At least they had the sense to wrap it, I thought, absently placing canned beans on the conveyor belt while remembering how Chicago had twisted my innocence. I came across that one, neatly wrapped in cellophane, a short time later in the checkout line at our local Walmart store. The trilogy’s second book is entitled Fifty Shades Darker. What we read and view for pleasure is one.
Still, with modern media at our fingertips, we’ve justified our way into fifty shades of our own personal grey areas. Even more disturbing is the fact that we, as Christians, are warned of an enemy who is like a roaring lion seeking to steal, kill and destroy us, our marriages, our purity and our relationships with God. Should Christian women read books like 50 Shades of Grey?Īlthough obsess and possess are strong expressions, with overtones from the underworld, the sad fact is that Christian women (and men) read these books on their Kindles right alongside the rest of society. Having personally witnessed addiction’s devastating effects, I neither longed to be obsessed, nor possessed. This book is intended for mature audiences.” That blurb was disturbing enough to cause me to quickly replace the book and go find my husband. Mental red flags appeared as I read this sentence: “Amusing, and deeply moving, the Fifty Shades Trilogy is a tale that will obsess you, possess you, and stay with you forever. Picking one from the stack, I scanned the book’s back cover, hoping the couple from church we’d smiled and waved to earlier would stay busy tasting free samples in the produce section. Having heard whispers of this book from Facebook friends and grocery line media, I knew better but while Husband browsed electronics, the Eve in me grew curious.
Fifty Shades of Grey by British author E. So, when my husband and I spent part of our date night a couple of years ago at the local Costco (I don’t know why we consider that such a treat, but we do.), I naturally gravitated to the giant stacks of books temptingly on display near the store’s entrance. Two decades later, I can instantly recall the scene. In those moments, a layer of my innocence disappears as a few lines on a page sear images of an unimaginable intimate act into my young mind. Picking up an innocent title, I skim the contents.
Wandering the airport, I casually stop outside a bookstore to thumb through a display of paperbacks. My flight lays over at Chicago O’Hare Airport, giving me some time to kill. I’m barely in my twenties and traveling alone.
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