When Love Isn't Enough to Heal Lust

The certainty of my eventual divorce was established when I was in high school. Even though I had not yet met my future wife and there would be 41 years of what I thought was a happy marriage, my divorce became a certainty. The problem for me centered on sex.

Like everything else in God's creation, sex is a good gift that comes to us from the heart of God. But because of my introduction to and early experiences with sex, the entire experience became perverted in me. Sex was intended to be a beautiful extension and expression of the intimate love between a husband and wife in a God-centered marriage. Within that framework, sex is the natural, beautiful, fulfilling, unifying result of two lives that are joined together toward a common purpose — to honor God.

In my case, because of my earliest experiences with it, sex became a dirty, shameful, secret thing that was completely separated from any concept of love or intimacy. Sex for me was purely selfish and could be shared with any woman who would allow it. That idea began to take shape and become solidified with all the men's magazines of my preteen and early teenage years.

My fantasies were never focused on just one woman. They were spread out over several different women in several different magazines. So the concept of sexual intimacy was completely foreign to me. Almost every early experience with masturbation involved multiple women. Not a fantasy of group sex, but individual sex acts with multiple women and multiple picture spreads in multiple magazines. And in my mind, all of them existed for one purpose only… To satisfy my sexual fantasies.

As a Christian, these developments were extremely disturbing. I knew on some level — even in the earliest days — that what I was doing must be displeasing to God. But the urges kept driving me on. So, I compartmentalized. I somehow separated my sexual life from my spiritual life. I became so adept at this that in my later high school years, I found myself praying that God would cause some girl to have sex with me. In doing so, I severed my only lifeline out of this lifestyle or off the path.

And so it was done. Sex for me was separated from love, intimacy, and God. It was dirty, selfish, and shameful. Completely out of place in a truly loving relationship. How can I pollute something beautiful with something so vile? Turns out I couldn't.

At one point, I told my wife before that I never knew what love was until I met her. Those are more than just flattering words to me, they were my reality. Before I met her, every relationship that I had was for only one purpose… sex. The girls meant nothing to me. They were nothing more than a collection of parts for my pleasure. I did care for some of them before the sex started, but once the pathway to sex opened up, they ceased to exist as people, and became objects for my exploration.

I had bought the lie that was prevalent in that day, that sex was love. That by exploiting all these girls, I was somehow loving them. I told them I loved them and they told me they loved me. And there it was. Love meant sex, and sex equaled love. But it was all wrapped up in this dirty little package. It was wrong, secret, hidden, and dirty. Shame was my constant companion. Until I met her.

I still didn't know anything about love, but the lessons started immediately. I found that I was interested in her. Her hopes, her dreams, her life. I wanted to know everything about her. This was all new to me. At first, I wasn't thinking about sex at all. All I could think about was talking with her, listening to her. God began to teach me about sacrifice, about serving someone other than myself, about giving. I felt like I was just floating along, blissfully unaware of anybody else. I wanted to spend time with no one but her — which was unhealthy — but I had never experienced anything like this before.

She was the answer to my prayer. She was beautiful, Godly, and kind. I was hooked from the very start.

We met in church. We courted with intention. We worshiped together. She made me want to be a better man. I wanted to become a Godly husband. To love her as Jesus loved the church. To walk with her for the rest of my life.

And I believed more lies: Marriage will fix me; intimacy will heal me; love will override lust.

But it didn't.

As my love for her shifted into a new gear, I found the filthiness and shame of sex less and less appropriate in our relationship. I knew that a sexless marriage was an abomination. But I didn't know how to resolve the conflict. So, sex became less and less common for us. I loved her, but for me sex was dirty. And so, it had no place in our marriage.

I prayed and prayed that God would straighten out this mess. But I was so messed up about sex that I couldn't even see where to start the fight. I was too ashamed to ask anyone for help, especially her. So, I retreated into my addiction. That's when the real marriage problems began, not because of the fantasies and masturbation, but because of all the shameful baggage that followed them. I was never able to engage. I was never able to enjoy true intimacy with her. So, she was never allowed to know true intimacy with me. Everything else unraveled from there.

The shame warped my view of her. It warped her view of herself.

I could see it. I could feel it. And I hated myself for it. But I still couldn't change it.

So I did what I always did: I dove back into my addiction. But deeper than before.

More magazines. Fantasies. Acting out.

This was no longer just physical. Not just psychological. It was deeply spiritual.

Jesus said, "Everyone who practices sin is a slave to sin."

And I was practicing... Daily. Secretly. Desperately. I was a slave. But I didn’t know it.

I convinced myself: She'll never know. That I wasn’t hurting anyone. That I'd stop soon.

But she did know. It was hurting her. And I didn't stop.

The addiction spread like mold. It warped my relationships. My identity. My sense of reality.

I stopped seeing her as a soul. I started seeing her as a solution. And then as part of the problem.

And when she couldn't fix me, I blamed her.

Marriage didn't heal me. It exposed me.

Hosea 1-3

Love That Won't Let Go

God told Hosea to marry a prostitute—not to shame her—to love her.

So he did.

And she left him. His wife couldn't see him as the husband God had called him to be.

So, she returned to her old lovers. Moved into her old home. And she returned to the only life she had known. The life that denied reason. No matter how if made her feel about herself, prostitution was what she knew. It was oddly comfortable. So, she sold herself.

But Hosea didn't rage. Rather than conceding her downfall, he pursued her. He bought her back into his home. He spoke tenderly to her. He restored her to her rightful role as his wife.

He said, "You are mine." Not because she was faithful. Because he was.

Hosea's love wasn't blind. It was relentless.

And God said, "This is how I love Israel."

This is how I love you.

Love Isn't the Cure—Grace Is

Marriage is beautiful. But it's not a cure.

It's a mirror. It reflects what's hidden. It magnifies what's broken. It reveals what needs grace.

My wife loved me. But she couldn't heal me. Only God could.

And He never abandoned me.

Even when I abandoned her. Even when I abandoned myself.

Even when I abandoned Him.

God's love isn't sentimental. It's sacrificial. It's stubborn. It's holy.

Like Hosea, He pursues. He redeems. He reastores. He whispers, "You are mine."

Marriage could never heal me. My wife could never heal me—no matter how hard she tried, or how desperately she loved me.

But God could.