I went to Catholic schools as a child, so all my teachers were nuns who wore long black habits with white wimples — and classrooms sported a hefty crucifix on the wall.
Their garb made the sisters stand apart from ordinary women — as did their vows of chastity, poverty and obedience.
Unlike my mom, these ladies didn't rummage through the closet each morning, hunting the perfect outfit.
Nor did they fret over the latest hairstyles and makeup, since they wore veils and their faces were unadorned.
In high school, they taught me purity was virtuous, based on Christ's words, "Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God."
Truth be told, there was no chance I'd ever "go all the way," because my father was standing guard.
As my boyfriend entered the house, my father shot him a look that conveyed, "You mess with her, and you'll answer to me."
And when the date was over, we were acutely aware that my father was in the kitchen, announcing his presence by rattling the silverware.
In college, I declared the sisters' teachings terribly old-fashioned, so I left the Catholic church and disregarded the rules about premarital sex.
Unfortunately, the result of my escapades was such severe emotional distress that after one romance dissolved, I attempted suicide.
Throwing down fences and "going with the flow" sounds tempting when it comes to sex, and it's hard to find a movie or TV show where unmarried people don't end up in bed together.
But in the real world, where ordinary folks live, fixed boundaries offer a sense of protection.
No matter how often movie scripts suggest casual sex is fine, many people know from bitter experience this is a lie.
In my 40s, after returning to the church, I volunteered with Mother Teresa's sisters — the Missionaries of Charity — who wear a white habit with a blue stripe.
Even though movies often portray nuns as stern and strict, these ladies defy the stereotype with their delightful sense of humor and big hearts.
True, they've given up husband and families, but they shower love on the seriously ill patients they care for.
The sisters are out of step with the secular world, which says living without sex is impossible, but they're fine with that. After all, they follow Jesus who said, "My kingdom is not of this world."
Another faithful follower was an early church father, Augustine of Hippo, who was born into a Christian family, but left the faith at 17 to pursue a reckless path, as recorded in his book, "Confessions."
When Christ began calling him back, Augustine uttered an ironic prayer, "Lord, make me chaste — but not yet!"
He eventually returned to the church, became a priest, and expressed deep love for God: "Late have I loved thee, beauty, so old and yet so new."
Since my husband died, I've met many people — single, divorced and widowed — who haven't taken vows like nuns and priests do, but are reserving intimacy for marriage.
Secular society sees such people as aberrations, so you won't see them featured in movies, unless they're the brunt of crude jokes.
Christ said we have to "enter by the narrow gate" to find eternal life — and squeezing through that gate may require dropping stuff that's dragging us down.
Some of our baggage may be sexual — for example, viewing pornography or indulging in sex outside of marriage.
When I recall my childhood days, I see sister writing on the blackboard, and occasionally glancing at the big cross on the wall.
For anyone wondering how purity is possible, the cross — symbol of love and sacrifice — shows the way.
About the Author
