I spent a whole hour fixing my hair the first time I went to my church's youth group. Why am I even going? I fretted as I struggled to get my hair to look half decent. I don't really have any friends there. But I figured it was better than sitting around the house or doing homework. So I jerked a comb through my hair one more time, hollered "I'm Ready!" to my mom, and headed for the car. When Mom dropped me off at the youth pastor's house, a guy I recognized from church answered the door.

"Hey, Katie, come on in. It's cool that you came," he said. He introduced himself as Ben and walked me into the living room. I blushed, flattered that he knew my name. Music was playing and kids were talking and laughing in tight little groups. Ben must've realized I felt out of place because he stayed by my side, introducing me to the others.

Soon, Ben and I started dating. Like the other kids in the youth group, we both agreed it was smart to save sex for marriage. But we never really talked about how far we would or wouldn't go. It didn't seem to be that big of a problem until we'd been dating over a year and ended up alone one winter afternoon.

After a long day of snowmobiling, Ben and I watched a movie alone in his basement rec room. We snuggled close and started to kiss. Although kissing wasn't a new thing for us, we went further that day than ever before—all the way to oral sex. Afterward, I felt gross. I left his house quickly, avoiding his mom's eyes.

We watched a lot of movies in the dark that winter. Each time we were alone, Ben wanted to push the boundaries, without going all the way. I often left Ben's house feeling guilty and dirty for what I'd done with him. But being Ben's girlfriend—feeling beautiful, fitting in at youth group, enjoying his attention—outweighed my shame over what we were doing in his basement.

When my dad got a new job and we moved to Florida, I was actually relieved to be hundreds of miles away from Ben. But I also felt afraid that I'd never again find someone else who'd give me so much attention and affection.

Shortly after I began my junior year in high school, I started dating Jay. He was older than me and a student at a local community college. Jay seemed so sweet and kind. He also seemed more spiritually mature than Ben had ever been. On our dates, he would talk forever about spiritual things, church leaders and Christian books he'd read. I was so impressed with Jay. Our times together felt refreshingly innocent—going out for ice cream, taking walks, attending his Sunday school class. He never pushed me to do things I didn't want to do.

Then one Friday night, Jay asked me out for a sunset-picnic-on-the-beach date. Wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, he picked me up in his navy blue Volvo. He closed the passenger door and then ran around to his side while I smelled the rose he'd brought me.

We slipped off our shoes at the end of the boardwalk to Dunes Beach. "It's so peaceful out here," I said, looking at empty sand stretching down the shore in both directions.

"Wait until you see the sunset," Jay said. He spread out a blanket and unpacked sub sandwiches, cheese, crackers, chocolate cake (my favorite) and sparkling grape juice. He even lit candles but the wind blew them out.

Thanks for doing this," I said, looking up at him. He just smiled and looked back with his gorgeous brown eyes.

After we finished eating, pink and red fading from the sky, Jay pulled me down next to him as he lay back on the blanket. "Jay, you know I don't … I mean, I'm not going to have sex before I get married. You know that, right?"

He sat up. "Well, yeah, of course," he said as he lifted my chin with his fingers and looked directly into my eyes. "And I don't want to do anything that will spoil my wedding night." I relaxed, feeling safe with him.

At 11:30, we hurried up the boardwalk to make my midnight curfew. We didn't talk. I brushed sand from my skirt and thought about our night under the stars: My shirt had been unbuttoned, his khakis unzipped. While we hadn't had oral sex, I suddenly felt dirty because of the places we'd touched each other.

I let my relationship with Jay drag on, only ending it when I went to college. Our physical involvement stayed hidden. At youth group, I was too embarrassed to bring it up. At school, I felt pretty pure compared to my friends, who all talked about having sex. But deep down inside, I felt sad and anything but sexually pure.

Not long after I started college, a friend invited me to some Campus Crusade for Christ meetings. Though I'd attended youth groups for years, the talks at those Christian meetings seemed different. They talked a lot about God's plan for every believer's life. I also heard about my value and worth coming from God and not from a relationship with any guy.

One day after class, I shrugged off my backpack in my dorm room. As I checked the messages on my phone, I heard a southern drawl: "Hey there, Katie. This is Betsy. I'm on Crusade staff, the one with blonde hair? I was wondering if I could meet you for a Coke. Call me."

Betsy soon formed an accountability group with me and four other girls. (Translation: eating pizza, laughing and staying up all night). It felt like a safe place where I could finally open up a little. I soon discovered the other girls struggled in their relationships with guys, too.

Then one evening during a Bible study, Betsy read Song of Songs 2:7: "Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you … do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires" (NIV).

She said there would be a time to be married—naked and unashamed—but God intends that kind of intimacy and vulnerability for married couples only. She also said that the point wasn't just staying a virgin, but remaining pure. She challenged our standards of sexual purity, urging us not to ask: "How close to the fire can I get without being burned?" Instead, she said we should ask: "How far away from the fire can I stay?" As Betsy talked, I realized that while I was rightly committed to virginity, I let touching and oral sex pull me into an impure place. I'd gone too close to the fire. I hadn't been following God's instructions on sexual purity. But then, Betsy said exactly what I needed to hear: "It's never too late to be washed clean of our sins, no matter what choices we've made in past relationships."

I wanted to believe her, but it didn't seem like it should be that easy. Over the next few weeks, I often read passages about confessing my sins before God, like these verses from Psalm 51 (CEV): "Wash me clean from all of my sin and guilt. I know about my sins, and I cannot forget my terrible guilt. … Create pure thoughts in me and make me faithful again" (verses 2-3, 10). I would read these passages and cry for a very long time, wondering if God could really forgive me. In time, I cried out of joy because I knew God had forgiven me—even though I didn't deserve it.

As I reached out for God's forgiveness, I also decided to take a break from dating. In order to make a real change, I needed to be alone with God and away from guys. I journaled a lot and read devotional books. I spent time with my girlfriends and with Betsy. After years of having to have a boyfriend, I finally felt comfortable not needing to have a guy by my side.

Eventually, I was ready to try dating again. I felt like I was seeing Christian guys with new eyes. I wasn't so focused on myself anymore when I talked to a guy. I was freed up to pay attention to what he was like. I listened carefully to the types of things he talked about. I wanted to be able to understand what was really important to him. Most of all, I wanted to discover the answer to one question: Was he pursuing Jesus or just pursuing me?

When I met Brian at a Campus Crusade retreat during my sophomore year of college, I knew he was unlike any guy I had ever dated. He shared Christ with his basketball teammates. He was in a Bible study where he was accountable to other guys for how he lived out his faith and values.

When we started dating, Brian and I wanted our relationship to be different. We both had regrets about crossing sexual boundaries in the past. In fact, he was frank about struggling with lust and trying to be pure. So we drew the line pretty far away from the fire. We didn't even kiss for a long time. We lived in different states so we wrote letters and e-mails. Writing each other with depth and honesty helped us get to know each other. On weekend visits, we purposely spent time in public places. We double-dated with friends and hung out with our families. It felt so good to date a guy who valued purity—and showed it by the way he acted.

From then on, I committed to only date guys like him—guys who would enjoy me for who I was, not what I would do with them. As I learned to trust God with my dating relationships, it felt good to end an evening without regrets or guilt.

In spite of my past mistakes, I'm thankful for God's grace and forgiveness. And I'm grateful he helped me understand why I need to try my best to stay sexually pure.

*the author's name and other names in her story have been changed

Read more from 'It Happened to Me'

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