…That day, Kevin drove me home. After he kissed me goodbye, I stepped inside and went upstairs. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I didn't like to look into my own eyes. I went into my room, trying not to look at my bookshelf where the words "Teen Study Bible" glared back at me accusingly. I lay in bed for hours, and I couldn't sleep.

All I could think was, What if? What if I get pregnant?
I cried as I wrote in my journal, mapping out a plan in case I did get pregnant. Who would I tell first? Would I try to have an abortion? Would I stay in school? How would I ever be able to face Dad (I remember we sang "Standing on the Promises" in front of the church a long time ago and I wore a blue dress) … "Oh please, God," I prayed, "just let me not be pregnant. I'll stop doing this."

I didn't get pregnant. But I didn't stop, either.

Time passed, and little by little I became aggravated with Kevin. His friends kidded me about the physical side of our relationship; so much for his promised discretion. He didn't show at a dance recital that meant a lot to me. I started feeling betrayed. I'd shared my body with him, my soul, and he didn't really care.

It hurt a lot. I broke up with him after a six-month relationship. I went into another relationship, and again I went too far physically. I was addicted. It seemed like I was in an endless cycle, even after I broke up with my second boyfriend. Change seemed impossible. Faith was the answer. Faith that Christ had died on the cross so I could be with him—so my sins, all of them, could be washed away.

So I prayed. I told God I knew I was a sinner, that the things I'd done were wrong. I asked him to forgive me and be the Lord of my life. At 17 years old, I got saved. As I began studying the Bible, I found more and more instances where God's rules, and my parents' rules, weren't just stupid things that made no sense.

 They made perfect sense; they were there for a reason, to guide me on how to really be happy. I talked to my parents one night and told them the truth about the things I'd done. I cried. I asked their forgiveness. My mom said she had known all along; she gave me a hug, and she cried as well. And I'll never forget my dad's face—so twisted full of pain. But as time's gone on, that face has softened. I struggle daily with guilt, and with feelings I wish I didn't have.

 I wonder if there's going to be a Christian man who will love me and marry me one day, even with the mistakes I've made. That's the worst fear of all. And even though I know God has forgiven me, I struggle to forgive myself. Sex outside of marriage isn't what He intended, and it causes feelings that cut deeply, to the very soul of a person.