 So as she mentioned, my book is a memoir of reluctant chastity. And one of the things that it looks at is some of the theological questions that are raised in the course of trying to practice abstinence until marriage, given the marriage is certainly not guaranteed. And when you find yourself making that choice, you wrestle a lot with questions of whether or not the God of the Bible exists, and if he does, if he's good. And so the excerpt I'm going to read today is set at a time when I was kind of recovering from a lot of really major disappointments with God and my parents. And after a trip to India, I spent a week in Singapore with my father, whom I'd had a falling out with about six months before. Because of dad's job as a teacher, he'd returned to Singapore sooner than my mom and youngest brother that summer. They stayed behind in Washington to help sis prepare for college life. This left dad alone. Considering my greatest conflict at Christmas had been with him, and considering our relationship was still in need of repair, it was the perfect chance to reconnect. In the days that followed, we cautiously bonded over the dinners I made while he was at work, and the dusty tiger beers I rescued from languishing in the pantry to drink with my supper. Some colleague had made a present of them one or even two Christmases earlier, but my folks were too polite to admit they barely ever drank much less beer. But I did. And sometimes dad would sheepishly ask for sips of mine, which reminded him of the beers my grandpa Broadway used to drink. I liked that it was in his children that dad sometimes connected with such memories of his father. If only it wasn't so hard for us to connect with each other. Though both of us were committed to repairing things, goodwill alone was not enough to span the chasm between us, a gap made larger by our struggle to communicate. Dad still didn't understand my questions and was alarmed at my plans to get another degree in religious studies, which he blamed for the unraveling of my faith. As a consequence, I didn't let dad see much of what I was really struggling with. If he didn't get the things he thought he saw in me, how could he be trusted to learn of the real issues and not tear me down with judgment and exhortation? He'd mean well, of course, mean to be building me up in my faith, but sometimes dad's meaning well only did more harm. The worst case was one night just before my 22nd birthday, when we were dining on the balcony where he and mom liked to have dinner and watch the sunset. They had a great view from their eighth floor apartment. Perhaps the romantic setting brought to mind my despair about relationships. Though India had been good for my faith in God generally, my faith that he would ever bring me a husband or could be trusted with my love life had been shattered by friendship with married man who seemed to have all the understanding I longed for, but none of the faith. As dad and I spoke and tears junior, I longed to hear some assurance that I was a great catch. Any man would be fool not to see it. Few must be the men who would be worthy of me and that surely if my earthly father could see this, God was no less eager to bring me good things in this most crucial realm of relationships. I wanted to believe I was right to trust God, despite this season of suffering, but India alone was not enough to reassure me. I needed dad to be the human voice of my heavenly father, promising God knew the plans he had for me, plans including hope and a future. Unfortunately, the best way I could articulate this was by the question of whether a man could desire me. Would God ever bring me a good man who would want me enough to chase me, woo me, marry me? Surely that couldn't happen unless I had some beauty, but dad was still reluctant to praise the physical and women much less endorse the man admiring his daughter's birthing hips and hoping they'd cradle his sons. So when I asked if he thought I had what it took by which I meant, could God bring a man both desirable and desirous for me? Dad faltered for a way out of this corner. Irreasonably attractive, I'm sure some man would be willing to marry you. I laughed, laughed so I wouldn't cry at my foolish hope that he could ever be the doting father I longed for. Laughed because at least one of us had to see the absurdity of his words for what it was. Perhaps that was why I'd feared I would remain a virgin until the apocalypse. No man would be willing to marry me unless he had few options. Well, maybe that was a little dramatic, over dramatic. Still, it was hard to accept this adult perspective on my father. He wasn't perfect. And now that I saw that, I couldn't keep on blaming him for all the ways he had hurt me if I kept staking myself image and my self-confidence on what he said of me. He did the best that he could. It was my job to sort the good from the bad in his parenting, to take to heart the wisdom and the love, leave behind and forgive the failings and the bad advice. I hadn't wanted to think adulthood made you responsible for the impact of your parents' input, but it did. If I was to keep on fighting for my chastity and my faith in God, I'd have to do it without my parents' help. There seemed only one thing to do. Return to finding distraction and now my worth with men who were secular. Obviously, that's not the conclusion I reach at the end of the book, but you'll have to read it to find out how I resolve it. Thank you.