₦airaland Forum

Purityland Dairies (Issue 017)

We Should Be Having Sex Around Like Dogs Because Of Sexual Compatibility?


The harmattan wind swept across the University of Lagos campus as Adunni hurried to her evening fellowship meeting. At twenty-two, she was known among her peers as the girl who always had the right answers in Bible study, yet tonight she carried a heavy burden in her heart.

"Sister Adunni, you look troubled," observed Pastor Emeka, the youth leader, as the meeting concluded. The other students had dispersed, leaving only the two of them in the small chapel.

Adunni shifted uncomfortably in her plastic chair. "Pastor, I need to talk to someone. It's about Kemi."

Pastor Emeka nodded knowingly. Kemi had been Adunni's roommate until last semester when she moved off-campus with her boyfriend, Tunde.

"She came to see me yesterday," Adunni continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "She said I was being naive about relationships. That I needed to... to test the waters before marriage. She said how would I know if Biodun and I are compatible unless we..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Ah," Pastor Emeka said gently, settling back in his chair. "Let me tell you a story my grandmother told me long ago."

**The Story of Two Gardens**

"There was once a young farmer named Chinedu who inherited two plots of land from his father. The first plot was wild and had been worked by many hands over the years—some had planted yams, others had grown maize, and still others had tried cassava. Each farmer had left their mark, depleting the soil in different ways.

The second plot was virgin land, untouched and carefully preserved by his father. 'This land,' his father had told him, 'has been waiting for the right farmer to unlock its potential.'

Chinedu's friends mocked him for considering the virgin land. 'How do you know it's fertile?' they asked. 'The other plot has proven itself. Many have worked it successfully.'

But Chinedu was a patient man. He chose the virgin land.

The first season was challenging. The soil was hard, and Chinedu had to learn its ways. But gradually, as he worked with dedication and love, the land began to yield. By the third season, his harvest was bountiful—richer than anything the other plot had ever produced.

His neighbor, who had chosen the worked land, found himself constantly comparing his crops to previous harvests. 'The farmer before me grew bigger yams,' he would say. 'The one before that had sweeter cassava.' He was never satisfied, always wondering if he could find better soil elsewhere.

But Chinedu knew only his own harvest. He cherished each yam, each grain of maize, because they were born from his exclusive partnership with the land. There was no comparison, no dissatisfaction—only growth, discovery, and deep contentment."

Pastor Emeka looked at Adunni, whose eyes had filled with understanding. "You see, my sister, what your friend calls 'compatibility' is often just another word for comparison. When we give pieces of ourselves to multiple people, we create a garden of comparisons in our hearts."

"But what if Biodun and I aren't... what if we don't match?" Adunni asked.

"Tell me," Pastor Emeka smiled, "when your mother learned to cook your father's favorite soup, did she already know the recipe?"

Adunni shook her head. "She learned his preferences. She adjusted the seasonings over time."

"Exactly. Love is not about finding someone who fits perfectly into your existing mold. It's about two people committed to growing together, learning each other's needs, and creating something beautiful together. This applies to every aspect of marriage—including intimacy."

Three months later, Adunni ran into Kemi at the Shoprite in Victoria Island. Her former roommate looked tired, her eyes lacking their usual spark.

"Adunni! How are you?" Kemi's smile seemed forced.

"I'm well, by God's grace. How are you and Tunde?"

Kemi's expression darkened. "We broke up last month. He said I wasn't... he compared me to his ex-girlfriend." She paused, then added bitterly, "And honestly, I found myself comparing him to others too. Nothing felt... pure anymore."

Adunni's heart broke for her friend. "I'm sorry, Kemi. But it's not too late. God's mercies are new every morning."

"For some of us, maybe it's already too late," Kemi whispered.

"No," Adunni said firmly, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "God specializes in restoration. He can make all things new—including our hearts and our capacity for pure love."

Six months later, Adunni stood in the bridal suite of the Redeemed Christian Church of God, adjusting her white gele. Through the window, she could see the guests arriving for her wedding to Biodun.

Her mother entered, carrying a small wrapped package. "This is from Kemi," she said. "She couldn't make it, but she wanted you to have this."

Inside was a small leather journal with a note: "For your garden of discovery. Thank you for showing me that purity isn't about perfection—it's about preservation. May your marriage be like virgin soil, yielding harvests that belong only to you and Biodun."

As the organ began to play and Adunni walked down the aisle toward Biodun, she thought about the garden analogy. Tonight, they would begin tending their own exclusive garden—not comparing, not competing, but growing together in the beautiful mystery of covenant love.

Years later, as she counseled young women in her church, Adunni would always begin with this truth: "God's design for intimacy isn't restrictive—it's protective. He knows that the most beautiful gardens are those tended by faithful hands, watered by commitment, and harvested in the safety of covenant love."

The Sunday service was packed as usual at the Deeper Life Bible Church in Surulere. Pastor Emeka, now the senior pastor, was delivering his message on "God's Design for Relationships." In the third row sat Adunni and Biodun with their two children, their faces glowing with the contentment that comes from walking in God's ways.

A few rows behind them, Kemi sat with her husband—a godly man who had loved her enough to wait while she healed and rediscovered the value of purity. Her journey had been longer and more difficult, but God's grace had indeed made all things new.

As the service ended, the congregation sang: "Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with Thee."

*Reflections*

We must understand that God's ways are always best—not because they are easy, but because they lead to the deepest joy and most lasting satisfaction the human heart can know. Don't be fooled by folks encouraging fornication with claims of "you need to know if you are sexually compatible before getting married". For many of them, even after sleeping with all members of the opposite gender in the world, none of them will be compatible with their insatiable lustful cravings.

*Purityland Confessions*
I choose the way of the LORD

Too long. Didn’t read. Attach a summary next time. Hehehehe.

Purityland:
Purityland Dairies (Issue 017)

We Should Be Having Sex Around Like Dogs Because Of Sexual Compatibility?


The harmattan wind swept across the University of Lagos campus as Adunni hurried to her evening fellowship meeting. At twenty-two, she was known among her peers as the girl who always had the right answers in Bible study, yet tonight she carried a heavy burden in her heart.

"Sister Adunni, you look troubled," observed Pastor Emeka, the youth leader, as the meeting concluded. The other students had dispersed, leaving only the two of them in the small chapel.

Adunni shifted uncomfortably in her plastic chair. "Pastor, I need to talk to someone. It's about Kemi."

Pastor Emeka nodded knowingly. Kemi had been Adunni's roommate until last semester when she moved off-campus with her boyfriend, Tunde.

"She came to see me yesterday," Adunni continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "She said I was being naive about relationships. That I needed to... to test the waters before marriage. She said how would I know if Biodun and I are compatible unless we..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Ah," Pastor Emeka said gently, settling back in his chair. "Let me tell you a story my grandmother told me long ago."

**The Story of Two Gardens**

"There was once a young farmer named Chinedu who inherited two plots of land from his father. The first plot was wild and had been worked by many hands over the years—some had planted yams, others had grown maize, and still others had tried cassava. Each farmer had left their mark, depleting the soil in different ways.

The second plot was virgin land, untouched and carefully preserved by his father. 'This land,' his father had told him, 'has been waiting for the right farmer to unlock its potential.'

Chinedu's friends mocked him for considering the virgin land. 'How do you know it's fertile?' they asked. 'The other plot has proven itself. Many have worked it successfully.'

But Chinedu was a patient man. He chose the virgin land.

The first season was challenging. The soil was hard, and Chinedu had to learn its ways. But gradually, as he worked with dedication and love, the land began to yield. By the third season, his harvest was bountiful—richer than anything the other plot had ever produced.

His neighbor, who had chosen the worked land, found himself constantly comparing his crops to previous harvests. 'The farmer before me grew bigger yams,' he would say. 'The one before that had sweeter cassava.' He was never satisfied, always wondering if he could find better soil elsewhere.

But Chinedu knew only his own harvest. He cherished each yam, each grain of maize, because they were born from his exclusive partnership with the land. There was no comparison, no dissatisfaction—only growth, discovery, and deep contentment."

Pastor Emeka looked at Adunni, whose eyes had filled with understanding. "You see, my sister, what your friend calls 'compatibility' is often just another word for comparison. When we give pieces of ourselves to multiple people, we create a garden of comparisons in our hearts."

"But what if Biodun and I aren't... what if we don't match?" Adunni asked.

"Tell me," Pastor Emeka smiled, "when your mother learned to cook your father's favorite soup, did she already know the recipe?"

Adunni shook her head. "She learned his preferences. She adjusted the seasonings over time."

"Exactly. Love is not about finding someone who fits perfectly into your existing mold. It's about two people committed to growing together, learning each other's needs, and creating something beautiful together. This applies to every aspect of marriage—including intimacy."

Three months later, Adunni ran into Kemi at the Shoprite in Victoria Island. Her former roommate looked tired, her eyes lacking their usual spark.

"Adunni! How are you?" Kemi's smile seemed forced.

"I'm well, by God's grace. How are you and Tunde?"

Kemi's expression darkened. "We broke up last month. He said I wasn't... he compared me to his ex-girlfriend." She paused, then added bitterly, "And honestly, I found myself comparing him to others too. Nothing felt... pure anymore."

Adunni's heart broke for her friend. "I'm sorry, Kemi. But it's not too late. God's mercies are new every morning."

"For some of us, maybe it's already too late," Kemi whispered.

"No," Adunni said firmly, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "God specializes in restoration. He can make all things new—including our hearts and our capacity for pure love."

Six months later, Adunni stood in the bridal suite of the Redeemed Christian Church of God, adjusting her white gele. Through the window, she could see the guests arriving for her wedding to Biodun.

Her mother entered, carrying a small wrapped package. "This is from Kemi," she said. "She couldn't make it, but she wanted you to have this."

Inside was a small leather journal with a note: "For your garden of discovery. Thank you for showing me that purity isn't about perfection—it's about preservation. May your marriage be like virgin soil, yielding harvests that belong only to you and Biodun."

As the organ began to play and Adunni walked down the aisle toward Biodun, she thought about the garden analogy. Tonight, they would begin tending their own exclusive garden—not comparing, not competing, but growing together in the beautiful mystery of covenant love.

Years later, as she counseled young women in her church, Adunni would always begin with this truth: "God's design for intimacy isn't restrictive—it's protective. He knows that the most beautiful gardens are those tended by faithful hands, watered by commitment, and harvested in the safety of covenant love."

The Sunday service was packed as usual at the Deeper Life Bible Church in Surulere. Pastor Emeka, now the senior pastor, was delivering his message on "God's Design for Relationships." In the third row sat Adunni and Biodun with their two children, their faces glowing with the contentment that comes from walking in God's ways.

A few rows behind them, Kemi sat with her husband—a godly man who had loved her enough to wait while she healed and rediscovered the value of purity. Her journey had been longer and more difficult, but God's grace had indeed made all things new.

As the service ended, the congregation sang: "Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with Thee."

*Reflections*

We must understand that God's ways are always best—not because they are easy, but because they lead to the deepest joy and most lasting satisfaction the human heart can know. Don't be fooled by folks encouraging fornication with claims of "you need to know if you are sexually compatible before getting married". For many of them, even after sleeping with all members of the opposite gender in the world, none of them will be compatible with their insatiable lustful cravings.

*Purityland Confessions*
I choose the way of the LORD

I read everything. I love your posts. Keep writing

This obsession with sex... religion is indeed something else.