“I’ll make love to you, like you want me to and I’ll hold you tight, baby all though the night!”  With gusto and passion, I sang along with Boyz II Men.  Twirling around my bedroom and clutching my favorite party dress to my chest, I used  it to mime the “throw your clothes on the floor’ lyric.  My room filled with the harmony of these love-makers crooning to their beloved and I was lost in the beauty of that sexy love song.  This love song was different than most–it didn’t promise to “sex me up”, or presume to inform me that my body was telling the horndog singer “yes”—  Boyz II Men’s song was different.  It was a heartfelt offering,  a lavish invitation predicated by love to come, be known, create oneness, and yes, make love.

At thirteen I’d never heard of making love.  Oh, don’t get me wrong. I knew of sex. I knew too much of the mechanics and all the wrong dynamics, but never love.  I heard the moans and slaps from porn movies and felt the dirty touches of my abuser, but making love?  What’s this idea that physical intimacy and love could merge into something art-worthy, melody making?  How could the touches of man thrill and awaken, not terrify and scar?

I was intrigued and as I listened, my inner vixen peeked out from behind the wall I built to protect my child-like heart from my too soon awakened identity as a sexual being. Beautiful and brave.  Sultry, yet serene, she was everything I wanted to be. “Yes, dear…there’s more.”  she whispered,  “There’s love-making.  There’s attention and joy.  There’s selflessness and generosity. One day a man will sing this to you.  I promise.  Sex is more
than sleazy pinches and contrived ‘F-me’s screamed by trapped girls like you.  There’s love-making and when it’s time, you’ll let me out and it will be magical”

I believed her and even though I was still a woman-child,  I sensed the Holy Spirit confirm it by placing his own seal over my heart with a promise of connubial things to come.

So I sang with Wanya as he flourished up and down the scales, promising to hold his beloved tight.  ‘Will I be held tight by my man?’ I wondered, this was my whispered prayer to the God who made our bodies and celebrates their blissful coming together.

Suddenly my older brother yelled from his bedroom, “Tiki!  Turn that off! That’s non-sense! You’re gross for liking that song,”

Stunned and embarrassed, I dove to my boombox and turned off my radio-made mix tape.  I didn’t know he could hear me!  Once the cold wash of shame completely blanketed me, I sat in the quiet and noticed the party dress crumpled on the floor. Ruefully, I sighed— how naive for me to think there’s more!  Sex shouldn’t be celebrated!  There’s no need for a party dress—stupid, stupid me.



Shamedfaced and made small, I sat and wondered, ‘but really what’s so gross about true love?’  I believed the truth about love-making sung by Wanya, Shawn, Nathan and Michael!  I believed it, but my brother’s accusations caused me to doubt.

“I’ll Make Love to You” has never been the same since that day.   Every time the first three notes play, I feel shamefaced and small.

I’m married to my own love maker now and even though my vixen helped me kick down that wall to show me how enticing a lover I can be, I still feel shamefaced and small when I dare to suggest that pop-culture could teach us Christian wives a thing or two about the joy of marital intimacy.

I feel shamefaced and small when I declare that all truth is God’s truth   and if Paul could use an idol set apart to the “unknown God”  to point the Athenians to Yahweh, then Beyoncé and Jay-z’s modern-day Song of Songs could be used to point us to God’s dream for our sex lives.



I shared this article and admitted I was inspired by  Beyoncé’s sultry, steaming, pro-martial fun times Grammy Awards performance
with her husband,  Jay-Z and then I heard from across the Internet:

“Osheta!  Turn that off!  That’s non-sense!  You’re a disgusting blasphemer for liking that song!”

But today, I refuse to remain shamefaced and small.

Today I’m going to give us permission to embrace our “Sasha Fierce”, that beautifully brave vixen who God designed with our one true loves in mind.

Don’t you see her?  Isn’t she stunning in your dream lingerie?  She’s peeking from behind the various walls you’ve built whispering, “Yes dear…there’s more.” Do you have ears to hear her?

She probably doesn’t sound like Twila Paris or Beth Moore, but that’s ok.  Let her sound like Beyoncé purring on a stage, loving on her man, deepening intimacy with the father of her child.  Remember: all truth is God’s truth.

And she’ll probably tell you to be honest and describe to your man all the ways you want him.  She might suggest a sexy text or a naughty swear word
whispered in the dark for his ears only…go with it, embrace your Sasha Fierce, enjoy the husband of your youth.

And she may invite you to swerve up on him with your bum.  She might even tell you to sway your hips. Oh, those hips that to you are no longer sexy as
they’ve widened with baby, after baby, after baby.  But Sasha Fierce tells you to “sway on, Sister”, for the man who selflessly woke up to do the midnight feedings for every single one of those babies. Go with it, embrace your Sasha Fierce and while you move and he can’t take his eyes off your fatty, let your man exclaim that the curve of those mama- hips are like jewels.

And your Sasha Fierce will probably tell you to make your breastases his breakfast— the very same breasts that have become a utilitarian reminder of your age ..that’s ok…go with it, embrace your Sasha Fierce and invite him to enjoy the ripe, sweet fruits of your garden— they are a feast for his eyes and
nourishment to his masculine soul.

I know your Sasha Fierce will definitely tell you to be a generous lover: morning, noon, and night.  She’ll say go out and have fun and tumble into bed
together drunk in love. GO WITH IT…embrace your Sasha Fierce and let your husband say, “I have come to my garden, my spouse; I have gathered my myrrh with my spice, I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk.”

Yes dear…there’s more.

There’s more than scandalized pearl clutching and judgmental accusations. There’s more than rule following and pledge card signing.  There’s
more than insecurity driven coldness and fear-based shaming. There’s more than books that turn married sex into a seven day project or game to be won.

There’s more for us holy, wild, wonderful, Sasha Fierces.

There’s Holy Spirit sealed, Creator-God sanctioned, Jesus Christ celebrated,  joyful intimacy in marriage. And while in the church we still struggle to find a healthy balance between legalism and love, last week at the Grammys, a celebrity husband and a wife who embraced her Sasha Fierce got it right!  We only need eyes to see it.

Today, I’m no longer shamefaced and small—I’m embracing my Sasha Fierce—are you brave enough to join me?

Pepsi Super Bowl XLVII Halftime Show


Shalom and Fierceness,