster parents in a group home, funded and managed by our church denomination. Life was great! Ministry together, raising children, teaching adult Sunday School, officiating basketball, good Christian friends. Internet access and a mind full of fantasy and eroticism — and an attractive coworker who I just had to have. After working together for 2 ½ years, I told her of my affection for her. We began seeing each other. I masturbated daily to fantasies of her. We kissed a number of times and made plans to “consummate” our relationship. My wife found out about us. I lied to cover my coworker. I took all the blame. When the smoke cleared, I still tried to get her to come to me and have sex. We never did. But, at least I had proven to myself I could still attract a woman and convince her to give herself to me. Yes, there was an emotional connection with her, but I was consumed with having her physically.
My wife and I actually went to marriage counseling a couple of times. He labeled me a sex addict. Neither my wife nor I agreed. I did read the book he gave me, Addicted to Love, and identified with elements of it, but concluded “I’m not an addict of any kind.” I did some one-on-one counseling with another gentleman. I told him of my desire to be sexual and attract women, longing for their attention and adoration. I wanted to know I still “had what it takes” to have a woman give herself over to me.
I did have a good friend who knew my struggle with internet pornography. He and I worked together and had become close. I confided in him, but I wasn’t honest with him when he would ask me questions of accountability. I couldn’t honestly tell I had masturbated just 20 minutes ago, could I, much less of how badly I wanted to again even as we spoke?!
Ironically, during this time, but before the affair, we had visited a friend’s church. During a time of testimonials, I stood and boldly proclaimed the evils of pornography and how men in that congregation needed to confess and repent of this iniquity. This was probably during a period, albeit short, of sobriety.
After the affair, I opened up to my father as well. He was surprised but didn’t know what to say. He had struggled with his own different addiction for years. We connected in a new way on account of our being addicts, but it didn’t keep me from indulging. Nothing did. An addict won’t quit until 1) he really desires it, and 2) he hits rock bottom. This held true for me.
During the time of the affair, I found out I had been accepted to attend Officer Training School, but I had to wait to find out when I would begin. During this waiting time, I was still pursuing my coworker. When my wife found out, she almost left me. We resigned from the foster home and moved to her hometown where she would live while I attended training. I lost contact with the coworker, but upon arriving at training (I began four weeks after we moved), I simply discovered someone new to replace her. Fellow trainees of this new lady warned her we were getting too close. I knew what I wanted; after all, I was away from home. Let loose and have a little fun. After she said we needed to back off due to her classmates’ pressure, I wrote a note to her that landed me in big trouble. It costs me 4 more weeks of training. And I lied to my wife about what really happened. What really happened? I saw someone whom I thought I could go to bed with, to indulge in my addiction with in all flesh. Did you think my fantasies and masturbation had ceased? Of course not!
And it was at training I discovered something new! The party scene. Military members tend to love to drink, dance and go clubbing. Remember, I’ve been the good kid all my life, but now I had friends who weren’t. I drove because I didn’t drink, but I went clubbing with them. At clubs there were lots of beautiful women. Surely I could score one here. But I didn’t and never would in all but one excursion (we danced together; she wanted to take me home, but again, I was driving so I had to be the responsible “wingman” and get my buddy back to base.) However, I fed my eyes with all the exposed flesh and moving sweaty bodies I could. Plenty of food for fantasy life.
And so were the Maxim, FHM, and Stuff magazines I found in the squadron for whom I worked after training. They were kept in the restroom; how great a combination this was for a sex addict! My buddies glorious stories of their sexual exploits and the focus on sexual innuendos in every conversation only fueled my fire. “I want that! I want to have sex with one then leave. Have sex and leave. Have sex and leave.”
The internet had gone “high-speed” by this time, and I simply had to have the connection. I easily deleted my “histories”, my wife never found me out. She would go to the grocery store. I’d find someway to contain the children (ages 4 and below) and would spend time with my beloved computer. For me, lesbianism was best. Sure, I checked out other genre, but nothing compared to this. I never engaged in anything illegal or that involved pain and such. Even the “barely legal” sites I avoided. They scared me. But I checked out almost anything else.
Travel requirements permitted me new adventures: adult bookstores and movie rentals. Foreign towns, no accountability, and government money to spend – perfect combination to indulge. And always alone. Remember, I’m a “fast-burner” and the family man.
Remember the coworker from the foster home? I brought her back in my life. I had kept all my fantasies of her and finally contacted her. (I had not forgotten her cell phone number.). From 800 miles away, we began again. We talked sexually on the phone. We talked about what we hated about our spouses. We tried to find a way to meet to finally have sex. I actually had a cell phone contract my wife knew nothing of so I could call this woman. And yes, this was taking its toll on my relationship with my wife.
In February 2005, I left home for a week. The relationship with this lady was in full-swing. I had purchased gifts from Victoria’s Secret for her on a credit card form the store my wife knew nothing of. I had a mailbox where I received Victoria’s Secret catalogs and my bills. I actually masturbated in my car in parking lots behind restaurants gazing at those catalogs. And, I had an attraction to the Victoria’s Secret sales lady who always helped me. I wanted her. I wanted sexual freedom. So I left. And I took my own brand new laptop with built-in modem with me. When I told the lady coworker I left home, she balked. I asked the Victoria’s Secret associate out. She turned me down. But the models on the internet didn’t. They never did. They always gave me what I wanted — and everything I didn’t want. The guilt, shame, self-hate, remorse. But never the sexual freedom I thought I needed.
So, I went to a strip club for the first time in my life. Wow! Why hadn’t I done this before?! But, even though the dances were great and the attention of the women was phenomenal, I left feeling empty and frustrated. I still had to masturbate to get the “high” I wanted. And I went to Hooters for the first time as well. The ladies were so sweet; they were beautiful and they talked to me! Of course, both strippers and Hooters girls were all about the money, but I didn’t care. They were real flesh and blood, not just a glossy magazine or flowing computer screen. I returned home after being gone a week. And nothing was any better between my wife and me. Why should it be? The addiction was an un-scalable wall between us. I knew what the problem was. She didn’t. Ironically, the relation with the former coworker dwindled away after this week of being gone.
Leaving actually scared me. I was walking away from “the good guy” I was supposed to be. That would uproot the roses around the tomb, mar the beautiful white paint, and leave the lawn un-mowed. I couldn’t let that happen. How sad, huh? More nobly, I will say I didn’t want the family to dissolve for the kids’ sake. I didn’t want my wife to suffer as a victim of my choosing my addiction over her. So, instead of abandoning her, I simply killed her slowly, day by day, by pulling away—by feeding my addition and myself rather than our relationship.
God has a funny way of showing up to get our attention. Shortly after my return home, the mother of a friend of ours, whom I had only met once, gave her daughter a book and asked her to give it to me. She didn’t know my struggles, didn’t even really know me. I accepted it in grace, read 1 or 2 chapters, then laid it aside. “Interesting”, I thought, “but I don’t think I’m interested”. The book was Every Man’s Battle by Stephen Arterburn and Fred Stoecker.
The addiction ran rampant in my life. Business trips meant strip clubs and adult bookstores. I began experimenting with sexually oriented chat-rooms and cyber-sex. My standard initial question in my mind regarding any new female I met or saw was “is she f***-able?” And the answer was either “yes” or “no” and that was all that mattered. I fantasized about coworkers and church members. I tried to appear as manly and sexual as possible. And yes, I was teaching Sunday School, keeping the nursery, and serving my church wherever and however asked. My marriage was faltering; I had no patience with my children. I was masturbating 3-5 times a day, at home, in public restrooms, even in public showers. I was “strung-out”.
But, I know you’ve never been that far gone. You’ve always had control over the situation. You could stop if you wanted to. Your addiction hasn’t controlled you. In fact, it’s not even an addiction, is it? It’s just succumbing to temptation, and hey, what’s the big deal? You’re not sleeping with your neighbor, right? You’ve committed no crime. And besides, you’re a man and you have needs and if your wife isn’t fulfilling you sexually, then you need to find this fulfillment wherever you can, right? Right. And, you’ve committed no crime.
Yeah, I said that, too. Then in February 2007, I was arrested for a sexually related crime. The white-wash and roses were stripped away revealing a decrepit, decaying tomb full of dead, rotting flesh. My family left town to avoid the public spotlight and DHS, who always come after the children of sex offenders, regardless. My church turned away from me. I found another one, but was honest with the pastor about my situation. The church asked me not to return. Former friends looked the other way when they saw me on the street. (I made bail 11 days after my arrest, in case you failed to catch this.) Remember how I said an addict, in order to quit, must genuinely want to and usually must hit rock bottom? Needless to say, I hit the bottom. I returned to military service, but not in my former capacity. The job I adored was over.
Those eleven days I initially spent incarcerated, I returned to God. Needless to say, my relationship with Him had long since fallen apart. Oh, I taught Sunday School, sure, but in the flesh. I didn’t pray any more. Quiet times were non-existent. Bible study? Ha! I hardly studied in preparation for teaching on Sundays. I had turned my back to God; how could I stand to face Him living in such depravity? And yes, I was a born again Christian. I never denied who He was or what Christ did on the Cross. I still had my salvation. I was living in a form of godliness but denying its power. I knew church lingo and how to appear to be well spiritually. I knew the perfect mask to hide behind. I bet you do too.
When the mask was ripped away, I had nothing but a cold jail cell, fear of the future, and my thoughts. Regardless of whether I saw freedom again, I knew I had to return to Him and walk. I repented in sackcloth and ashes. I wept over my iniquity for days. I confessed all to God, and sought only to be restored in my relationship with Him. I figured nothing else of my former life would I ever enjoy again, so I didn’t even seek His favor in these.
Upon my release, I began counseling with a chaplain. The first thing he did was give me a book, thorough which he helped me gain control of myself sexually. The book was Every Man’s Battle. Funny how God works, huh? I got rid of my laptop. I cancelled satellite television. I started praying. I began seeking His face. I worked Every Man’s Battle battle plan. And I began to experience freedom. I began to look away. I began to control my thoughts. I began to resist the urge to masturbate. But, I wasn’t without relapses. I had to change behavior patterns, recognize what hours of the day I was most vulnerable, places that were dangerous for me, i.e. gas stations that sold pornographic magazines, the aisle in the grocery store where the magazine rack was located, taking different streets to avoid the adult bookstores and strip clubs. Now would have been the ideal time to “splurge” into my addiction. My family was 1100 miles away. I had few friends and they were busy. I was almost all alone and could do whatever I wanted to. But I didn’t want to. Yes, I had bad days. I bought magazines on three occasions. I still masturbated regularly.
But, I was getting better. It became less and less. I tasted freedom. I had been released from the bondage. Now it was time to choose to stay out of it. And day by day, I grew stronger. The urges became less frequent, though no less intense when they came. I began to exercise self-control.
And, God began to restore me, not only to Him, but to my family as well. I confessed everything to my wife—EVERYTHING. I sent her Every Heart Restored, the companion book to Every Man’s Battle for wives. We talked and talked. I went to see her and the children. Somehow, she forgave and we began healing. God brought a number of amazing believers into my life who knew my situation and they loved me, a far cry from the two churches who wanted nothing to do with me. A number of these people invited me to their church, a place I actually feared because people knew me and my family there. I went anyway. And I was loved there.
I was sentenced in July, 2007. Twenty years incarceration followed by fifteen years of probation. That night, I again believed it to be all over. But, the next morning, the sun still shone through the window. I talked to my wife. She said she would wait for me. And I know she meant it.
I didn’t give up the fight for my purity. I kept in contact with one man whom I met two weeks before my incarceration who loved me and helped me in my fight. No more access to magazines, the internet, or movies, but the TV was still full of beautiful, voluptuous women. I chose not to watch. Old fantasies and remembrances of sin haunted me. I took them captive and kicked them out. I went 10 weeks without masturbating! I was still in the fight, but I was experiencing true victory.
Today, I masturbate once a month. I let my guard down. I don’t fight the fight for myself and I lose. I’ve continued my “recovery” efforts. The chapel library where I am incarcerated had a copy of The War Within by Robert Daniels, a must read. If Every Man’s Battle is freshman English, The War Within is a Master’s degree in the war for purity. I have worked its twelve steps. I’ve sought counseling with a pastor who leads the church service I attended. I visit with the psychologist here. I’m engaged in two correspondence courses, one a Bible study on sexual idolatry, one on continuing to work my 12 steps. And I’m living in freedom!
Unless I leave myself vulnerable, my eyes look away from attractive female guards. I take captive those old fantasies and remembrances of sin. I control my body in a way that is holy and honorable, not in passionate lust. And, most importantly, I’m sharing my battle plan with other men. I’m praying with them for their purity. I keep them accountable and they return the favor. No, it isn’t easy maintaining purity in prison. I can get Maxim, FHM, and Stuff. I can get Playboy. I can watch TV and fantasize about the women on it. I can indulge in old fantasies and remembrances. Yes, I could stay in my addiction to sex in here just as easily as when I was on the streets. But, by God’s grace, today I choose purity.
Why have I shared this with you? Because I don’t want to meet you in prison. I don’t want you to create a tragedy in more lives than you care to count. Because I want to serve as a warning to you of what you are heading for unless you commit to absolute, unwavering purity. Do you really want the word “victim” to be on your conscience? Do you really want to tell your children why you weren’t there to raise them? Do you really want to register as a sex offender?
More importantly, do you want to continue to fail your God? Do you want your work in His kingdom railroaded? Do you want to look in the mirror with dignity and respect? Do you want to live in freedom spiritually, emotionally, mentally? Do you want to live in purity on the day you meet Jesus Christ face to face?
Men, please, choose the freedom purity provides. Please, whether you realize it or not, you’re already creating victims—your wife, your children, the women at whom you gaze. Please, no more victims. Hear my story and fear what you can become. Fear the tragedy your sexual immorality will bring. Today, choose purity. And fight with all you have. You can enjoy freedom, but it will cost you blood, sweat, and tears. But, it’s worth it. I’m incarcerated today, but I enjoy more freedom than some of you do. Think about it.
In Christ’s Love
(name withheld)
