When my wife and I were dating, we never had to have the conversation about sex being off limits because we were crystal clear that Christians are not supposed to have sex until they are married.

Because we started long-distance—my wife was living in D.C., and I was in New York City—temptation was easy to manage. The distance, combined with the fact that we were always around others when we did see each other, made boundaries easier to maintain. I lived in a discipleship house with five other guys, and my wife lived at home with her family. We saw each other in person maybe once every five or six weeks, and most of our communication happened over FaceTime. That limited proximity made it much easier to honor our convictions.

But as things progressed and got serious, we reached a crossroads: where would we build our relationship long-term? I had only been in New York for three years, but it was clear the Lord had called me there. My wife had never lived outside her parents’ home, but she was open to stepping out of her comfort zone to pursue growth in her career and faith.

Once we agreed that our relationship could only grow healthily if we were in the same city, my wife moved to New York. Still, because of our convictions, we were clear that we wouldn’t live together until we were married. So, she moved into a discipleship house with two other women from my church.

She quickly became a part of the same church community, and we began building our lives together under the care of a healthy spiritual family. Both my roommates and hers were intentional about keeping us accountable, asking hard questions, and supporting our desire to honor God with healthy sexual and relational boundaries.

What I didn’t expect was how much temptation would increase now that we could see each other whenever we wanted. Going from seeing each other every six weeks to living just a few train stops apart changed everything. Our relationship deepened quickly.

We were serving in community groups together, reading books together, and going on dates throughout the city almost daily. We also invested in individual counseling for my wife, as some of our intentional conversations had surfaced past relationship wounds she wanted to heal before moving forward.

Our life became filled with community, accountability, and professional support. Reading Christian books together and doing Bible studies helped us keep Christ at the center. That kind of shared faith built our intimacy. Because we built our relationship around spiritual, emotional, and mental connection—not physical intimacy—we spent a lot of time asking deep questions that might’ve been skipped if we were sexually involved.

Since we weren’t having sex, we took the time to learn about each other’s families and how we were raised. We talked about our relationships with our parents and siblings, the kind of children we hoped to raise, and the values we wanted to build our family on.

We traveled together, supported each other’s work, and even took classes—dance, pottery, culinary—that strengthened our bond. We also worked through serious conflicts, including some arguments that almost ended the relationship. But because we weren’t clouded by physical intimacy, we had the clarity to see how each of us handled conflict. That gave us confidence to commit to one another with sober judgment—not blinded by lust, but based on who we truly were.

We didn’t build physical intimacy for quite a while. I still remember the first time we held hands—at the Rockefeller Christmas tree.

We were also slow and intentional with the words “I love you,” understanding the weight of that phrase. We didn’t want to say it prematurely or stir emotions that weren’t yet grounded in commitment. That meant having vulnerable conversations about our sexual histories to understand what we were committing to.

But after we got engaged, the temptation skyrocketed.

There’s something about knowing you’re going to marry someone that makes compromise feel easier. It’s like the devil whispers, “She’s already going to be your wife—why not just have sex now?”

As temptation increased, we realized we needed new boundaries. After going too far with humping and heavy touching, we confessed to our roommates. They decided it wasn’t healthy for us to be alone indoors anymore and told us we had to have all our dates in public places.

That may sound extreme, but it was necessary. We froze on cold park benches in the winter, but we made it to our wedding day without having sex—driven by our desire to honor God. And that made sharing that moment on our wedding night all the more sacred.

Though we came from very different sexual pasts, God used our dating season to heal us, purify us, and prepare us for a thriving sex life in marriage. Over the past seven years, we’ve been able to help many other couples become more open, honest, and satisfied in their sex lives. We know the only reason we enjoy that now is because of our commitment to God and the community He placed around us.

The journey wasn’t easy—but it was absolutely worth it.

And this is just a small piece of my testimony. It’s what drives my passion to help men prepare for marriage and become healthy, faithful partners. After discipling men for over a decade, I’ve seen how many don’t realize how much their purity—or lack of it—will follow them into marriage.

That’s why I’m excited to announce my first-ever Men’s Purity Seminar in New York City on September 27. Tickets are on sale now, and I’m grateful that God is allowing me to continue this work—helping men become the purity leaders our world so desperately needs.