THERE'S A CARDBOARD WHEEL on my door that reads, "Things To Do Instead of Doin' It," in bright blue letters. When you're really at a loss for alternatives to making out, you spin the wheel to select different activities, such as "Go out and . . . Go to a concert!" "Stay in and . . . Read poetry to each other!"

I took this handy tool, courtesy of the New York State Health Department, and hung it on my bedroom wall at home as a joke—I wasn't looking to avoid any of the action I got. I had just graduated from a small boarding school where hook-up opportunities were few and far between, and I wanted to learn as much as possible about making out. And learn I did—I indulged in a lot, minus sexual intercourse, with a few people—and had some shallow, and unfulfilling, relationships.

It's not like I wasn't a strong Christian Scientist. I was and am a member of The Mother Church and my branch Church of Christ, Scientist, and I had just come out of my ninth summer at a Christian Science camp.

However, like so many once-Scientists I've spoken to, I decided that for the moment, practicing Christian Science was too difficult. It certainly didn't fit in with my plan to have as much fun as possible. I knew that God was ever present, ever forgiving, and infinite, so why would I concern myself with being pure all the time? I could put off achieving perfection for a few months, or years, to indulge my physical cravings.

The thing is, though, when you open the door to some of those cravings, you're letting them all gust in. As much fun as it was to make out with someone, it was not as fun to be gripped by the incredible loneliness and withdrawal I felt the next night. Looking back, I realize I was grasping for something deeper. I knew that what I wanted was divine Love, but I craved human affection. I blogged, "love is all around me and everything, but i want love to have big biceps and a gravelly voice right now."

You'd think I'd be over such mortal desires since I had spent the entire previous summer trying to figure out why getting physical, especially in a serious relationship, seemed so necessary. I couldn't accept that physical expressions of love were entirely sinful, just another addiction we have to overcome. I read and reread the chapter about marriage from Science and Health, hashed it out in my Sunday School classes, asked a Christian Science practitioner what she had to say.

The most enlightening thing I heard, at first, was from a Sunday School teacher at the end of the summer. She described her understanding of physical affection this way: Just as you can enjoy expressing God when you go out and take a long walk, you can be expressing God when you stay in and . . . well, you get the idea.

I could understand that physical affection can express love in the same way that running expresses strength and horseback riding expresses connection with the horse. It is easy to get addicted to runner's high or calorie burn, or to imperial control over your horse, though.

And addicted I was, which is why I was so eager to dive into a physical relationship with a fellow Christian Scientist. This guy was dazzlingly smart, funny, and spiritually impressive. We had plenty in common, good camaraderie, and electric chemistry. I figured that the spiritual connection I felt with him would only increase if we did hook up.

Science and Health pinpointed my misperception: "An ill-attuned ear calls discord harmony, not appreciating concord" (p. 60). Making out with my friend was fun, but I had read too much spiritual fulfillment into it, as I discovered when we stopped. Suddenly, I had no way to express my love for him, or to trust that he loved me. Our friendship broke down. Instead of feeling joyful when I thought of him, I was filled with bitter mistrust and betrayal. I was upset at him for not living up to the high human expectations I had set, and upset at myself for having such expectations.

I wish I had been reading Science and Health with a more enlightened view at the time. Mrs. Eddy said all I needed to hear: "Soul has infinite resources with which to bless mankind, and happiness would be more readily attained and would be more secure in our keeping, if sought in Soul. Higher enjoyments alone can satisfy the cravings of immortal man. . . . The senses confer no real enjoyment" (ibid.). I had to turn from the idea that "the senses" could convey love, or that indulging them could give me "true happiness of being" (ibid.).

If indulging the senses doesn't draw us any closer to God, however, why do we bother eating, or exercising, or going to school? I found myself back at my original question, and the answer was that divinely inspired activity expresses the divine.

So why couldn't I hook up with my friend? Mrs. Eddy said it again, that "the scientific morale of marriage is spiritual unity" (ibid., p. 61). Marriage or any sort of relationship that includes a physical element must be pursued in order to get closer to God—not to indulge the senses—or it can never be truly joyful. Such a relationship, I realized, requires commitment and "mutual understanding," not mere chemistry.

I'm taking that awareness into future relationships. With my friend, I'm keeping in mind that Love is not limited, especially not by whether it's expressed with kisses. We've turned back to the "higher enjoyments" of each other's company, like debating the merits of a clean kitchen and whether brownies are better with chocolate chips. I am grateful that I get to hang out with someone who reflects pure Soul so much, and am holding out for a romantic relationship that is unifying and spiritually based, one that confers divine joy without all that pesky angst.

CSS