Purityland:
Purityland Dairies (Issue 013)
Her Boyfriend Asked Her For Sex
The evening breeze carried the scent of roasted plantain and suya through the narrow streets of Bodija as Adunni hurried home from the University of Ibadan campus. Her final year in Medicine was demanding enough without the additional burden weighing on her heart—the conversation she needed to have with her boyfriend, Tunde.
They had been together for three years, meeting in their second year during a Christian fellowship meeting. Both were active members of the campus ministry, leading Bible studies and organizing outreach programs in the surrounding communities of Ibadan. But lately, Tunde had been pressuring her about intimacy, arguing that since they planned to marry after graduation, it wouldn't matter to God.
"After all," he had said just the previous evening as they sat under the mango tree near Queen Elizabeth Hall, "we love each other and we're committed. It's just a formality at this point."
Adunni's phone buzzed with a message from her prayer partner, Sister Folake, reminding her about their morning devotion the next day. She smiled slightly, remembering how Folake had mentored her when she first arrived from Lagos, helping her navigate both university life and her faith.
The next morning, as the call to prayer echoed from a nearby mosque and roosters crowed throughout Bodija, Adunni sat with Folake in the small garden behind the fellowship hall. The older woman's weathered hands held her worn Bible as she shared from Revelation.
"My dear Adunni," Folake said in her gentle Yoruba-accented English, "the Scripture is clear about sexual purity. Look at Revelation 22:15—it places sexual immorality alongside sorcery and murder as things that separate us from God's eternal kingdom. This isn't because God wants to deny us pleasure, but because He designed sex for something sacred."
Adunni fidgeted with her hijab—she wasn't Muslim, but she wore it sometimes for modesty in the diverse community of Ibadan. "But Sister Folake, Tunde says we're practically married already. We've made promises to each other before God."
Folake's eyes filled with compassion. "Child, when God created Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, He established a divine order. Sex wasn't just for pleasure or even just for children—it was the sacred mechanism through which His image would multiply throughout the earth. Every time a husband and wife come together within His design, they participate in His creative power."
A group of students walked past, heading to the nearby Trenchard Hall for morning lectures. Adunni watched them, thinking about how easy it seemed for some of her peers to treat intimacy casually, as if it were no different from sharing a meal.
"But why does it matter so much to God?" she asked. "Sometimes I feel like we Christians make too much of these things."
Folake opened her Bible to Genesis. "Because, my daughter, the spiritual realm influences everything in the physical world. When we abuse what God has made sacred, we invite spiritual consequences we may not even see. Sex creates a soul tie, a deep spiritual connection. When we have multiple partners or engage outside of marriage, we fragment our souls and open doors to spiritual confusion."
The morning sun was rising higher over the hills surrounding Ibadan, and students were beginning to fill the campus pathways. Adunni thought about her medical studies—how precisely the human body was designed, how every system worked in perfect harmony when functioning as intended.
"So you're saying that sex outside marriage isn't just about breaking rules—it's about disrupting God's design?"
"Exactly," Folake nodded. "Think about your medical training. When you perform surgery outside of proper conditions, without following protocol, what happens?"
"Infection, complications, sometimes death," Adunni replied immediately.
"The spiritual realm works similarly. God's design for sex within marriage isn't restrictive—it's protective. It preserves the sacred nature of intimacy and ensures that children are born into stable, covenant relationships."
That evening, Adunni met Tunde at their usual spot near the International Conference Centre. The Ibadan skyline stretched before them, a mixture of traditional compounds with corrugated iron roofs and modern buildings reaching toward the sky.
"Tunde," she began carefully, "I've been praying about what we discussed, and I believe we need to honor God's design for our relationship."
His face showed disappointment, but also something else—perhaps relief. "Adunni, to be honest, I've been feeling convicted too. Pastor Williams spoke about purity at men's fellowship last week, and..." He paused, looking out over the city lights beginning to twinkle in the growing darkness. "I realized I was trying to convince both of us to compromise something sacred."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of evening Ibadan—the distant honking of danfo buses, the call of street vendors, the laughter of children playing in nearby compounds.
"What if we make a covenant," Adunni suggested, "not just to wait, but to understand why we're waiting? To see our purity as worship, not just obedience?"
Tunde took her hand gently. "Like preparing for something holy rather than just avoiding something sinful?"
"Exactly. When we do marry, our intimacy will be a participation in God's creative power—the same power that created the first man and woman, the same design that allows new life to come into the world."
Over the following months, their relationship deepened in ways they hadn't expected. Without the pressure and confusion of physical compromise, they found themselves growing closer spiritually and emotionally. They began leading a relationship class for younger students, sharing about the beauty of God's design for love and marriage.
At their wedding the following year, held in a beautiful garden overlooking the ancient city of Ibadan, Pastor Williams spoke about Genesis and God's original design. As family members from both Yoruba and Igbo backgrounds celebrated together, Adunni and Tunde exchanged vows that acknowledged the sacred nature of their union.
"By God's grace," Tunde said, looking into his bride's eyes, "we will honor the sacred gift He has given us, understanding that our love is not just about us, but about participating in His divine plan for humanity."
Years later, when their own children asked about relationships and purity, Adunni and Tunde would tell them about that evening under the mango tree, about Sister Folake's wisdom, and about learning to see God's commands not as restrictions, but as invitations into something beautifully sacred.
"Sex is not merely physical," they would explain, "but a spiritual act with eternal significance. God designed it as a sacred mechanism of creation, and when we honor His design, we participate in His very nature as Creator."
In the bustling, diverse city of Ibadan, surrounded by people of many faiths and backgrounds, their marriage became a quiet testimony to the beauty of God's original design—a design that brings life, creates families, and reflects the very image of God Himself.
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*Reflections*
The Scripture is clear about sexual purity. Revelation 22:15 places sexual immorality alongside sorcery and murder as things that separate us from God's eternal kingdom. This isn't because God wants to deny us pleasure, but because He designed sex for something sacred.
*Purityland Confessions:*
"I understand that sex is a sacred act designed by God for divine purposes. By His help, I will not abuse it, in Jesus' Name!" This is purely an AI written texts |
