I kissed a girl. And I liked it. The song played way before I thought it possible. This girl though wanted me to. I am a Christian. This feels too right for Leviticus 18. And worse for Romans 1. I mean we can negate the Old Testament for being too old. We are the assembly of the progressives!
Far be it from us!
Oh, how many times I’ve had to wrestle with small waists, cute faces and sweet smiles. These XXs. But keep it under wraps girl because, please you cannot feel like this!
Blood bought Christian girl!
Way before I unhooked her bra I had listened long. Fears. Pains. She trusted me. I undressed her emotionally first. Parting her lips was the easy bit. Breaking down walls she stayed behind took work. I got hooked on her.
But if I am being honest, I wasn’t aiming for a warm soft body besides mine. Locked fingers and feathery touches.
This is who I’ve always been. A rather good listener. So, I listen. And I love words. So, I use them.
That’s how I found myself on and off. On because she was fly and she liked me too. Off because Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners of whom I am the worst. Should I then give up for pleasure what the Lord redeemed for His glory and honor?
So, honor God with your body. I did not honor God with hers.
I stole a kiss or two. The Lord is kind enough to make me know my guilt. But hey, I could get away with it because Moses commands the XYs not to sleep with their kind as with a woman.
Those are on paper. What was I to do with what He wrote in my heart? Ignore it, because she liked it when I whispered in her ears and told her I had eyes for only her? Gave her enough attention. And won her over with these soft caresses, and compared to the boy she was with last I got it right.
Flee!
The Spirit said. I quenched Him and stopped His intrusion into my pleasure. This embrace. This softness. This ‘she gets me’. This ‘how can this be sin’?
After hours of chasing this ass. I found I was the donkey. Burdened beyond what I could bare. I went further than I wanted to go. Paid more than I thought it would cost me. Stayed longer than I planned to stay.
My friend, she asked me something and I told her, ‘I’m here making bad choices’. She even said she’ll come get me from falling in to deep.
What mercy is that!
I am reminded of the father running. Running to receive his long-lost son. Running to say ‘I love you son, in spite and despite of what you did’.
When God ran.
I was the prodigal daughter. When I was far off, He saw me. He was filled with compassion for me. And He ran. He threw His arms around me. Smelling of pigs that I thought were perfumes. That’s how He found me. That’s how He embraced and kissed me. Over my filth He covered me with His robe. He stamped me with that signet ring. Mine, I read. And that’s how I’d be identified from then till the epitaph is laid on my lifelessness. And on until the voice of the archangel and the trumpet of God calls me home. Forever and ever with Him.
How will any girl ever compete with that!
See what I had with her had to end for I choose obedience to my Savior over orgasms.
And I want to live for Jesus, my Life, my Way and my Truth. Breathed in me. Showed me the way. And is teaching me Truth.
Not turning back, no turning back.
It’s not just what I do between sheets. It’s the disposition of my heart and my mind. I have to love God therein. I will die trying. Denying me.
How hard! Was I to do it by myself, I’d fail on the daily. But it’s when I have cycles of the ova and I am craving those lips on mine. My hands on hers. That He has been working in me and He calls me to work it out. I follow close. I die some. And more.
I die to wanting her. I die to lustings of her. I die to myself. A thousand many deaths. I follow Him who fished me out of the miry bogs and put my feet on this Rock.
I have refuge. He is the rock that is higher than I. How can I think that these women are better than what He gives? Better than who He is?
I am not repelled by His pronoun as everything else is effeminate in comparison to Him.
I am not my sin. I am not my attractions. Dead in my trespasses. Now alive with Christ. I am His. Only He made me His. I will ever live and write for that. For by Him and through Him He made me thus. He made her thus. Not so I may lust. Not so I may touch or eat of this fruit. Nay. But that I, alongside everything else He made, we may lift holy hands in awe of Him.
You don’t get it!
Oh but I do. I do because I have resisted and I know how strong the pull can be. But at the cross may we bow our knee. Not to labels of the alphabet!
To Christ alone where our hope is found!