I gave my life to Christ in 2018. At that time, I was still a virgin. Not long after that, I entered into a relationship and started having sex. This didn’t get in the way of my Christian life. I continued to pray and attend church regularly. I joined a church with a very active youth ministry that kept me grounded to some extent, but I was fighting silent battles with sexual sin.

Sometimes I was invited to preach in high schools, but I dreaded the topic of sexual immorality. How could I preach about something I was entangled in?

I remember one school mission in particular. While the guest speaker was teaching about fornication and its consequences, I sat there looking pious, but deep inside, I was filled with shame. Did I change my ways after that? Sadly, no.

Each time I ended a relationship, I’d quickly move into another one. And whenever my new boyfriend wanted sex, I would give in. As a Christian, I knew the emotional and physical bonds my actions were creating, but that knowledge didn’t translate to changed behaviour.

Even when I became a youth leader, I still suffered from my secret sins. There was a time I preached on this same thing that afflicted me; it felt as if I was preaching to myself and not the congregation. The prayer topic that day was about breaking soul ties. I joined in and told God I was tired and ashamed.

When I met Francis, I didn’t think much of him. He wasn’t my type, but I wanted to see where it would go. As a struggling university student, I was more than happy when he offered to take me shopping.

“Pick anything you want,” he told me when we got to the shop. That same night, he asked me for intimacy. I didn’t hesitate. I gave it to him. I felt that was the only way I could repay him for his kindness. As always, I was filled with regret the next morning.

I went to church and cried out to God. I told Him, “Once again, I’ve created a bond with someone who isn’t my husband. I don’t want to keep doing this. Please, let him be my last body count.”

A week later, I called Francis and told him, “If you truly want to be with me, we won’t get physical again until marriage.” To my surprise, he agreed.

We started over. Whenever I visited or he came over, we slept like brother and sister—even in the same bed. But four months in, we slipped. Yes, two youth leaders were now battling the guilt of fornication again.

One day, we were talking to our spiritual father when he said, “If you start ‘knowing’ each other now, what bargaining power will you have with God? And you’ll end up disrespecting each other.” Those words struck a chord with us, but we still didn’t change.

Then one night, after being intimate yet again, we sat and talked about the guilt. We remembered what our spiritual father said. That evening, we prayed, confessed our sins, and asked God for self-control. That was the end of our struggles.

The next time we did it was on our wedding night—a year and six months after that prayer. Even after our traditional wedding, we waited until we walked down the aisle in church.

My wedding dress wasn’t completely white. I didn’t want to pretend I was an untouched woman. People saw the nude colours as a design, but Francis and I understood why I wore it. We knew we had taken advantage of God’s mercy in the past, but we decided that from then on, we would be the light and stay in the light.

Today, I speak about sexual immorality with boldness—not from a place of judgment, but from experience and healing.

Sometimes, as young Christians, we think we are being judged. But there’s a difference between judgment and accountability. I am sharing this story because of the young man who said his spiritual life diminishes every time he gets intimate with his fiancée.

This young man knows what he is struggling with and how to step away, but he is choosing to hold on. That’s the most dangerous part. I hope my story inspires him and other struggling Christians to take the necessary steps to stay away from sexual sin. I know it’s hard, but trust me, the wait is worth it.

– Kaniah