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When I was a young sinner (and unmarried) I remember feeling angry and discontented at my various contraceptive options. I drew a garish cartoon of the female reproductive tract with a time-bomb in the uterus, barbed wire across the cervix, poison gas wafting through the fallopian tubes, various jams and jellies jammed here and there, --- and the solemn old self-evident feminist motto "My body is myself" came back to me.

The thought occurred to me, "Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I putting stuff in my body I wouldn't put in my compost pile? Who is the "enemy" against whom I am urged to use all this chemical warfare: my own internal wet wonderland, which ought to be kept as pristine as any of the waterways of the world?? My own clever, cunning and ingenious sexual anatomy, which is just fine and functional, thank you, but here I'm trying to sabotage it? My potential fair children?

I think it was a hearty appreciation of my own embodied self, and a whiff of disgust against contraception, that helped turn me away from superficial passing-fancy sex and turned me toward the Almighty and His designs.

God my Savior! Funny how grace uses anything.