I know a few smokers. I have condemned them for this chronic sin on multiple occasions. Once, a long-time female smoker replied, “It must be nice to be able to hide all YOUR sin.”
Initially I took this as nothing more than an addict lashing out in a vain attempt to deflect responsibility. Later I realized it was a wise Christian woman pointing out the obvious: I’m just as flawed and sinful as everyone else.
My sins have always been of the mind. I have never smoked a cigarette. Not a single experimental puff. I have never been drunk. I have never gotten a buzz. Not even close – unless exhaust fumes count. I’ve never been high. Not a drag of weed, not a small green pill, nor a single punctured vein. My battlefield has never been the outward but the inward. Deep within my brain, and within the dark expanses of my soul, lingers my secret life.
There I am free to harshly judge everyone I come into contact with. There I replay illicit scenarios where I eviscerate them with my impressive vocabulary, and they wither and retreat from my overpowering awesomeness. My lusts of the flesh are free to do as they please with whom they please, how they please. I have lived a thousand different versions of my life. I’ve been a powerful ruler of supplant minions. I have traveled the cosmos in vast warships. I have brutally murdered any who oppose my will. I exist as a mere shadow of the Christian I am perceived to be.
As was earlier pointed out, my sins have always existed in the shadow of my mind, deep in the trenches, and rarely, if ever, surface.
The secrets will surface, though:
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