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We’re messed up people with messed up bodies. All of us. Even Miss America gets hemorrhoids.The Fall mocks us in our own skin. We’re all walking sermons. Our bodies preach what life is like in a world groaning under the weight of evil. And it’s a life that eventually reduces our flesh to worm food.
You’re ugly. You’re fat. You’re stupid. You’re dirty. You’re a disgrace. You’re a failure. Inside our heads the accusations pour forth. It’s like a courtroom packed with lawyers barking against us.
Our deepest fear, writes Marianne Williamson, is not that we are inadequate. Or that something will happen to our children. Or that we’ll be raped or murdered or robbed.
Being a father or mother is a lot like being a priest. It doesn’t matter if you’re Jewish, Christian, or one of the “religious nones.” Whatever faith—or the lack thereof—parents affirm, they spend about 18 years conducting a profoundly influential worship service in the lives of their children.
The devil’s copy of the Bible is not gathering dust on a nightstand. It’s the most dog-eared, underlined, highlighted book in his library. Satan is steeped in the Scriptures.