I’ve always sinned, right from infancy. Some of my earliest sins included coveting my brothers bigger meat, lying that I wasn’t the one who used the toilet and didn’t flush, overly enjoying the stimulating warmth of being on Patience’s back as I played her son in a ‘Maame ne Paapa game and deciding that the coins on my mum’s bedside will be better off in my pocket for my Fan Spot icecream agenda.

Sinning then was doused with innocence and naivety. Conviction sometimes came. Perhaps because I couldn’t spell the word, I didn’t feel it so often.

Over the years though, I became more cognizant of sin. One of the prayers I often prayed was “Father make my conscience so sharp that I wont be able to find any pleasure in continuous sin.” I’d feel so terrible when I did something I know to be wrong, then I’d feel dirty and unworthy to talk to God, then I’d wander farther, then I’d do more wrong until suddenly I realize that “O goodness, I’m like a sitting duck right now!” Read More My Intimate Relationship With Sin.

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