Behold, I lifteth up mine eyes after a heated ‘Father Forgive my sins’ session, and there coming from my extreme right was one adorned in a garment that covered her completely, but only from waist downward. Waist upwards was a nearly naked story. The cut at her back went so low I counted twelve spinal columns, only four remained hidden. The sparse clothing upwards allowed her hefty bosom to give me a five-inch smile. And there, nestled between those two outdoored twins was a symbol of Calvary.
Who? Who was there to save the Savior? Certainly not me, because moments after I had to repeat my ‘Father Forgive my sins’ session.
Sometimes I feel we have a misguided sense of what pleases God and what He’s cool with. We’re like the eager toddler who drags his mother to come see all the Picasso-level multicolored crayon drawings he’s done on the white sitting room walls. “Mummy, mummy, you see I can draw?” he asks eagerly. Her dilemma is between murder and disinheritance. In the end she smiles weakly before reaching for a cane (I’ve just revealed to you a snippet of my childhood).We discolor and disfigure so many precious gifts from God and march into His presence with blind boldness. O forgive!!
But back to the cleavage business. You see if I was a father, surely, I’d rather my son salivates at cleavages than at another boy’s butt-crack. In these times when sexual orientations are as diverse as weekdays, it’s wwoonndderrffuuulll news to know your kid is straight. But at the point where the average person our age is hyper-straight, why straighten me out some more with too much cleavage? Why lead my poor heart down the path which ends in a confession booth?
Don’t get me wrong, my reference to ‘cleavage’ isn’t necessarily to the fine line formed when the two halves of biological bliss meet. I’m referring to anything you could have or be doing which makes it hard for any other person to live right.
If I told you I had the hots for Ama and you keep telling me to go for it and tap that….well that’s cleavage right there. If you make me feel silly for not marking up the budget or stealing from our ungrateful boss, that’s another cleavage. If you look down on me and make me doubt myself, so that I start doing silly things just to fit in, that’s one looonnngg cleavage.
If you talk me into peddling drugs, or use a lavish lifestyle to convince me to do wrong, your cleavage makes a prostitute’s look like à – Don’t do that! It’s so not cool. See how we’re all struggling as it is to do right, then you dangle in my face the one thing you know I’m weakened by, you’re one wickerd persin! (Anago accent).
So seriously, watch it. Examine yourself sincerely. If there’s anything about you which makes a friend more likely to sin, you should cover up that cleavage. If there’s anyway you walk or do you, which becomes another person’s excuse to do yawa, then watch it. Don’t be the cleavage that leads another man to sin. Don’t kraa. Also, if anyone’s ‘cleavage’ has been worrying you, drop this link like hot banku stuck to the top of your mouth. Lol, peace out!
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